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whoacanada · 3 years

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‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game — he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively — defensively — as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily — burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

#Part I #maybe?#zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

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“QUEER”

First of all, let’s clear up a common misconception. Queer does not just mean gay. It’s an umbrella term for an identity which deviates from society’s perceived norm: heterosexual, or straight. Queer can refer to sexualities — gay, bisexual, pansexual, — or it can refer to being gender-queer; i.e, any label that deviates from the perceived gender norm: the binaries, male and female.

“Queer” is a reclaimed slur.

If you do not fall under the umbrella of queerness, it is safe to assume that you cannot use it. At all.

I am bisexual.

This means I experience attraction to plural genders. Pansexual also works fine. For the difference between bisexual and pansexual — see here:

Being bisexual isn’t easy. I went through similar hardships to gay women: I experienced attraction to women and was scared of what this meant for me, in such an oppressively homophobic society.

I am not saying being bisexual is harder than being gay, nor the inverse. But my experiences are distinctly bisexual, not gay.

Without further ado, here are the 3 things I’ve found to be the hardest about being queer, but not gay (enough).

#1: Finding My Place

Or, not being queer enough

I always knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know what I was. Up until recently, I was still questioning. This didn’t feel enough to join groups or conversations with LGBT+ folk, let alone go to pride. Was I even LGBT if I was never L, G, B, or T?

I am still yet to attend a pride, even though I identify (fairly confidently) as bisexual. I am in a relationship with a man. This is (problematically) known as a “straight-passing relationship” and makes me feel even more undeserving of a place at pride.

This has been upsetting to me at times. But for others, it can be outright devastating. Growing up and needing support, but feeling like you’re ‘not gay enough’ to ask for it? So many young people are being left alone and afraid. Finding others like you is vital to figuring out who you are. Likewise, finding spaces which are safe and inclusive is vital for anyone, regardless of their sexuality or gender identity. A friend of mine happens to be a transgender man, and he summed up the issue perfectly:

“One thing that I keep noticing is how all hangout spots are “gay bars”, or (far less common) “lesbian bars”. I’m a straight man, so I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be there, but hanging out at regular bars is still too much of a gamble, so I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

It goes without saying that gay folk aren’t always safe in these spaces, as seen by the homophobic attack on the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, in 2016. Bigotry hurts the entire LGBT+ community. Bigotry doesn’t stop to ask whether you identify as gay or otherwise queer before it pulls the trigger.

But the LGBT+ community itself is much more welcoming to those who “pick a side” and just come out as gay, already. The infighting is inexplicable when one looks to attacks such as that in Orlando: bigots don’t care which letter you are in the acronym. So why does gatekeeping exist when we need to be strong in the face of intolerance when fragmentation only makes us weaker? Who are we helping by continuing to exclude identities from the discussion?

#2: Myths and Misconceptions

Well, it stands to reason that if bisexuals are what they seem in TV and movies, why would anyone want to make them feel included? They’re “greedy” and inauthentic. They’re attention-seeking, not to mention their propensity for threesomes. Now, I haven’t been in a wild orgy yet, but it seems like it will only be a matter of time before I follow my natural path.

Straight men, in particular, need to own up to their assumption that bisexual women are down for a threesome. The thing is, we are. But not with you, you big ASSUMER.

Infidelity

All jokes aside, the stereotyping of bisexuals is not only hurtful, but leads to difficulties finding and maintaining relationships.

As I came to terms with my bisexuality, I also had to accept that I might never be fully trusted by my partner, regardless of their gender or sexuality. I was shocked when my partner reacted to my coming out with the equivalent of a shrug — so much so, that I burst into tears of gratitude that my soul-bearing moment hadn’t been met with slut-shaming or assumptions of disloyalty. Nothing has changed. If anything, our bond is even stronger for me having been more authentic after coming out.

But cruelty came from elsewhere: when I came out, I was told that my partner was to be pitied, either because I’m gay and in denial, or bound to cheat on him. The main consequence of such attitudes has been the crippling fear of coming out to my partner. It saddens me that I felt so relieved when he accepted me for being who I am, and loving him just the same as I always have.

This outcome is not the case for many couples, with straight folk worried that their bisexual partner will realise they’re gay and just leave them. This fear of abandonment comes from a place of ignorance. When the media presents bisexuality as a steppingstone on the way to “picking a team”, it’s no wonder that people struggle to trust their queer partners.

Other Queer Myths

The myth that all trans folk medically transition invalidates those who choose not to do so, and let’s not forget the ignorant jeers that it's all just a mental illness. Asexual folk battle the stereotype that they can never have a relationship and shall forever remain a virgin (because what an awful thing that would be, right?) And pansexuals… well, at the lighter end, they’re asked if they have sex with cooking utensils. But often, they’re erased as irrelevant because “we already have the label bisexual”.

This brings us onto the third and final difficulty that comes with queer folk who aren’t easily categorizable as gay: erasure.

#3: Erasure

Erasure refers to the denial of an identity’s existence or its validity as a label.

Non-binary folk face ongoing and loud claims that they simply do not exist. This is despite the historical and scientific evidence to the contrary. Plus, the most important evidence — them, existing. Asexual folk are told they simply have not found the right person yet, or that they are just afraid of sex. Demi-sexual folk are told “everyone feels like that, unless they’re just sleeping around!”. And bisexuals are dismissed as simply being in denial that they’re gay.

Monosexuality & The Gender Binary

Our culture is so built on monosexuality (being solely attracted to one gender — for instance, gay or straight). Monosexuality is reinforced through everything from marriage to dating apps, the media to what we teach in schools. People cannot fathom that someone might want to experience more than one gender in their lifetime.

The binary models of sex and gender are also deeply ingrained. These rigid belief systems combined are to blame for our inability to accept that bisexuals do not need to “pick a side”. I was paralysed by fear for 17 years because I found girls attractive and that might mean I’m gay, because bisexuals are just gays who haven’t realised they’re gay yet.

Bierasure

Bierasure is dangerous, firstly because it leads a child to have to internalise both biphobia and homophobia. For instance, I had to work through being taught to hate gayness, whilst being taught that any attraction to non-male genders made me gay.

Women were cute, and so I was gay, and this meant I was disgusting.

My own mother told me this. She also told me that something has “gone wrong in the womb” for a child to be gay. (Well, Mum, I’ve got some bad news about your womb!)And she, like any bigot, extended this theory to anyone who experiences same-sex attractions — anyone queer. This is another reason why bi-erasure is perilous. Whether you’re a gay, cis-male or a demi-bisexual, trans woman… if your parents will kick you out for being gay, they will likely kick you out for being any sort of queer.

If we deny the bigotry that bisexuals undergo, we will continue to suffer. It won’t just go away. It will fester, with bisexuals having no one they can go to who believes them. And thus:

Erasure Kills

Bullying and suicide rates of queer-but-not-gay people continue to sky-rocket. We must direct funding, support and compassion to every queer individual, as they are all vulnerable to discrimination and bullying. The problem is being left to fester. This is in part because bigots treat all queer labels as just ‘gay’, deeming them equally unworthy. This is how far erasure can go.

Conclusion

Earlier on, I stated that my experiences are distinctly bisexual. The same applies to any queer identity.

Emphasising our differing paths and struggles is important to avoid the aforementioned erasure of already less visible groups. But this does not mean that the LGBT+ community should be fragmented by these differences.

If we can unite in our hope to live authentically and love freely, we will be stronger against bigotry. We are fighting enough intolerance from without: there is no need to create more from within.

So out of everything, what’s the hardest part about being bisexual?

It’s the fact that nobody knows it’s this hard.

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riktorart · 3 years

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“Welcome to the auditorium once again, beloved students! After a hard-fought legal battle, we’ve finally settled the former dispute in court! (With prejudice, might I add~) Now, to show how kind I am, we’ve decided that in good faith, we’d retire the former flavors, and restart the fundraiser anew, with many new flavors to choose from!

Now, while they may be no Kind Bluebirdys (trust me, I tried them,) they’re still sure to be delicious treats you’ll be eager to sell to all your closest friends and family… And if not, remember that the House that procures the most profits gets a pizza party~ Though of course, I’m sure even without one, you’d all be perfectly motivated to do your best!

(And before I forget! Friendly reminder that if you are one of the few students who formerly overdosed on Cherria Limefellows, Night Raven College is not liable for any injuries or deaths that may have resulted in consumption.)

Now, onto our new menu of delicious treats to sell!

-----------

Grey- A wonderfully light treat of chamomile and honey that’s sure to be soothing to those of you with lighter palettes! Every single taste-tester who’s had even a lick has smiled in delight, enjoying the treat to it’s very last bite with a smile… Strangely, they’ve all fallen asleep as well, and few of them have woken up… I’m sure it’s no concern, so be sure to try one today!

(Night Raven College is not liable for any injuries, deaths, or comatose states that may result from this product. Consume at your own risk.)

Rugged Blondie- A tasty treat chock full of white chocolate chips and walnuts, it’s sure to make you laugh in delight, as well as give you that extra rush of energy to continue on with your overly-heavy workload! Or, if you find yourself lazing about with nothing better to do, enjoy it during a thrilling game of Magilift to help keep you energized to cheer on our teams!

(... Also, is it just me, or does it look almost exhausted…? )

John Beach- What could possibly be better than floating about the cool waves on a trip to the beach? Why, that’s right! Enjoying a soda float while floating about the cool waves! Well, we have neither, but we do have this delicious treat that tastes like a soda float! So buy one today, so you too can indulge in the closest thing to such an experience!

(... If only it didn’t have that horrid, rancid aftertaste…)

Otaku Dew- G-good heavens!!! This ice cream has so much anxiety it’s practically falling apart under the pressure of being on stage, and the auditorium’s freezing!!! QUICK!!! GET MORE ICE FOR THE COOLERS BEFORE THEY ALL MELT!!! THERE’S NO MONEY TO BE MADE FROM HALF-MELTED ICE CREAM!!!

… A-anyway…! For those of you looking for an unhealthy kick in your lives, be sure to try an Otaku Dew today! Flavored after a popular soft drink among the youth, none other than Summit Dew! Code Blue, too~

Juice Spade- A perfectly normal treat made with a special punch, all which turns your tongue blue! (Rumor has it it’s even turned a few eyes black too, but I wouldn’t worry much about it. After all, it’s just an ice cream! What could it possibly hope to do???) Just one look into Juice’s eyes, and you’ll want to protect him as if he were your own child…

(Night Raven College is not liable for injuries or death resulting from this product. As long as you are kind and do not insult any farm fowl within the surrounding area, you will not be in danger. It is still recommended you proceed at your own risk.)

Beaute Hunter King- A treat with a smile as large as it’s hat! If you’re ever feeling down, just make sure to stop by the cafeteria to pick up a bite! The lovely taste of… Well… Actually, I’m not sure what this one tastes like! Since I’m so generous, surely you all won’t mind if I take this one for myse-GYAH! ACH! WHERE’S A TRASH CAN?!?! WHY ON EARTH DOES THIS TASTE LIKE PORK?!?!?!?!?

… D-delicious… Sure to be a bestseller, so buy it n-now…

(Also, if you feel that the treat is watching your every move, simply assert your dominance by consuming it as quickly as possible. Do not let it see your weakness. Unrelated, but Night Raven College is not responsible for any injuries or death that may result from this product, consume at your own risk.)

… Now, to mix things up a little… This time around, we’ve added a new “Premium” menu for those of you with a more sophisticated palette! (Really, it’s because placing fancy labels onto products helps to sell them better. Believe me, I know from experience!).

Now, supplies are limited, so make sure your wallets are out, and those dollars are coming out!

Luscious Fudge Bar- A smooth, elegant blend of dark chocolate that just melts upon the tongue, truly, after one bite, you’ll never want to eat any other ice cream again… Why, it’s practically… Purrfect…

(... Please buy this treat. If we don’t sell out (and fast,) Trien will have quite the choice words for me… He already implied he’d berate me if I dared to cut corners on this treat… And if he berates me, oh goodness, that menace of a furball will be there t-N-NO! I WASN’T SAYING ANYTHING AT ALL TRIEN!!! JUST… REMARKING ON HOW CLEAN THIS FLOOR IS!)

… MOVING ON!

Cinna Cobra- Quite the interesting treat… We almost forgot the cooler it was brought in, and… Well, I must say, this treat didn’t seem all that impressive. Yet, when we all took a bit, we were astounded!!! I’d never fathomed a cinnamon ice cream before, yet… It seems there’s more than that. It seems as if there’s a unique blend of spices that make this treat… Why, phenomenal…

Though it no doubt won’t be as grand a treat as the Caralim Mallow-Sim, I’d still recommend to give it a try!

Mr. S Mystery Pop- … I won’t lie, children… We have no idea what flavor this is. One person tasted overripe apples, another tasted whole-grain cereal… And… Then asparagus, then tofu, and even… Cat food, of all things… (I won’t question how the tester could recognize as such.) We truly just cannot figure out what flavor this is, and when we inquired Sam for an answer, he simply leaned back and smiled… (When he finally spoke, it was to tell me that mask polish was in stock.)

… I’ve already tempted fate enough trying one unidentified treat today, yet… Oh, I can’t deny the allure of it! Oh ho ho~ What could I possibly get~ Let me just unwrap this, and…

…

……

… A-ah… Ahhh… AHHHHHHHHHH!!! H-HOT, HOT, HOT!!! WATER!!! WATER!!! SAM!!! WHY IN WONDERLAND WOULD YOU MAKE A JALAPENO AND MINT ICE CREAM!?!?!? ... MY MOUTH… IT’S NEVER BURNED LIKE THIS BEFORE! IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!!! UWAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

FUNDRAISER’S CANCELLED! GO HOME, GO HOME!!! … CREWEL! STOP LAUGHING AND GET ME WATER!!!”

#Twisted Wonderland #Silver Twisted Wonderland #Ruggie Bucchi #Jade Leech #Idia Shroud #Deuce Spade #Rook Hunt #Lucious Twisted Wonderland #Jamil Viper #Sam Twisted Wonderland #Fan Art #Digital Art #Riktor's Art #Sam's was made with his friends and in return for making it pretty it tastes like the worst flavor you could possibly imagine.#A small price to pay for your ice cream to be perfect.

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simplive · 3 years

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you will become a memory.

manhunt au! dream team, badboyhalo. general hunter mini headcanons

caution. death, insane sapnap per usual, maybe hints of yandere

DREAM.

─ “to hunt or be hunted.”

to be the hunter when he is usually the hunted is uncommon, but it is welcomed all the same ─ dream will revel in your fear from start, to finish as long as he possibly can. confident enough in his abilities to let you roam about in the world for a lengthy period of time because the direction of this compass will always point to where you resided. he’s not even worried when you reach the nether. whatever pace you decide to go about, will he respectively follow a suit, choosing to be calm and calculating. you don’t hear him ever speak from the ear piece, only the sounds of his shoes crushing the leaves below him as he gains closer, and closer towards your way. letting the impending dread crawl in.

he’ll let you have that sense of security, before tearing it all away.

to strike fear in others... it is what he does best.

sometimes you can get him to have conversation, just not for long. no larger than five minutes because he always returns to the same withdrawn, quiet self everyone knows him by. maybe smart, funny comments here and there to fill in the initial silence, but they are all disregarded by the fact that dream is coming to kill you regardless. there’s nothing he wants to change about that, you both signed yourself for this situation... he’s simply going to honor what it takes to be a professional, merciless hunter. an unofficial title he silently wears like an emblem. so you were doomed from the very start the moment it’s been heard who’d be tracking you down exactly.

out of everyone, they send out him, making you wonder as if the whole world wanted you to perish.

death is to be expected. you can still be good friends and still die at his hands. you’ll let him, won’t you? it’s destiny, your destiny, and everyone knows nobody can escape it once their future has been set, written in stone. what is there to have hope for? a painless death, maybe, depends on how dream feels that exact moment ─ their pain is what makes up a part of the amusement in the chase. although, it’s not like he’s going to drag it out unlike a close friend of his. do not fret, you’ll go down in history as the first prey he’s bothered to open up to... isn’t that good enough?

so why does his heart still pang at the thought?

no no, these are just mindless feelings, barely skin-deep. they’ll go away within seconds if he pays them no attention, just getting his objectives over with and moving onto the next victim. he’s doing this all for survival, and who knows... you’d do the exact same if you too wanted to live. this is a dog-eat-dog world, you either kill someone, or get killed. in fact, because you’re inflicting these unknown emotions on him gives dream more motivation to follow through with these objectives.

he’ll have you until your last breath.

GEORGE.

─ “love me until you die.”

george wants you to be comfortable and scared at the same time, he doesn’t want you to think of him as only a monster like the others. see? there’s still a bit of mercy in him to let you slide at times, shaking it off as a ‘silly little mistake’ of his, but it’s all planned. always has been. he doesn’t like to say this much, but, he pities your situation. the game cannot end until one completes the objectives... and by the looks of it, you’re nowhere as close to the finish line. be free to ask for tips or pointers whenever, he’s generous to share what he thinks will benefit you. it’s up to you whether you trust him or not, there is no offense to be taken, he’d have a hard time believing in your situation.

you can try to talk him out of this for a chance, but a job is a job, someone has to get this done.

and who knows what’ll happen to him if he doesn’t follow through.

your moments together were only meant to be full on bittersweet. you hate that he still tries to be nice against all, as if your life wasn’t placed in his hands to begin with. it would’ve been so much easier to despise george if he’d been vile, heartless, cruel even... but he isn’t. he’s kind, too kind, and you’re starting to think that maybe this was just your unescapable fate. something that transpired during your blurred life was apparently unacceptable for you to live on, it’s starting to finally make sense. no one can elude destiny as much as they pray. of course, when given a chance to slip from death, you’d take it without hesitation... but if all doesn’t go well, then that’s alright too.

everything should be okay if george is here, with you.

will you tell him these sentimental views, especially when you’re lying carelessly on the verge of death? absolutely not. he’d start to feel bad, and that’s the last thing you’d want from him. he’s only doing his job like anyone else, this is somewhat normal despite a few circumstances. you’ll keep reminding yourself anytime despair tries to reach out to you, pulling away from its tantalizing vicinity. don’t go back on this choice, don’t let the sadness take you.

don’t let him regret.

with your head perched comfortably onto his lap, blood spilling at your lips as you try to confess multiple things all at once, then failing miserably. they come out as a garbled mess of sounds unsurprisingly, rather faint to the ears, but there’s enough affection to get through him. you’ll squeeze his hand weakly in hopes of delivering a message, certainly woozy and content nonetheless. he smiles, smiles sadly at the result of his success, but this is what george had desired the whole time.

a chance to spill out his true feelings for you.

SAPNAP.

─ “look at me in the eyes.”

perhaps the most happiest one of the bunch to end someone’s life for the fun of it, quickly that is. he doesn’t want to waste time chasing after you endlessly all over the world, takes too much energy and patience... sapnap prefers to have you right in front of him so he can get right into action. there’s no point in running, everyone knows this. you do too, but such fact could never stop you from trying anyways ─ why not take advantage of that ten percent chance survival rate than do nothing at all? even he somewhat agrees with this new knowledge. there’s no fun in having a compliant little mouse. despite the obvious frustration of tracking you down, he knows it’ll be worth it in the finale when seeing you beg.

always, always looking forward to new targets. everyone is unique: their reactions, their struggles, every part of them. it’s good to have a taste of something refreshing and new. for being the type of person he was, having the same type of people to play with is completely boring, hunting would’ve became a tedious chore at that point. sapnap is ecstatic to hear about you. not much information was disclosed about you, there must be something intriguing then for the lack of story.

he hopes you won’t disappoint him.

sometimes he’ll let his ‘guard down’, sometimes. it’s only to get you motivated again because hopelessness will begin to bore him exceedingly. “don’t give up completely, little [name],” sapnap coos sickeningly, “maybe you’ll have a chance if you actually try for once. should i be nice like george, and give you another head start?” his encouragement, if you could even call it that are down right patronizing, doesn’t try to hide any malicious undertones because he’s confident his words will affect you just the way he wanted.

the fun can’t go on forever. he wants you to suffer for everything you’d put him through. sapnap did not waste three full days trying to corner you, shedding sweat, effort, and time in doing so for you to try and come up with some other excuse for him not to kill you. no, you’re misunderstanding, that’s not what he’s here for. money? no. fame? absolutely not. if it wasn’t any obvious,

he’s here to feed on your fear.

BAD.

─ “forgive me.”

like george, does manhunts because he has to, and it is quite absurd. bad has a huge problem with others having a foul mouth, but happens to not have any qualms raising a blade at someone’s throat. what kind of morals were those? he too questions these actions like any sane person would, however, does not do anything to change his ways because... it’s not in his power. what good would it do to suddenly just switch mindsets all of a sudden, superiors will start to question him and everyone he’d grown to love would suspect. to quit then would be breaking the code, and that’ll be like breaking someone’s trust. bad shouldn’t do it, he’s always reminding himself.

he shouldn’t...

and still, he’s probably the only one who has the hearts to let you go.

for first impressions, bad certainly doesn’t strike you as a hunter. he takes the time to introduce him properly, salutations and a heartfelt apology. you ask, why apologize so suddenly, we just met. he can’t do anything other than sigh, letting the silence answer your question. well, you’re currently the first one on his list, the first to die at that. he’s just here for warnings, letting you gain a huge head start...

calls you muffin as another form of affection. strikes to be strange at first, but you slowly get used to the nickname as you do him, able to enjoy the situation because it’s starting to feel like a nice game of a fusion of hide and seek, and good ol’ tag. he hasn’t been able to physically hurt you once, or at least is trying to make it seem like a mistake ─ missing opportunities, or forgetting to. whatever the case may be, you’re not complaining one bit. in fact, you too haven’t tried to raise a blade at him either.

why would you even?

your kindness is limitless, and it proves when bad cannot fathom hurting you under any circumstances. most of his victims were very aggressive, always cussing at him no matter the context, maybe that’s why guilt hasn’t officially hit him until now. the you who still manages to laugh despite everything, thank you for letting him see the horrors of his actions. “will... i’ll be able to see you again?” you murmur, unsure if you should turn your back on him and leave.

“... maybe some day! for now, you should go. be careful though, some might recognize your face as well.”

he never tells you that his life would be of no more, and he lets you go, the oblivious one, with a bittersweet smile.

#dream team #dream team x reader #dteam #dteam x reader #dream #dream x reader #georgenotfound #georgenotfound x reader #george x reader #sapnap #sapnap x reader #badboyhalo #badboyhalo x reader #manhunt au #[ everyone is chillin n #then theres bad ]

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maxskulline · 3 years

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Max has had an issue with narcotics for a long time. But she always managed to control it - to not fall into addiction. She uses strong alcohol and the occasional drug (her drug of choice is Ketamine for the numbing and dissociative effects it provides, but she also smokes weed and takes party drugs from time to time), as a means to numb herself to the onslaught of guilt and self hatred that she always carries within her - even as a teenager - and to numb the pain of, well, simply existing. The same goes for sex: it is a device Max has learned to master because the bliss of pleasure is a short-term relief, because it helps her forget and ignore the everpresent shadows in the back of her mind, digging in their talons until every meager ounce of self-esteem has been torn to ribbons.

But it gets worse from there. And there is a point in Max’s life where the leash on her habits slips, where it is all she can do not to fall apart completely - or maybe she does it solely for the hope of falling apart to begin with?

I already explained that Max finds a purpose on Paniola Ranch before she and Rosie ultimately ship off to Galar. But what happens before the ranch? How did she end up there?

After the events on Aether Paradise, a few months pass before she ever sets foot on the ranch. In the first, initial month, Max is bedridden and recovering from the poisoned wound Gala inflicted on her during her battle with Guzma. She doesn’t know what horrors had happened to Rosie until a while later, but it is a demon of guilt that starts nagging and nagging until she can’t take it anymore. Even looking at her friend will result in Max wanting to double over and puke, or run to the next window and fling herself out of it, that is how unbearable the guilt weighs on Max.

For letting this happen to Rosie. For letting this happen to her best friend. For letting her Pokémon be almost killed by the man she thought she had loved. For letting Guzma get to this state to begin with. For being so weak that she could not protect anyone - anyone she loves. For killing that Pokémon, so many years back. For being an utter, disgusting failure, a waste of a person.

Failure failure failure failure failure failure failure failure failure failure failure failure

Max never, ever lets these demons show. It is a battle she fights with herself, silently, and mostly at night when the memories come to the surface - memories that she spends so carefully forgetting, dissociating until the daggers barely scrape her. Rosie does not know of the battles she fights, because Max doesn’t tell her - ever. She cannot bear to burden her friend any more, and she can’t let anyone see how much she utterly hates herself.

But the demons begin showing in other ways. Because when Max is well enough again, she begins to frequent bars, and when she comes home she is pissed out of her mind. If she comes home at all. Latter doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, Max finds herself waking in the middle of a park, or in the bed of a stranger, unable to recall their name or how she had gotten there. Leaving Rosie with Plumeria, where they’re currently squatting at, unable to imagine that Rosie could be possibly worried about her. Because why would anyone be? Why would anyone want to even see her alive- she is a failure, a wreck, weak - Guzma had shown her that she was nothing. That she never meant shit to him, too. Her inability to save her friend or her Pokémon showed that her parents had always been right.

So she drinks, and she fucks, and she dances, drowning out the thunder in her head for a few hours. Leaving Rosie worried, neglecting her Pokémon and irritating Plumeria. Hitting rock bottom. Clinging to the blissful numbness in those precious few hours where Max lets go and forgets, even herself. Max loses weight again during that month, and it becomes very obvious to others that this girl is slowly killing herself. That’s when Plumeria’s patience snaps - and that’s when she finds out Rosie is pregnant.

It does not take a second for Max to piece it all together. How this had happened - where, and when. Feeling trapped in what feels like an event horizon, a bottomless pit of darkness that she cannot escape from, because this is her fault, too.

Plumeria knew about Rosie before Max did, and could sense what the information would do to Max. That’s why she had arranged a setup to get them both settled into Paniola Ranch, where Rosie would be safe and taken care of, before the news cracked. Max could not go on like this - Plumeria would not see it happening. If it seemed like a cruel decision, Plumeria could rest well with the knowledge that it came from a place of love, and worry. If she let Max go on like this, she’d last no longer than a month. She was withering. But she could not be the one who snapped her back into reality, give her cold turkey - it had to be a more drastic measure, of giving Max a purpose, something she currently absolutely lacked of. And, because Max was so intent of pushing everyone, including Rosie and her own Pokémon, away, Plumeria reached a treshold with her patience, too.

The news did not go down well with Max, of course. A nasty arguement ensued, in which things were said that drove a temporary rift between her and Plumeria (and is one of the reasons Max initially cut all ties with her when she left for Galar). Plumeria compared her to Guzma - and while she spoke the truth, it was the wrong thing to say to her.

Max and Rosie left for Paniola Ranch, because Max was given an ultimatum. Either go, or leave - without Rosie, who would always have a place with Plumeria as long as she needed it. Max, who did not ever want to live on the streets again, had no choice but to take the bait. It would not be until many, many months later that she saw Plumeria’s actions for what they were: to save her life.

For the first two weeks on the ranch, Max could not bring herself to leave her room. Had locked the door and shut the windows, and she would only eat the food she was brought every other day. If her depression was bad before, now it rendered her motionless - incapacitated. Unable to leave her bed, with nothing but the roaring silence around her, and the shadows in her mind. Telling her what she told herself, over and over: she is worthless, she is a bad friend, she is weak, she is useless, and she utterly, utterly failed Rosie. The distance she put between them were for two reasons: to avoid Rosie’s disappointment at seeing her like this, and to keep the girl away from herself because she brought nothing but trouble to her. She could not fathom the idea that Rosie might need her more than ever, and she could not be that person - for anyone.

Rosie met Rocky around this time - unbeknownst to Max, he would prove an anchor to the both of them, although even more so to Rosie.

Eventually the Ranch caught up on her shit, and she was practically forced to do her share of work. It was hard at first, due to the detorriation of her body, both from malnourishment, alcohol abuse and because she was still recovering from the Golisopod inflicted wound. She did not manage any heavy lifting and started to tend to the Pokémon instead. Cleaning out their boxes, feeding them, all whilst keeping her distance from other people still. Until Rosie introduced her to Rocky - with such a sunny, carefree demeanor that it was very, very hard not to feel comfortable in his presence. Seeing Rosie befriending him did something to Max. Some sort of relief washed through Max - despite everything that had happened to her friend, she was still capable of forming connections. And shame. Shame for not being there for her like she should have been. That someone else started to fill this role. It took her another week to process it, and finally, finally show some semblance of change everyone was desperate to see in her.

Max left her room more often to spend tentative time with Rosie, although she never discussed anything that had ocurred on Aether Paradise. Keeping it casual, as easy as she could, Max did try to mend the bond between them. But the nightmares still haunted her at night, reminding her of how close she had been to losing everything she cared for. Rocky could sense it - through whatever empathy he had within him, he could sense what sort of demons haunted Rosie’s friend.

And offered to train her, and her Pokémon.

For so many years, Max had been behind the training of her Pokémon. It was the sole reason why Guzma had come so close to killing them - killing her, even. And the offer did scare her, a lot, because it is hard to shed the level of overprotection Max held over her team. Still, if there was one thing Max knew she could never let happen again, it was this:

She would not be weak anymore. Her Pokémon deserved to be prepared for everything. Her Pokémon deserved to be trained.

So she accepted. Every morning, for two hours before her work started, she would meet Rocky and train with him. And when she finished work and he was busy, she would take her Pokémon to the fields and do it herself. It was the one purpose she had missed in the past two months, a void that slowly filled, a sense of doing the right thing. The healing slowly began.

But, even years down the road, Rosie will still not know that the guilt had never left Max. It is the one truth Max swore to take into her grave.

#💀 headcanons #💀 V: The Queen of Nothing #I am still on hiatus. Somewhat. But I have been feeling more depressed these days and writing this... was therapeutic.#I have started reading A Court of Silver Flames and Nesta Archeron reminded me so much of Max. It inspired me to write this.#drugs tw #alcohol tw

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

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Kingdom Collisions II

I've just finished a book and it made me cry so happily I thought I'd post a fanfic to commemorate it. Also I'm probably going to start an AWAE/AoGG account soon because I cannot fathom living my life without a space dedicated to my darling loves. Anyway that isn't relevant to the post. This is just a fun little fic I've been writing on the side to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing (I'm a known dialogue whore). I see fit to write it whenever I feel like, so updates may be far and few between, however I do hope you enjoy whatever does come out. I adore this moody ansgty side to jercy. It's been fun to explore.

Masterlist, cat-eye aquamarine

Leave me alone.

[we have known loneliness forever]

Why did I ever agree to this?

[so we do not quite know what it is like]

I never asked you to say yes!

[to want]

Fuck you.

[one another]

-lonliness is a two-sided conversation//badpoetry

Percy doesn't even look at his husband. Doesn't acknowledge his perfect hair, or blazing eyes, or how close they're sitting. He just stares directly out the car window, arms folded across his chest. The rolling hills and wild lavender dance past his vision as the car bounces along the gravel road. They are almost to their destination, to solid ground and quiet, peace. Despite the circumstances he is excited to be back at the cabin his family has owned for so many years. He relishes in the fact that he can escape somewhere that is untainted by the rest of his life. Throngs of people, and public demand, and never ending scrutiny.

He is nothing short of pissed that he has to share his safe place with someone he despises so sweetly it is honey on his tongue to talk to them. But his mother had insisted if they were to act like a married couple they would have to go on a honeymoon and he had only agreed if he could choose the place. She wanted to send them to some private beach in Spain where they could pretend to be alone, oblivious to the paparazzi that were sure to follow, and the people who wanted to meet not one but two crown princes. It was his final stance that if he were being forced to spend time with his husband, it would at least be where he could enjoy it.

"Prince," A crackling voice says through the speakers.

Percy clicks a button on the arm rest, "Yes Mr James?"

"The security team has secured the area, would you like us to drop the bags off before you head inside or after?"

"Whenever suits you Mr James, I'm going for a walk."

Jason who had since then, fallen asleep, jolts awake as they go over a particularly bumpy area.

"And your husband Prince?"

"Ask him yourself, I'm sure he has much to say on the matter." Percy huffs, turning away.

"Prince Grace,"

Jason glares at Percy unimpressed with his dismissal and his rudeness towards the driver.

"Yes James sir?"

"Would you like your bags dropped off before or after you enter the area?"

"Before please, I feel it will help me settle in much easier if everything is already there."

Percy wants to scoff, who talks like that? This pretentious, stuck-up, goodie two-shoes is who. He wants to stick his tongue out, settle their rivalry like five year olds battling to see who can scowl for longer. Mostly, desperately he just wants to get out of this damn car. His leg bounces in time with the bumps, and his hands fidget in his lap. For all his princely training nobody ever managed to get him to sit perfectly still. His mother had finally given up and started carrying drawing pads and pencils wherever she went.

"Can you stop moving!" Jason growls.

"If it bothers you so much get out and walk." He spits back.

An eye roll is the reply but by then the car finally rumbles to a stop and a security detail is opening their doors.

"Princes,"

"Thank you Madison, Arlo." He manages to grit before he stomps off down the path and disappears into the woods.

"Where are you going?" He hears his husband yell. He doesn't bother to reply, someone will tell the Prince.

He kicks at the dark soil and pulls breath after breath into his lungs. He needs to calm down. Just then his ears catch the soft bubbling of a stream and he heads in the direction of the noise. The woods are quiet and cool. A soft breeze flutters between velvety leaves and needled pines, stirring the undergrowth. He wants to become one with the trees, become a branch that sways in greeting and grows friends, and feels the wind wrapping around it every evening. He just wants to stop being human for a little while.

And then the stream is underneath him, soaking his fancy shoes and fine thread socks. He laughs, tugs them off and sits down in the middle of the cold, flowing water. He can feel it run into him like ice in his veins. He dips a finger in, then another, his whole hand and shudders at the smooth caress. It has been so long since he just got to be. Here in this little stream, pants soaking, hands turning blue he has never felt so faraway, out of his body. The world narrows to his fingertips, to the bead of water running down his ankle and joining its family once more. His brain is far and long forgotten, simply taking up space in his skull. He decides right then and there that if he ever comes back to this world he'll come back as a rock in the stream. To live in this beautiful, ever-moving world, where the cold is a kiss and you can never meet the same drop of water twice seems a good life indeed.

Just then he hears a rustle behind him. In an instant he’s on his feet, pulling a dagger from his suit jacket, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt.

"Whoever you are come out right now. I am not in the mood."

"Relax," A deep smooth voice says, "It's just me."

"Oh," He pulls his lips up in half disappointment, half relief it wasn't danger. "What do you want?"

"Mr James wants to know if you want five or ten of the guards here for the remainder of the time here."

"I want zero." He frowned, "I just want to be left in peace for the next few days."

"Well it's not an option so choose." Practical, always so practical.

"Leave five here, there's three other cabins about half a mile out on either side of ours that should be enough space. Everyone else can go home."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it then." Jason nods, stands there awkwardly for a moment longer and then disappears into the greenery once more.

Percy doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether he should scream or cry or laugh.

He hadn't let himself think too hard about the events of the last few weeks. He had shoved every feeling but contempt and general dislike deep deep down into his cage and threw the key into the deepest parts of his ocean of thoughts. He wasn't sure he had the strength to unpack everything that had happened. When his mother had came to him all those weeks ago a heartbroken look in her eyes he knew whatever had happened would be nothing short of a disaster. Within the week he was promised to Crown Prince Jason Grace of Caelum and had been shoved into endless, meetings in which wedding arrangements and economic agreements had to be made.

He didn't even meet the Prince till the night before they were to be wed but by then Percy had despised the whole ordeal so intensely he hadn't any happiness or hope left in him to be kind to the Prince. And even if he did gave some it would have vanished completely upon their introduction. Jason looked at him with such calculating authority he had reminded Percy of an old tutor who thought children should be seen and not heard, and learn whatever was given to them without question. Jason had been stiff, and unyielding, and looked just as unhappy or even unhappier to be meeting him. At dinner Jason only spoke when spoken too, he didn't fidget even once, and worst of all he somehow still managed to charm his mother in about five seconds. One dimpled smile, and a cute story about his first time riding a horse and Queen Sally Jackson had accepted him as one of their own. Percy on the other hand was ignored the entire dinner, and on the walk in the gardens, at the insistence of his advisor, they hardly said two words to each other. Whether it was because Jason was lost in his own world or letting his displeasure for the whole ordeal simmer and burn into their company as Percy was he would never know. Either way the walk ended with a gruff, formal goodbye before they headed to their rooms.

Percy shuts out the politics of the arrangement and how his life has turned into this unrecognizable hurricane of chaos. He cups some of water in his hands and drops it over his curls. Letting it drip down his temples and catch on his collarbones. The coolness soothes him, as water has always done. Finally when his blood is no longer boiling with hidden anger he steps out of the stream, picking up his discarded shoes and socks and sinks into the earth with each step.

The cabin has a soft orange glow in the windows, and the many cars that escorted them have disappeared. He throws his belongings by the door, shucks his pants off and steps inside. The interior is just as he remembers it. Where the castle was dripping with opulence and royalty, the cabin was simple and stripped to the bare essentials. He had always loved the place. Even when he was little and his mom would whisk him away for a secret weekend. She would pack hoards of cookies and ice-cream and light the fire immediately. They would sit on the soft, fleece rug, her with a book and him with his sketchpad, sipping cocoa and spooning ice cream straight from the tub. Then he didn't have to be the prince one day inheriting the crown and she didn't have to be the Queen dealing with every problem under the sun. They hadn't been back in a good few years and he misses everything about the space. He is silently grateful that Jason has lit the fire. Something familiar to hold onto.

"You're back." The Golden Prince says.

"Astute observation." He rolls his eyes but the blonde doesn't look up from whatever he's doing.

Percy walks into the space, shrugging his suit jacket off and unbuttoning his wrinkled white shirt. He hears a sharp inhale and glances up to see a red cheeked Jason staring at him.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"Oh," He laughs softly, "Yea they were wet so I took them off before I came in."

He sputters and blushes, glancing down and then peaking back up again.

"You alright there Prince?"

Jason clears his throat, and Percy watches that golden Adam's apple bob. His skin prickles with heat and he knows its time to go.

"I'm going to shower. I'll give you a tour afterwards if you want."

"That would be great."

With a nod in which they both avoid eye contact and general pleasantry he disappears into one of the three rooms of the cabin.

His shower is scorching, water pummeling against tired muscles. His mother always says a good shower and steaming cup of tea can fix more problems than a board of professionals. So far she hasn't been wrong.

"Hey," He walks back into the lounge sometime later, looking down as he ties the string on his pants, "You ready?"

The house is dead quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the soft wind that whispers in the grooves of the floor.

"Jason?" He frowns, moving to stand in front of him.

The Prince is fast asleep, head lolling forward, book still clasped in his hands. Percy takes in his husband for the first time. Unobstructed by either of their waking emotions, or the general hustling that had shrouded their lives. Jason, he grudgingly admits, is beautiful. His hair looks soft and golden, and when it catches the light of the fire he's sure it's made from sunshine itself. And his skin is such a startling contrast to Percy's rich brown colour. The Prince's body, now folded into an awkward bent angle as he lay across the velvet-cushioned chair, is lithe and graceful. Corded with muscle but somehow still smooth in a way only an uptight Prince with a personal trainer may ever achieve. At least, he thinks sordidly, if I'm forced to marry someone he is as darling as Jason.

The blonde stirs softly, hand twitching, before he settles back into his position. As awkward and unhappy the two are with each other Percy can't leave him here. He's sure the Prince will bend into a chair himself if he slept like that all night long. So he gently taps his husband's shoulder, waking him almost immediately. Jason has never been a particularly heavy sleeper, and it is worse when he finds himself in a place he doesn't know. He blinks up at the world, blue eyes bright. They reminds Percy of the cat-eye aquamarine, the gemstone sat at the base of every crown ever made for his kingdom. He wonders what it says that the colour of his husband's eyes are also the colour he most associates with home. Just as quickly he expels those thoughts, content to bask in his clear dispassion and irritation for as long as this should last.

Jason scrubs a hand over his face, "Sorry you wanted to take me on a tour?"

"No, no there's time for that tomorrow. Why don't you head up to bed."

"Oh, okay. Goodnight then,"

"Goodnight Prince," He says stiffly.

"Sleep easy."

A nod in return and they both retire to their rooms, content to put the last week far behind them. Bury it under dreams, and hopes, and the promise of a tomorrow where nothing has tarnished it yet.

Percy left his window open, watched the tree outside it sway gently. Maybe tomorrow he would climb it and become acquainted with the birds in the nest.

He falls asleep, finally, to the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of whispering leaves.

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kittenfemme27 · 3 years

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Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate

So, at this point, its a pretty cold take to say that Batman could address the crime related problems of Gotham City by funding development programs, education, and other social programs that would help "criminals" get on the right path. That Gotham Citys notorious Villains wouldn't even be motivated to be such huge and over the top personalities if it wasn't for the fact they had an equally huge personality with which to combat each others Narcissistic Personality Disorders against. That Gotham City, for all its faults, would be a better place without Batman ever having stepped foot in it, and that Batman is honestly just a little bit of a crypto fascist. Everyone's said it, or at least thought it, and everyone's pretty much in agreement that it's true to some extent or another.

Except DC, of course, who continue to make millions pushing Batman as the one true and only good savior of the ailing city. Who continues to make comic after comic showcasing the various villains become near caricatures of themselves as they get more and more cartoonishly evil to foil batmans plans, while bruce himself gets more and more wise to the point of being a near omnipotent God who has accounted for each and every possibility in the entire universe. This personification of the Dark Knight is very important to DC, and while they attempt to sometimes show Bruces "philanthropy" within the comics, they often somehow exacerbate just how much of a problem it is that Bruce and Waynecorp effectively own Gotham, and why the concept of The Batman is a problem in and of itself.

So it was pretty par for the course then that, for a short time between 2009 to 2015, DC Comics teamed up with Rocksteady Studios and Warner Brothers Montreal to create the Batman: Arkham video game series that featured the exact same crypto fash Bat that fans have come to know and love. The Arkham series was a western take on the popular Japenese game genre that we know today as "Character Action". It's a bit of a hard genre to describe, but its typically distinguishable by being a Third Person game in where your character takes on hordes of enemies and is very, very powerful right from the get go. Where you have combo meters that break on the slightest bit of damage and the combat revolves just as much around being stylish and impressive to look at, as it is engaging and outrageously difficult. From a gameplay perspective, DC and Rocksteady couldn't have picked a better superhero to go with when adapting the Character Action genre to the west. Batman has no powers, and relies entirely on his gadgets and martial arts training to effectively subdue those in front of him. This allowed the Arkham series to shine as a half Character Action, half Stealth Puzzle game, creating what was effectively a 3D Third Person Metroidvania Brawler. It was a match made in Heaven. The end result of the Arkham Series popularity created an entire genre of combat and gameplay styles that have majorly impacted and outlived the Arkham series, with pretty much any super hero game afterwards being simply an Arkham game with a skin. It also meant that Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment, the publisher, had an effective cash cow they could milk for everything it was worth. Immediately after the publication of the first game, Batman: Arkham Aslyum, production began on a second game titled Batman: Arkham City that was much larger in scope. Set to be an open world that took place in all of Gotham as the inmates of the Aslyum escaped and overtook the city. Batman: Arkham City was released in 2011 to absolute critical praise and from that point on, the Arkham Series of games was here to stay and here to become a franchise with yearly release Al-a Call of Duty. A mobile game came out the same year as the second game, and every year after following you had at least 2 games in the Arkham-verse release thereafter. Rocksteady, bless their overworked and creatively burnt out hearts, could not keep up with this demand while they developed a sequel to Arkham City that was meant to be even larger in scope. Warner Brothers instead then tapped an in-house development team, WB Games Montreal, for a prequel game that took place as the Batman was finding his footing and dealing with his first major crime outbreak.

This prequel came to be known as Batman: Arkham Origins and was released in 2013. It's widely considered by fans of the series to be the black sheep of the series. Having none of the original charm or excitement of the first games, as it was made to be a yearly entry into the series rather than with the care and attention that Rocksteady put into the previous two entries. Warner Brothers Interactive however were very, very sure that they wanted to put all their eggs in this new Arkham prequel themed basket and developed not just one, not just two, but three separate spin offs! These spinoffs were as follows:

- An iOS mobile fighting game that had the same name as the original game developed by the Mortal Kombat developers Netherrealm Studios(Fun fact: This is the 2nd iOS Arkham fighting game they had made at that point.)

-An animated direct to video sequel-to-the-prequel titled "Batman: Assault on Arkham" that ultimately bombed pretty hard.

-And finally the game I'll be writing about today, a Playstation Vita/Nintendo 3DS (And later PC/Xbox 360/Playstation 3 release with updated textures) side game that was also sequel-to-the-prequel known as Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate.

Even reading this back in 2020, I cannot fathom why they had such confidence in this series as to fund this many projects in this specific prequel time period of the Arkham Universe. Needless to say, all of these were critical failures. But being one of the 6 people left in the world who still excitedly owns a Playstation Vita in 2020, I was goaded by the other 5 to give the final spin-off game a shot.

And so I did.

I want my 8 hours of life it took to complete it back.

Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate is a 2.5D Metroidvania that tries really, really hard to be a mainline Arkham game despite being designed primarily as a Metroidvania. For those unaware, a metroidvania is a genre of game that features a large map with procedural upgrades that allow you to access more and more of the map, often requiring you to remember locations so that you can backtrack to them and try out new upgrades to see if they let you into these new areas. Blackgate follows this formula and does it very, very, very poorly.

You might be feeling a bit of confusion here, though, as earlier within this article I described the Arkham main line series as essentially a 3D Metroidvania style of games. And given this earlier comparison, when going into Blackgate I honestly expected this combination of an Arkham game that was more focused on being a Metroidvania to be really good! Metroidvanias are one of my favorite types of genres and I'm regrettably a fan of the Arkham games, so I was all set and ready to settle into what I was hoping would be a good game, or at least a decent one.

The issues with the genre this game has decided to cram itself awkwardly into are immediate and apparent the moment you boot the game. Being 2.5D, which in every other instance I've ever seen means "Plays exactly like a 2D game in every way, but is just done in 3d and thus uses 3D Models" Blackgate decides that sort of consistency is beneath it and constantly shifts its own perspective. Its never not a sidescrolling camera view, but its levels also have you make turns in L-Shaped corridors that mean your map screen is entirely useless. In Metroid: Zero Mission, for example, your map is a side on view of the chambers. It has long sections that go up and down in what is effectively the Y axis, and long corridors that go left and right in the X axis. This is how every single Metroidvania does its Map screen, including other 2.5D Metroidvanias I have played in the past. To do so otherwise would destroy any sense of understanding of verticality that exists within the game world. No Metroidvania ever "turns" in the middle of a corridor into another corridor that suddenly goes forwards and backwards on what would be the Z axis.

In Blackgate, however, your map screen is a top-down view of Arkham Aslyum that has corridors that go forwards and backwards, left and right, and does noting to denote any verticality in any of the areas. What this effectively means is that you're going to spend an annoying amount of time moving forward into a corridor and then hitting your map button to try and discern exactly where the hell you are in relation to the rest of the world. It doesn't help then that the facility of Arkham Aslyum is not traversed normally, as almost all doors and elevators and any set of stairs are non-existent and the ones that are there do not work or are not accessible. The Facility is in ruins due to the events of the game and that means you will constantly be working your way through crawlspaces and vents or even simply holes in the floor or cieling that allow you to progress around the map. Again, this betrays a core tenat of any Metroidvania, as backtracking to locations is a huge and important part of the core gameplay loop. Doing so in Blackgate is like pulling teeth trying to remember which vent took you where and what specific level of verticality you need to be on that takes you where you want to go.

The combat is copy/pasted directly from any other arkham game, where you magnetically snap between enemies and have a combo meter that is broken if you're hit as well as a parry system for incoming attacks. This system, in short, does not work in the slightest in a side scrolling perspective. Not only are enemies often grouped up in a way that makes keeping a combo impossible, but for some reason you are almost always unable to counter someone who is about to hit you if you're not directly facing them. Effectively this turns every fight into a chore where you are just trying to get through it as quickly as possible while trying your best to maintain a combo. In the mainline arkham series, they eventually start adding enemies that have to be taken out in special ways, such as stunning them with your cape or jumping over them as they have armor on their front. Blackgate tries to do the same thing, but effectively gives up after 2 unique enemies as the system just doesn't allow for anything else. The combat isn't absolutely the worst i've ever played, but its definitely the worst version of the Arkham combat system's that i've ever seen. To top it off, the Boss fights within the game are all "Puzzles" of a kind where you must navigate a room in a specific way to hit a Boss 3 times. The frustrating aspect of these puzzle based boss fights is that they may only be solved one way, with no room for experimentation with the Batmans various arsenal of Gadgets and Tools, and also that any mistake will instantly kill you and reset your progress to the start of the fight. These are, in a word, frustrating. More often than not they become a trial of repetition to try and find whatever way the game wants you to subdue the Boss.

An example of one of these incompetent boss fights that irked me the most would be the Black Mask fight. Within this fight, you come in from the left side and use a batarang to take out a single light out of a row of them. This may lead you to believe that you must take out all the lights and take out Black Mask in complete darkness. This is not the case. Instead, you must take out one single light and then duck into the crawl space under the masked Villain, then come out of the end of the vent below him, and hit an alarm on the side you used to be on. This causes him to start shooting in that direction at the sound. At this point, you may think you sneak up behind him and take him out while he's distracted. Unfortunately, you'd still be wrong! Trying this will result in him immediately realizing you're behind him and turn around, filling you with bullets and instantly killing you. What you must do instead is to go back into the grates while he moves towards the center of the arena. At this point, you must jump up from the grates when prompted to one-hit KO him, being one of the few bosses you do not have to hit 3 times. A fun fact about this fight however, is that if you miss that opportunity then the fight soft locks and you have to let him kill you to restart. Every fight is like this, with this much incompetence abound.

You may have noticed at this point that I have neglected to mention any of the Bats arsenal or Toolkit that you use during the course of the game. That is because, frankly, it does not matter. The upgrades you get simply allow you to go into different doors or different vents or break holes into walls but that's it. They serve no other gameplay purpose, no other combat role, nothing. A common trend within Metroidvanias is that the upgrades you get are dual purpose. An example being the Ice Beam from literally any Metroid game. This is both a damage up and allows you to stunlock difficult enemies, it also allows you to freeze enemies and turn them into platforms with which to progress the further into the map. No gadget within Blackgate serves this dual purpose, and as such there's barely any point to even bring them up other to lament their boring design.

The problem with Gadgets is moreso just a part of a much larger pacing problem that the entire game suffers from. Blackgate is divided into three maps, wherein you must search different wings of Arkham Aslyum to find The Joker, Penguin, and Black Mask as they have all escaped and cordoned off each zone into a headquarters for their respective gang of thugs. Something quite common within Metroidvanias is non-linearity, wherein you can get to an objective in any way that you have access to via your upgrades. There are numerous methods where you may even "Sequence break" the game, or do something earlier than you are intended to do so by the natural flow of the game. This is not a design oversight, it is an intentional part of the formula. I can only assume then that splitting up the game into these 3 chunks was an attempt at recreating this non-linearity. But it effectively does not matter. At a certain point in any of the maps, you will be stopped and told to go to another to procure an upgrade to proceed. There are no other options. There is no sequence breaking. There isn't even a point to explore anywhere else. You cannot progress the game until you do exactly what it asks of you. No matter what order you'd actually like to do it in, you will take on Penguin, then Black Mask, then The Joker. You are not allowed to deviate from this path. The fact that this linearity is forced onto you just makes me wish the ability to pick and choose your map had just been taken out and the charade of non-linearity taken away, as it feels more like a slap in the face that everytime I tried to explore somewhere, the game halted me and told me I wasn't allowed to do that.

So, at this point all I have left to cover is the story. As it is, its bare bones. Prisoners have escaped, you need to go chase them back into their cells and restore peace in Arkham, meanwhile Catwoman is helping you out over comms and guiding you to where you need to go next. The opening of the game actually has you spend about 10 minutes chasing catwoman, only to be stopped by literal police when you catch her, to which Bruce simply tells them that the law is actually in his hands as the Batman, and then proceeds to beat up and subdue these police while letting Catwoman escape, who then secretly triggers the entire charade within Arkham so that she may escape with Bane who is hidden within a literal fucking panopticon inside the lowest bowels of the Aslyum. Standard Batman story, very by the book.

But there is something much, much more interesting at play within Blackgate. Something I'm not entirely sure the developers intended. I started this article with a preamble about the latent fascism of Bruce Wayne and the reason for that is because the game seemingly understands that these things are a problem. Within the game, you often can hear the low level grunts that you can fight around the various maps long before they see you. If you simply wait a moment and listen to some of their idle dialogue, they have a surprising amount of complaints about their crazed villainous bosses, but they've also got quite a lot to say about the state of Gotham itself. These citizens of the disastrous city will often lament that they have no other choice than to work for one of these absolute lunatics. They often state they know they will likely die on this job, and that they know they are disposable to their bosses, and generally that they do not like the positions they are in job-wise. However they're very clear in stating that they no choice. No education, being a convicted felon, and most of all with Batman patrolling the streets? A life of crime that leads directly into a stint on Arkham Aslyum is the life of a good 80% of Gothams population. They even talk at times about forming unions before laughing off the idea as they know they will be outright murdered by one of their respective bosses.

So Blackgate is aware of the issues of Batman, right? Its grunts repeatedly belt out the same problems that any easy criticism of Batman has. The problem, however, is that because these are grunts of a gang and because Batman is supposed to be Cool and The Good Guy, these are meant to be treated as jokes. Not legitimate criticisms, not actual problems, just stupid things that stupid criminals are saying. Blackgate is obsessed with maintaining the image that Batman is actually in the right morally for everything he does. An image it only struggles to maintain as its revealed later that Bruce's corporation, Waynecorp, FUNDS Arkham Aslyum. Those upgrades you get? they are various upgrades left around by Bruce's construction teams ON PURPOSE in case a prison riot ever happened. Meanwhile, a minor bossfight early on has a, and I wish I was joking here, black man in prison for a crime he didn't commit directly tell Batman that not only does he not want to hurt him(Penguin has him at gunpoint and forces him to fight you, thus the boss battle) but that he did not commit the crime he was thrown in jail for, and that if batman was at gunpoint with no other option he'd do the same things. Batman simply responds that he, being the rich white man that he is, would never be in the same position as his enemy. Subtle racism, I guess, is another one of Batmans infinite gadgets on his toolkit.

I cannot stress enough how deeply fucked up this all is. Bruce spends his days funding a what is essentially a private prison that he controls in a city that is so poor he is the de-facto owner of it, only to spend his nights putting whoever he decides is a bad person into these prisons while creating the conditions that lead to so many people following a life of crime. The game is explicit about this. It does not do like the rest of Batman media and shy away from the criticisms of Bruces latent fascism, it lays them completely bare. But it expects that you will think Batman is actually morally justified for creating this prison pipeline he directly profits from while he gets to LARP at night as a spectre of justice. It's despicable and while I don't think it was done on purpose, it was clearly a rushed game made very quickly for handhelds so that there'd be a yearly Arkham game, it says a lot about our consumption of superhero related media which already has many problematic aspects that the creators of this game expected, and were likely right to expect, that we would find this latent fascism and prison pipeline inherently understandable and even morally justified and badass. It's one of the reasons I couldn't wait to simply put the game down and never think about it again. Something I'll be glad to do as soon as I finish this article.

So, final words then.

Blackgate is a shit game. Its a shit metroidvania, with a shit upgrade system, a boring story, WILDLY problematic politics and a take on Batman. It doesn’t work as an Arkham game, it doesn’t work as a Metroidvania, it barely functions as anything even remotely interesting to put your time into, I don't know why Warner Brothers was so invested in this world. I don't know why they put so much money into the Origins timeline. But we're all better off with the fact that it failed and that after Arkham Knight, the final of the Arkham Trilogy(from Rocksteady), they planned to end the series.

Oh wait, they're making a Suicide Squad game set in the Arkham-verse due to release in 2021, apparently.

Fucking hell.

#Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate #Review #Played on: PS Vita

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Pace of Play

She can’t believe she’s never noticed it before. Because, honestly, Emma can’t even come up with a number to try and calculate how often she’s watched Killian step into the batters box. And that’s the thing. He never really steps out, either. It's a weird approach, but that could be the subheadline for their lives at this point and she’s mostly concerned with the power behind that swing.

—-

Word Count: Like 3.4K Rating: Teen, but with kissing! AN: This is solely for and because of @distant-rose who deserves every bit of baseball fic I have ever written and all the good things in any known universe. And speaking of universes. This is set in that Yankees one where Emma and Killian secretly date because David also plays for the Red Sox. If you’re so inclined to read more:

Batting a Thousand (the original one) || Puppy Love (the one where they get a puppy) || The One Where They Elope || The One Where Killian and David Take the Rivalry Too Far

Let’s go Yankees.

—

“Is it weird that he does that?”

Emma makes a noise — barely more than a passing acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the field because Killian is up to bat and she’d lost feeling in her left foot at some point. She’s twisted at an awkward angle, legs draped over the suite seats in front of her, but she absolutely, positively cannot move.

On pain of death.

Or baseball superstition.

They’ve got to win this game. They can’t go down by two in the series. Not with the way they’ve been hitting and they need to hit better and Emma genuinely cannot remember the last time she took a deep breath.

She fiddles with the ring on her left hand.

And the ring hanging around her neck. It’s some sort of weird pattern, the weight of Mary Margaret’s gaze boring into the back of her head and David had started pacing at some point in the fourth inning.

“He’s swinging half a second too late,” David announces, which only leads to Emma nearly strangling herself. Mary Margaret has to lean over to untangle her fingers.

“Thank you, player not currently competing in the postseason,” Emma mutters.

“Ah, that’s mean.”

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “it’s not like David would be hitting in this series anyway. Plus—“

“Mary Margaret, if you tell me that David could really add something to the Yankees starting rotation right now, I may actually scream,” Emma warns. Elsa moves her hand over her mouth.

Her laugh is still very loud.

“Ok, that’s not what I was going to say at all—it’s not, seriously stop glaring at the field, it’s freaking me out.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s definitely glaring at the field and she cannot fathom a world where this game doesn’t end with a win and the season doesn’t end with another title and they got married, in the middle of the season, in secret. There are rules about happily ever after.

And sports emotions.

He’s definitely swinging half a second too late.

“See,” David mutters.

Emma grits her teeth. “I am not in the mood for I told you so, right now.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that.”

“Technically,” Elsa amends. She’s stood up as well, a hand pushing on David’s chest when he threatens to wear out the carpet in the suite. “And is no one going to answer my question? Because I know I know nothing about this painfully long sport—“

“—It is the sixth inning,” Emma interrupts.

“We’ve been here for hours, seriously. How often can you change pitchers?”

“Bring it up to Rob Manfred,” David says. Elsa swats at his shoulder that time. “Three-batter minimum for relievers. No more specialists. Pace of play.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

Emma mumbles a curse under her breath, ignoring the growing ache that’s circling around her knee and, somehow, the side of her hip. Killian rocks back on his heels in the box, hardly unbending his knees, even when he swings the bat in front of him, and Emma is dimly aware that Elsa is still talking. She’s not listening. She’s staring. Watching, really. Intently.

“Em, seriously are you listening to your brother and whatever tongues he’s started speaking in?”

“Nah, not at all.”

Elsa clicks her tongue in reproach. It doesn’t matter — Killian’s already digging his toes into the dirt again, quick taps of the bat on the front and back of the plate and—

“Seriously, why does no one else bat like this?”

Emma may growl. Although she’s not sure if that’s because Killian’s just fouled off a ball in the dirt or because Elsa isn’t making any sense, but it really may just be because of the pins and needles stretching into her calf and she snaps her jaw no less than a dozen times.

They’re pumping the live broadcast into the suite — more words Emma hasn’t really been paying attention to, what with the swirling nerves in the pit of her stomach and her heart’s apparent determination to linger in the very center of her throat.

“You know that’s not true,” Mary Margaret mumbles, finally getting Emma to pull her gaze away from home plate.

“What?”

“You cannot have an even count. That’s not how numbers work.”

Elsa sighs. “If you guys are going to keep not making sense, then I’m going to leave. Also, I totally saw Emma and Killian making out before the start of the game.”

David sounds like he’s dying.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs. “We are married.”

She enunciates every letter of each word — as if that will make them more official or remind the world that she deserves good things and drama-free wins and, maybe, a few home runs over the short right field porch with impressive exit velocity.

“An even count does not make sense,” Mary Margaret repeats, as if they simply hadn’t heard her before. Maybe Emma can find another suite to watch the rest of the game in.

It probably wouldn’t be that hard.

Everyone at the Stadium knows her now, quick smiles whenever she’s downstairs and the security guy at Gate 4 has started waving at her, a muttered Mrs. Jones that never fails to make her heart clench and do several metaphorical somersaults in quick succession.

Killian hits a fly ball over the third base line.

And Emma slumps further into her seat. Her knee does not appreciate it at all.

“How does an even count not make sense, babe?” David asks, all placating and somehow even more married than Emma keeps reminding him that she also is.

“People say even counts on, you know, 1-1 or 2-2, but that doesn’t make sense. A 2-2 count still has more room for balls than strikes. Ergo—“

“—Oh good word,” Elsa laughs.

Mary Margaret winks. Emma’s never really noticed how high Killian’s elbow gets when he settles into his stance. He doesn’t move the bat that much, but Emma swears she can’t practically taste the energy on her tongue, which is either the most disgusting or most romantic thing she’s ever thought and—

Killian fouls another ball off.

“Battling,” David mumbles. She definitely growls that time. It hurts her throat.

He grins.

And Killian never actually steps out of the box — even when the Houston pitcher moves off the rubber, glancing at the inside of his hat for brand-new signs. David’s mumbling something that sounds like I hate when I have to do that, but Emma’s started to realize what Elsa meant.

She’s right.

Killian Jones does not bat like anyone else on the Yankees roster. Maybe even the entire MLB.

That sounds a little dramatic, though. Emma can’t get that dramatic until they win the pennant.

They’re totally going to win the pennant.

He lines his feet up again, the side of his cleat nearly brushing the back of the box, which only makes it obvious how far apart his legs move, that same distinct bend to his knees and a ridiculously high elbow and he kicks his foot out slightly when he swings.

Emma knows. As soon as the ball cracks off the bat.

She jumps up — somehow, without also managing to dislocate several joints at the same time — the ring around her neck flying up and nearly smacking her in the nose. And Emma isn’t sure what noise she makes per se, but it leaves Elsa giggling and Mary Margaret casting furtive glances at David and neither one of those matter when the ball keeps going.

Going, going, gone.

Directly into right center field.

Emma’s jumping, which probably isn’t great considering she can’t really feel any part of her left leg anymore, but Killian’s jogging around he bases and she can see his mouth move, David’s continued stream of commentary echoing between her ears.

“It’s honestly offensive how easy his swing is,” he grumbles. “Where does he even get that kind of power?”

“The making out,” Elsa responds, like it’s obvious. Emma almost chokes on her tongue.

Killian’s rounding third — a quick glance into the Astros dugout and a smile that might be half the reason Emma keeps toying with the ring on her left hand. Possibly like sixty-seven percent. Batting a thousand, or whatever.

She’s too excited to remember appropriate baseball cliches.

He glances up when he steps on home, and she knows he can’t actually see into the team suite, but it’s still exceptionally nice to think about and her heart does half a dozen front flips at that.

And there’s more game — pitches that Emma is certain raise her blood pressure and swings and misses and it’s still a save situation, so she starts pacing at some point too, but then they’re playing New York, New York and Killian’s answering questions on a post-game report and Emma’s standing in the tunnel downstairs and she absolute, positively runs.

It’s impossibly dramatic.

Especially in Game Four.

She hears Killian’s laugh before she actually looks at his face, arms around her waist and her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He tightens his hold, only one of her feet staying on the ground.

Emma kisses wherever she can reach, which isn’t really saying much what with the awkward angle of her neck, but Killian doesn’t seem to mind, dragging his own lips over the side of her jaw.

Someone whistles.

It’s definitely Will.

“Should hit more home runs,” Killian mumbles, and it’s testament to postseason adrenaline that he doesn’t drop her when Emma starts to laugh as well.

Will might be gagging now.

Emma hums. “Something you might want to take into consideration.”

“That so?”

“I mean—I could not jump you post if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, no, I never once said that. Did you yell very loudly, Swan?”

“I think you’re fishing for compliments.”

“Absolutely.”

She might giggle. It’s absurd. She can’t get over the angle of his elbow when he bats. “God, that’s so stupid.”

“It’s strange, I’m not getting that compliment vibe anymore, love.”

“I yelled very loudly, scandalized my brother and I’ve got a question for you.”

Killian leans back, head nearly colliding with a wall covered in blue and white paint and the team name in enormous letters. As if they aren’t all constantly aware of where they are. History, or something. “About?”

“Well, Elsa actually brought it up, but—“

“—Jones,” a voice calls from the clubhouse, and Killian groans far louder than he should. Emma isn’t sure if that’s because of the voice or the only slightly accidental way she rolls her hips against him.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

“You’ve still got media.”

“I’m going to shower first.”

“They’ve got deadlines, babe.”

“I’m going to shower first,” Killian repeats. “Then I will answer questions, get ice, get a car and—“ He trails a finger up the back of her spine, making Emma twist in his hold while her teeth find her lower lip. Her breath hitches. And that smile is as different from the one he flashed in-game as it is possible for one smile to be, not quite triumphant, but maybe a little determined and she assumes she moves first.

If only because he’s still smiling when her mouth crashes into his.

Killian pulls her tighter against his chest, backing up even more so he’s got something to rest his weight on and neither one of them acknowledges the now very-clearly annoyed clubhouse voice. He tilts his head instead, mouth opening against Emma’s and tongue swiping across the lip she’d been toying with.

His hand works its way under her shirt, the same number he’d been wearing and Emma arches into the touch almost immediately. It leave hers hips canted up again, a move that is not even remotely appropriate for the bowels of Yankee Stadium, and she can only imagine that George Steinbrenner is getting dangerously close to rising from his grave and chastising them for conduct detrimental to the team.

Emma’s arms shift, fingers pushing into Killian’s hair and that only gets him to groan again, but then she’s ghosting over the side of a clean-shaven face and he has to shave every morning.

Her heart is in almost perpetuate state of upheaval.

It’s the best goddamn thing in the world.

“I’ve got to go, love,” Killian murmurs, mostly into her mouth. Also nice. Better than nice. She’s going to look up the projected distance of that home run in the Uber home.

“I really yelled ridiculously loud.”

“I’ve got no doubt. I’ll see you at home, ok?”

Emma nods — a few more quick and slightly stolen kisses, which is an almost appropriate baseball joke. Kind of. No one really steals bases anymore.

And she’s got every intention of waiting up. She does. She’s got plans and questions about batting stances, but the corner of the couch is surprisingly comfortable and the sudden lack of postseason adrenaline rushing through her leaves her questionably exhausted with eyes that refuse to watch another loop of SportsCenter.

Emma jolts up when she hears the front door close, a lock clicking behind him and one side of Killian’s mouth tugs up when he walks into the room.

She’s still wearing her shirt.

And not much else.

“That seems like cheating,” he says softly, crouching in front of the couch. She’s thinking about his knees again.

“All hail the conquering hero or whatever.”

“Is this my welcoming committee, then?”

“Something like that,” Emma laughs, pushing up and Killian moves between her legs as soon as her feet find their way back to the floor. “Did you scandalize any journalists?”

“Nah, that’s not really my game.”

“Just hitting home runs.”

“Made the Top Ten.”

“No shit.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at Emma’s cheek. “You’ve got ESPN on, Swan. Did you not see?”

“I mean I saw the real thing, so—“

“—Ah, yeah, that is true. You can’t be very comfortable.”

“It’s going ok.”

“That so?”

She nods again — suddenly finding it difficult to respond when his eyes do that impossibly blue thing, dark with something close to want, and he can’t seem to decide where to look. His gaze snaps from hers down to the ring that’s fallen back over her shirt and the one on her hand and at some point in the last few months, he’s started brushing his thumb underneath it with an almost alarming regularity. Like, for good luck or something.

Baseball players are the weirdest.

“What did you want to ask me before?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had a question,” Killian says. “What about?”

“Oh, oh, yeah—your elbow.”

He blinks. It’s an oddly satisfying response, and Killian nearly falls over when Emma stands up, gaze shifting again to the distinct lack of pants she’s got on. She can see the tip of his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“Like I said, El brought it up—“

“—I’d really you rather didn’t talk about Elsa when there’s so much of your leg on display.”

“Leg, singular?”

“Swan.”

She sticks her tongue out, but that only leads to an even bluer blue and she’s got to stop thinking about the way his knees bend. Maybe she’s the weird one. “Ok, ok, just—why do you bat like you do?”

“Are we on the record?”

“I mean no— because obviously I know how you bat—do not look at me like that.” He smirks, pulling his lips behind his teeth and sitting down. It’s ridiculous, his legs pulled up against his chest and his chin resting on an upturned palm. “I could probably reenact your stance in my sleep.”

“That so?”

“I will kick you.”

“I’ve got to play tomorrow,” Killian counters. “Something about prime agility at the hot corner.”

“You don’t ever come out of the batters box.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s super weird. I mean—other guys call time like twenty-six times and—“

“—No ump is letting anyone call time twenty-six times.”

She rolls her eyes, but Killian appears to have been counting on that and Emma has started bobbing on the balls of her feet. “Take my exaggerated point for what it is. All I’m saying is, you never leave the box. Other guys do. Every single pitch. They take practice swings or they refit their gloves and—“

“—I don’t always wear gloves.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Where did my elbow fit into this, exactly?”

“It’s so high up when you bat,” Emma exclaims. The projected distance of that home run was four-hundred and twenty-six feet. Eventually she will blame this tirade on that.

Killian nods, tapping his fingers on the side of Emma’s ankle until she stills. “Yeah, that’s a whole thing. It’s, uh—well, the elbow is high, so I’ve got more momentum when I swing. Physics and all that. Helps with your hips too. And the wide stance.”

“So you can stay behind the ball.”

“And you acted like you didn’t know why I did it.”

“Nah,” Emma objects, “I get why you’re doing it. I just—well, El was talking about you staying in the box and—“

“—Mind games.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mind games,” Killian repeats with a shrug. “You’re right. Almost every other batter moves around between pitches, but when I first started playing there wasn’t a ton of time to do that. I—well, Liam used to toss me batting practice and it was always kind of in between everything else we were doing and so I never thought about stepping out of the box because I was cutting into my own practice time.”

Emma presses her lips together, something different than the usual gymnastics taking place in her stomach. It’s a little softer, quieter and even more comfortable. Like their couch. But in a way that sounds nicer than that.

“And now,” Killian continues, “it drives opposing pitchers insane. Your brother, especially. He hates when I don’t step out. Because then he’s got to get back into his windup quicker.”

“You’re toying with them.”

“A little. Pace of play, you know.”

Emma laughs, absent-mindedly moving her hands like she’s swinging an invisible bat over her head. It’s admittedly a little weird as far as flirting goes, but she figures the playoffs afford for these kind of moments. And Killian doesn’t move quickly when he stands, Emma’s eyes lingering on his mouth longer than they probably should, just steps into her space and twists her against his chest and—

“Lift your elbow up a bit, love.”

“This is a cliche.”

“We’re not actually on a field, I think that sets us apart.”

She scoffs, twisting her hips. That time is on purpose. Killian groans, head dropping to her shoulder so he can nip at the bit of skin there. “You were the one who said you could reenact my stance in your sleep,” he points out.

“Well, it’s distinct.”

Killian hums, and there’s this absolutely delightful thrum in Emma’s veins — wide awake and ready to flirt. She kicks her feet out, one then the other, like she’s tapping her toes with the bat. She pushes down the visor of an invisible helmet, squaring up to a home plate that isn’t there, rocks her weight from side to side.

“I can’t believe you remembered the visor thing,” Killian mutters. “You know, Swan, I think you might be stalking me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

“Your elbow is still too low.”

“Does this not hurt your shoulder?”

“You get used to it.” Emma grumbles, but lifts her elbow up anyway, an angle her normal, human body is not used to bending at. “Now,” Killian mutters, dropping his mouth just behind her ear, “kick your front leg out, snap your hips forward and—“

Emma swings.

Which is only a little absurd, considering they’re standing in their living room and she’s definitely heard this start to SportsCenter three times already, but they won and that’s got to count for something.

Several things.

Everything.

“Straight shot into the bleachers,” Killian says.

“Right or left?”

“Batters choice.”

“I always think it’s more impressive when you can pull one.”

He spins her — that same look from before growing more pronounced and still just as attractive as ever. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Agreed,” Killian nods, and Emma isn’t really sure how they ever get into their bedroom, but there’s probably a postseason excuses and home runs and her shirt spends most of the night in the hallway.

Emma picks it up the next morning, coffee already brewing and the SportsCenter theme obvious and she lets her legs drape over Killian’s when they both watch the number one play.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #there should probably be a tag for all these fics huh #there probably won't ever be #this is unashamedly and obviously about aaron judge's batting stance #if i ever write a baseball fic that isn't about the yankees i'm probably dead #also writing game action is my favorite

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devilgem-archive · 4 years

Text

hazbin/helluva impact ramblings bcoz i Will Never Shut Up

charlie,vaggie & angel are our main heroes here, their demon nicknames are likely codenames they use on missions; charlie’s would be something based off lucifer, while vaggie & angel’s real names are irene & martin respectively ik the latter isnt canon anymore but it aint gnna stop me from using it as a placeholder.

charlie has very rose-tinted views on being a valkyrie & saving the world. most that come across her think shes stupid & cannot fathom how she could actually be of magne blood, a lineage very down to earth and serious about their jobs as defenders of humanity. her idealisms are greatly battered post-HoD, and a more melancholic persona replaces her former happy-go-lucky nature.

angel is a cocky, borderline trigger-happy berserker who thinks he’s better than he actually is- a seasoned warrior! just let him in on the frontlines, who needs exams amiright! beneath the exterior is caring heart who believes in what he fights for & is actually quite protective of vaggie and charlie, whom he views as younger sisters.

vaggie is the voice of reason of the team & charlie’s loving gf, always ready to defend her loved ones and those who cannot protect themselves at a moment’s notice. she had a herrscher core (which exactly is undecided), but it was stolen by HoD!charlie; her whereabouts has been a mystery since the incident, but surely it involves her determination to help her girlfriend in whatever way she can.

alastor was known was the herrscher of death (either from the 30s or like. early 2000s like sirin i guess???); once a normal boy named millicent, his hatred for humanity’s wrongdoings allowed him to ascend with godlike powers & undertook “god’s” holy mission to eradicate the earth of "vermin”...nearly succeeding in doing so had it not been for a certain someone that was able to rip the gem of serenity out of him & stop the disaster altogether

husk (gabriel) & niffty (dorothy) were psuedo-herrschers, powers bestowed by their dearest companion millicent. they were also killed in the events of the 2nd impact.

charlie is technically the reincarnation of alastor--his human conscience specifically--making them one in the same. having lost multiple children before, lilith was desperate for a child strong enough to carry on the shining legacy of the magne family- and turned to other means of attaining what she wanted. she was carrying our little bundle of sunshine when they implanted the core (without really telling lilith what it is exactly...) in her womb. for all the grief that this very decision would come to inflict, charlie would not have not lived as long as she did without alastor’s core,

charlie is also dubbed as project CH-423 (creative i know), the few aware of her ‘true nature’ refer to her as this. sometimes simply ‘alastor.’

razzle & dazzle are charlie’s little twin brothers and the youngest of the magne family. probably the roza+lili of the story

katie is a greedy bitch as always. she willingly sold charlie out to the organization hunting for her, and was offered a handsome reward and extra protection for the feat. have no fear! she’s not totally terrible, as she would gain second thoughts of her decision when a more matured charlie brings to light the true nature of her new ‘boss.’ kind of like rita?

blitzo is a berserker not much older than charlie & co but has enough skill to play the role of their instructor. same smug bastard, with a visible mature streak; he is serious in dishing out in rules & lessons, with little qualms in whipping fluffheaded idealists like charlie into shape. he has horns & a tail resembling those of fire-elemental honkai beasts, from a Grand Idea of injecting honkai dna directly into his bloodstream years ago, when he was an immature youth filled with big dreams-- much more closer to canon blitz. with time, he becomes fond of charlie; to the point he willingly went on what boils down to a suicide mission to reawaken her from alastor’s grasp, with faith she would be able to better the world like she’d always wanted.

blitz grew up with moxxie, millie, loona (his adoptive sister) & stolas, brought together by their parents who were researchers at a honkai lab. an outbreak separated blitz from his friends & believes them to be dead.

i am. literally so confused as to what the current arc is about. what is the new organization,, im assuming world serpent??? ill just leave it at this.

#not everythign is set in stone #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #trash aus #headcanons #txt #long post //

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nnessarose · 5 years

Text

my take on gelphie.

Firstly, I’m going to start by clarifying (whether you choose to read this or not) that I do NOT hate this ship in any way, shape, or form. I think it’s cute! Additionally, I am not purposely intending to harm or hate on anyone by writing this or make fun of any tropes that have sprung up in the fandom regarding that pair. If something that I address may apply to you, please keep in mind that I am not a robot and have not kept track of everything that you, personally, have done and that, therefore, it is not about just you! These are just my thoughts and my interpretation about the whole thing. This post is going to be entirely musical-based both because I have no problem with the book’s development of them, most of the book-based fanfiction is reasonable, and because I don’t want to only pick on the good/bad parts of each of them. Also, most of my thoughts DO come from the musical and others’ interpretations of it. So, if you choose to read this - I hope you enjoy it! If not, have a great day!

The first thing I would like to address (if that’s the proper word) is how much I dislike the idea that as soon as they saw each other that they fell in love. I think that this is inaccurate and, honestly, a bit of a gigantic stretch. When Elphaba arrives at Shiz, she is delighted to meet new people but is quickly heartbroken by their prejudiced stares and rude comments to her. This is, undeniably, also done by Galinda. The idea that she bullies Elphaba because she is interested in her romantically is honestly just terrible ; it’s the same thing as telling a little girl that the boy who picks on her just likes her. Throughout the introductory scene at Shiz, Galinda makes jabs at Elphaba while Elphaba stands far away from her (behind Nessarose) and makes fun of the way she speaks with her sister. When Galinda accidentally volunteers to room with Elphaba, it truly is accidental ( though - thankfully - the fandom seems to accept that). This, however, brings us to the next interpretation that I dislike.

“What Is this Feeling” is not a love song. I genuinely cannot tell if some people in this fandom are joking about this or not. It does, of course, have humor in it of mocking a love song ( “my pulse is rushing”, “my head is reeling”, etc.) but that is clearly done only for satirical purposes! After that, the song is just them picking on each other and hating for the sole reason of hating. One could argue that it is simply them denying their feelings for the other, but that simply is not true! Galinda is clearly spreading these rumors around to her friends and they are making it to the entirety of the student body who teams up against Elphaba simply to bully her. The only person on Elphaba’s side at this moment is Doctor Dillamond and Nessa, while the entire school sees Galinda as some sort of hero. I cannot fathom how people can twist this harmful bullying into love and honestly, it’s disgusting. The two girls obviously are not in love at this point, nor are they even fond of each other. Elphaba makes it clear that the only friend she has there is Nessa, if anyone.

To restate, the bullying doesn’t end when the song does. Throughout Doctor Dillamond’s class, Galinda proves herself to be mean again. She tears Elphaba down more and more, almost as if the girl has no emotions (or at least no HUMAN emotions). Galinda bullies Elphaba so much that it makes her not want to do anything, not want to hang out with any of her peers. Keep in mind that at this point in the show, Elphaba and Galinda have not had a proper conversation with one another, which is important. How can they possibly know each other enough to be infatuated? One may argue that their conversations are off-stage and, as valid as this may be, just doesn’t add up. If this was the case, they would not still bicker and hate each other in the later scenes.

This brings us to “Dancing Through Life”, another song that, despite how people try to twist it, is not where the two of them magically fall in love with one another. Elphaba has been bullied and beat down so much throughout the year that she refuses to attend the ball that Fiyero is hosting, calling it a “cultish social gathering”. One could debate that she only doesn’t want to go because of how Fiyero treated her earlier, but I think this is a stretch. She blames it on people going to “worship” him, but I think her real issue is that Galinda will be there, ready to make the entire school make fun of her. Otherwise, Elphaba would be jumping to go, if not just to accompany Nessarose to keep her safe, especially after she finds that she has a date. But it is so valid that Elphaba doesn’t want to go. She’s seen Boq stand right alongside Galinda when she throws insults her way and won’t go and ruin it for her sister.

Once Nessa tells her to do something nice for Galinda instead of hating her, Elphaba decides that this may just work. She can see the world for a moment through Nessa’s more innocent eyes and, even if just for a few moments, thinks that this plan may work and goes to talk to Madame Morrible about including her in the sorcery seminar, which she does. Elphaba rushes to tell Galinda what she has done for her, only to be greeted with a dirty trick. She thinks that the blonde has come around in offering her this hat and that it is now safe for her to attend the party. Elphaba does not, however, go to the party for Galinda. She knows that, even if they are on better terms, that they are friends. When she arrives, however, she just sees that she has fulfilled what she didn’t want to ; Nessa is embarrassed at her sister’s outfit and upset that she had the nerve to surprise her there.

Elphaba still decides to have the best time she can, taking the floor over to dance on if not only to say “fuck you” to her classmates. They laugh, they point, they make fun - but this time Elphaba doesn’t back down. She doesn’t let it get to her. For the first time, Galinda sees that despite her unnatural green color, she is human and experiences real human emotions. Galinda feels bad for what she has done as all of her actions come rushing back ; getting the school against the poor girl, calling her names - giving her that atrocious hat! Additionally, Madame Morrible had just told her that she was moved to her seminar (what Elphaba had been trying to tell her before). So, she goes to dance with her, perhaps as an apology. But this, still is NOT them falling in love with each other! You cannot, and should not, skip from hatred to infatuation that quickly. It isn’t healthy, and they are not an exception!

This is the beginning of their friendship. Yes, friendship. Before “Popular”, Galinda is eager to make up with her roommate and offers her simple companionship. She decides they should tell each other a secret. When Elphaba shares her deeply personal secret, Galinda again sees how she is experiencing the same human emotions that everyone does. This scene is their first proper conversation, and it is the beginning of their blooming friendship (and eventually relationship). Galinda doesn’t respect Elphaba when she doesn’t want to talk about the bottle and, to get her way in having Elphaba share a good secret, takes the bottle from her despite how clearly she was uncomfortable and protective of it. Galinda gives Elphaba a makeover and even calls her beautiful, but I still don’t believe this is truly them falling in love. One must pause to realize that the same day they had hated each other! There are a lot of things that still must be resolved and figured out before they can trust each other, not to mention that they are both young. Elphaba leaves during “Popular” because her emotions are too much for her to handle, this is true. However, I don’t see the emotions as being romantic yet. She is just overwhelmed by the sudden change in Galinda, wondering if she is being tricked again as she was just that same day. Elphaba begins to wonder if she or Nessa were right about the girl and her intentions.

From here, this is a divide over how the rest of the plot advances regarding a preference between Elphaba and Fiyero or Elphaba and Galinda. I think if Elphaba and Galinda fall in love, it happens in the time of the show between the scene with the Lion cub and “One Short Day”, but no sooner than that.

The last topic I would like to address is why I do not think Gelphie should only be endgame with the proper development of events post-musical. Before you hate me, let me start by saying this does not mean I don’t think they should be together. I do! I just genuinely do not believe that they would be the right person for each other if one only takes into account the events of the musical. Firstly, they have a lot of bad connotations with each other, what with the past bullying and, eventually the stress they caused each other. For Glinda, it’s the emotional stress she went through pretending to dislike Elphaba, the years fighting against her, the pain with what happened with FIyero (even if he was just a companion to her and not a true lover), etc. For Elphaba, it’s that Glinda never tried to help her, left her during “Defying Gravity”, was the reason her sister is dead, never denied the rumors like Fiyero did, etc. They are both stubborn, and I doubt either would bring up these issues to each other, much less actually resolve them. Glinda, throughout the entire musical, does not change until the very end despite knowing what she is doing is wrong. Elphaba doesn’t deserve that. Glinda took advantage of Elphaba’s vulnerability in a friendship for years, catering their relationship to her liking almost the entire time. If the two of them do not address these very prominent issues, their relationship will just slowly deteriorate over their ignored past

The point that is trying to be made is that while Gelphie does work, and it is adorable, I just don’t see how they can stay together without their relationship becoming unhealthy if they don’t have a proper and well-developed redemption arc. All the points that I brought up CAN be debated, even between me and myself as I was writing this! I think that whether they work at this point depends on how the rest of their days are fleshed out, whether Elphaba stays in Oz or not, and whether or not they chose to ignore the events of Act II. As wonderful as the thought of these two girls falling in love instantly may be, it is unrealistic that that is the case and, if it was, their relationship would never be healthy. Additionally, one must keep in mind that this is a musical! There isn’t enough time to include everything and as much as people claim that they would watch a four hour show - the general public would not. Changing around their character dynamics just doesn’t work. Wanting fluff is valid, but at what cost? People end up erasing some of the bad characteristics of Galinda (who was undeniably a horrible bully) and are erasing some of the strong characteristics of Elphaba (who still went to school and stayed loyal to Nessarose throughout all of the pain she went though herself). It isn’t fair to look past these just to validate your ship. Gelphie CAN work! In Act I, however, it is unlikely and Act II would need the right development to result in a happy relationship for the two of them. Once again, I will restate that I do NOT hate Gelphie. I simply wanted to share my thoughts on some aspects of how the fandom views their relationship.. I hope no one is mad at this post and please, please, please do not hate me for it! I love Gelphie, I really do!

#wicked the musical #gelphie #galinda #elphaba #glinda #please don't hate me #ONCE AGAIN IN THE TAGS - I DO SHIP THIS #CHARACTER! DEVELOPMENT!

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blehbleehhhh · 5 years

Text

CPR Confessions ft. Eremika <3

Do one where Eren restarts Mikasa's heart!

Ask and you shall receive a piece that's super fluffyfluffs ❤️😭 it made me so happy to write it omg. Sorry about the spacing. Cheers! x

No no no no no no

"Mikasa!? Mikasa!?" Eren couldn't get to her side fast enough when his feet slammed down on the tiled roof, and he immediately turned the girl onto her back, enabling him the ability to press his ear over her heart to see if it's still beating. But his blood ran cold when he realized that it wasn't. "No..." He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up in order to open her airways. "No, no, no...." Pinching her nose, Eren leaned in and sealed his lips around hers to blow a large amount of air into her lungs. "Come on, Mikasa!" Every syllable he speaks points to him being racked with guilt, regret, fear, and heartbreaking sadness as he laced his fingers together and pressed the heels of his palms into her chest.

1...2...3...1...2...3

Again, he pinched her nose, gave two breaths, and waited for her chest to fall again. "LEVI! I FOUND HER!" Eren's voice echoed through the otherwise empty streets, reminding him exactly when she may have ended up on the roof in the first place, though it wasn't nearly this quiet at the time. Perhaps a titan pulled her 3DMG and slammed her body too hard on the roof? Suddenly, it hit him how he may never get the chance to tell her how much he loves her, or how often he dreams of kissing those lips of hers in a way he imagines her loosing control. That realization hit him hard in the gut like when a titan slams into him and knocks him on the ground, breathless, speechless.

1...2...3...1...2...3

Eren's cheeks felt wet and his eyes stung so badly he struggled to keep them open. "Mikasa, please, please," he pleaded, leaning down to give her two more breaths as a few of his tears fall on her face. "Please, come back to me!" This time she coughed, and her eyes rolled around as she struggled to keep her eyelids open. "M-Mikasa?! LEVI WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!! Fight Mika, fight for me! You're strong enough, I know you can do it!" Gently, very gently, Eren cradled her upper body in his arms and wiped his own tears off of her beautiful, porcelain skin, stained with blood from her oozing scrapes. But then, her barely open, half lidded gaze went away and Eren felt his heart sink. "No! No, no, no, Mikasa, look at me. Look at me!" He sucked in a deep breath and watched her eyes roll around, blinking in attempt to stay open. "There you are," he let out a chuckle and swallowed his tears, glancing around him for the team until he finally spotted a horse drawn cart, and some of the squad soaring by other abandoned, dilapidated homes. "See, Mikasa? You're gonna be okay! No! No! Keep your beautiful eyes open, please, god, Mikasa, don't fucking die..." Eren buried his face in her chest and resisted the overwhelming urge to scream. "I'm so sorry, Mikasa, I'm so sorry... I cant live without you, please don't die."

A slam of three pairs of boots on the roof.

"Oi, move over, Eren," Connie's voice was calm and reassuring, but it betrayed the horrified look on his face. There must be many fallen comrades from this battle. “We've got her." When Eren looked up from his now unconscious best friend, his eyes were red from fending off tears and he was very clearly quite distraught.

"Go to hell! I can carry her myself!"

"Dude!” Armin threw his arms in the air out of frustration. “We don't know what internal injuries she has, that could be a horrible idea!"

"Eren," Levi said with a stern tone, nodding in his general direction. "Come on. She needs to be seen by Hange." The boy knit his brows together and nearly growled, but his superior didn't flinch, only maintained that ever stoic exterior. Eren looked down at the frail woman in his arms and swallowed a frustrated scream, gently untangling the leaves and pine needles from her hair. Connie set his hand on Mikasa's foot and looked up at Eren like he was expecting an explosive reaction, but the man had conceded, sliding his arm under her knees as he stood to his feet.

"And I said, go to hell, I'm carrying her myself."

Armin sighed deeply at his best friend’s words and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Eren -"

"Where's the cart?"

"Eren, come on -"

"FUCK! WHERE IS THE FUCKING CART?!" The barely conscious woman in his arms groaned and attempted to lift her arm to grasp at his bloodied shirt. He's not even sure if it's his or hers. "Mikasa! Stay with me! I need you to hold onto me so we can get you to a cart, okay? Mikasa! There you are," It's getting harder to swallow his tears now, they're just showering her shirt, dropping from his chin while he follows after Connie as closely as possible. Mikasa looked up into Eren's dewy eyes through a half lidded gaze and felt her heart break when she registered the wet spot on her chest. “Okay, are you ready? I have to put you down - I'm so sorry, Mika.." Gently setting her on her feet, she let out a horrific cry of pain as Armin and Connie helped settle her arms around Eren's neck.

“I'm sorry, Mikasa. But we don’t have any choice." Armin sighed, wincing just watching her move because he cannot begin to fathom how severe, overwhelming, physical pain can shock your body, yet here they are, asking her to hold onto Eren so he can fly her to the ground. Eren swallowed hard and looked around to make sure the coast was clear before taking off with a semi-conscious Mikasa on his back, who let out an uncontrollable cry when they landed on the ground that broke his heart. Jean walked over on his horse and pulled the reins to make it stop.

"What the hell happened to her, Jaeger?!" Jean's voice truly sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him, especially at this moment when the most important person in his life is barely alive. Eren ignored him and carefully lay Mikasa on the makeshift bed and sat down beside her, gently pulling a blanket up to cover her body. “For someone who swore to protect her, you fucking suck at it."

"Go fuck yourself, horseface. I don't know what happened," Eren maintained his gaze on Mikasa and tucked a second blanket over her. "I found her on a roof. She needed CPR to restart her heart, but I don't know how long she was..." he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. "I don't know how long she was dead for. But since she's still alive after getting CPR, I'm choosing to be encouraged."

________________________________

The room is dark despite the candles that decorate the walls, offering a small amount of light with their warm glow. It's been about 13 hours since they brought her home, and Mikasa still hasn't woken up. Eren felt a pull on his heart and his stomach dropped, reaching a hand up to gently dust her hair out of her face. The first couple of hours that she was asleep were agonizing enough, simply because he's admittedly terrified she won't wake up again. Hange is coming in every hour to check on her and hasnt said anything to indicate any danger of Mikasa's heart stopping again.

Leaning forward in his chair, Eren buried his face in his hands and let out a long, drawn out sigh. How could this have happened? One minute, she was right behind him, slicing through the fingers of a titan who had them squeezed around a comrade, then in the next, she's unconscious on a dirty, broken roof. Eren was cutting the nape out of a titan's neck when the sound of her screaming flooded his senses, inspiring him to blow through every single titan that came at him, and then, just as suddenly, her cries were gone. Seeing her lifeless body laying on the roof was just as heartbreaking and gut wrenching as the day his mother was brutally murdered right in front of them. Seeing her beat up and broken body brings back memories of when she herself was squeezed in the hands of a titan, nearly bringing him to the point of throwing up. Which was, of course, a rescue mission for him. These feelings are all too much. The thought of her never waking up again is too much.

Taking her ever so petite, delicate hand in his, Eren leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on her cot as he laced their digits together. With a gentle touch, he set a hand on her cheek and allowed his thumb to glide across smooth flesh, finally cleaned off from any debris and crusty, dried up blood. Off the top of his head, Eren can't place a single time where he has ever touched her like this. On a typical day, he barely touches her at all except maybe if they train together or even the occasional hug, but nothing like holding her hand, and certainly not touching her skin.

"I always thought that you looked beautiful when you sleep," Eren whispered with a smile, gently smoothing her soft, raven hair out of her face. "Actually, I've -" He sighed and rested his forehead on their interlocked hands, carefully considering what to say next even though she's still asleep. "I've always thought that you're beautiful." It's true. Even with a bruised and broken body she still manages to take his breath away. His fingers lightly traced over her delicate facial features, careful not to bump any bruises along the way, taking in the sight with a whole new viewpoint of his best friend. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Mikasa's skin felt warm under his touch and it weirdly mystified him, because it's just as velvety smooth as he'd imagined.

"I'm sorry that I let you down, Mikasa," he whispered, finally cupping her cheek in his hand. "If I hadn't fucking ditched you to go off on my own, you'd be conscious right now." Eren sat back in his seat with a huff and shook his head in disdain because of the many horrible decisions he’s made that put her in danger. For a moment, Eren briefly considered crawling onto the cot to hold her like he always did when they were young and sharing a bed. Oh, just to feel her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, maybe that would soothe the crushing tightness in his chest. But he’s not going to do that. At least, not until she’s healed from her injuries. “Please, please wake up,” his voice is begging, pleading as he brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed the top. “I need you, Mikasa, I need you to fight. If you don’t fight, you can’t win, remember?” Eren leaned his forehead on their interlocked hands and slowly shook his head, remembering the sight of her lifeless body laying on the roof. It took his breath away, like someone had reached into his body and yanked all the air from his lungs. There was no sound, he had tunnel vision, because he cared about was getting to her as quickly as he could. “Look, I’m not good at this expression thing. I know I’m a dickhead. I know I don’t tend to act like I do, but I really do care about you. I care about you a lot, actually.” Eren kissed her hand again when he looked up and was so surprised to see a half-lidded gaze, that he almost sat up and kissed her on the lips. But he just smiled. “I love you.”

“W-what?” Mikasa whispered, confused by the sudden shift in his behavior. Inside, though, she was pretty stoked, especially when he leaned over the edge of the cot, careful not to bump into it or touch her too hard.

“I said,” Eren smiled as he got closer to her lips. “I love you. I’m sorry it took this happening to you for me to finally fucking say it.”

Then it finally happened, it was soft and gentle, so loving and romantic, she smiled, moaning softly into their first kiss that they are both certain won’t be their last.

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kentuckywrites · 5 years

Text

Imperium: Noctilum

Ego vocem tuam. (I hear your voice.)

Nobody was keen on fighting in the jungle continent. Both sides agreed that it was too beautiful to be tainted by the shadow of war. But it was too dangerous to be a safe haven, so he had to be careful, lest the wilderness claim him as a sacrifice.

He lost his breath in Prim’ala-dor’ias, but continued to run on sheer will alone until he reached the mouth of the jungle continent. He fell to his knees, his lungs screaming for air, his hands clutching the moist soil below.

The voice returned.

“Well done. You will be a good fit for my plan.”

“Who are you?” He gasped, his own voice raspy and dry.

“I cannot consider myself an ally or an enemy in your war, but I can tell you I am a friend. I simply want this war to come to an end by any means necessary.”

“I want it...to end, too.” He admitted, “But I don’t...I don’t see how it can...anytime soon.”

“That is where I come in. I have a plan. You will become the key to ending this war, but first you must accept me.”

“How do I accept you if I don’t know who - or what - you are?”

The voice was silent. He took the moment to straighten his spine, observe his surroundings. The quiet chirps of avian creatures, the gentle splashes of water coming from a distant lake, the breeze passing through the many leaves in the flora...it was breathtaking, it was beautiful, and in that moment it was his.

“I am the ground you kneel upon.”

The voice suddenly returned, and his eyes widened.

“I am the wind in the trees. I am every animal that has walked upon this ground, and every animal that has swam in the oceans, and has flown in the skies. I am the plants and insects, and I am the weather, the rain and storms and clouds.”

He stared out at the landscape, unable to believe his ears. “You...you are…”

“I am the planet you call home.”

He finally closed his eyes, letting the darkness embrace him.

“If you’re telling the truth...if you really are the planet...then show me how to end this war.”

“With pleasure.”

A spark ran through his brain and his body collapsed. His screams of pain were lost to the wind.

Pongo didn’t remember what happened the night before. L never mentioned it, because Pongo had enough on his plate for the day. He was assigned in the early morning to a tyrant mission in Noctilum, to which L asked if he could tag along. Pongo was excited to have the company, and never suspected L’s reason for joining. He never even asked why L kept a close eye on Pongo, on his Skell as the team flew through the crisp morning air.

However, Mia did notice, and asked about it when the team had touched down near the Everwhelm Falls. She hopped out of her Skell - a Verus Cain, a gift from Pongo - and immediately made her way to L, nudging his elbow.

“Heya big blue, you’ve been making googly eyes at Pon since we got the mission briefing this morning!” She teased, “What’s up with that? Got something to confess?”

L shook his head, acting amused. “We are incapable of making our eyes ‘google’, but we admit, we have been intrigued by Pongo. He is our dear friend and we care for him very much. We do not see that as quite a confession, more of a factual statement.”

“I mean, yeah, you guys being pals is great, but I meant you were looking at him all like...lovey dovey.”

“Love akin to doves? Do you perhaps mean love akin to rock doves? Because we assure you, that love is much more complex and -”

“L.” Mira stopped him, raising both gloved hands with a smirk. “Buddy. Pal. I’m just asking if ya love Pongo. Y’know. Love him. As more than friends.”

L placed a careful finger to his chin. He hadn’t thought about his connection to Pongo in that way before, and he knew what Mia was suggesting. It would take a great deal of personal time to come to the conclusion she was making, time he didn’t have just yet. His main concern was front and center. He decided to tell Mia part of the truth.

“We are not interested in pursuing the topic of rock dove love at the present time. Our mind has been egged and scrambled as of late, so mayhaps in our thoughts we have inclined our gaze towards Pongo.”

“Deny it now, but when you two get together you owe me fifty credits,” Mia winked, “I won’t push it for now.” Noticing that Pongo was finally exiting his Skell, she called out, “Hey PonPon! Where’s our big baddy?”

As he placed his feet on the ground, their fourth teammate, Lin, also jumped out of her own Skell. L recalled how Pongo had originally invited Elma to join their mission. She was suddenly pulled away by an urgent Reclaimer meeting - L had heard rumors of a large White Whale database washing ashore at the northernmost tip of Cauldros. Lin had jumped in at the last minute to fill the gap. After all, three people couldn’t take on such a large tyrant on their own. A four member team was a favorable option.

Pongo pulled out his comm device, and as they approached him L saw that he had a detailed map on his screen. A red circle was blinking, moving slowly away from their location.

“North of here,” Pongo replied, “But before we go in with guns on fire, remember that we have limited data available on this tyrant. We know about those Ovis that seem to follow it, so we might have to take them out too. I would like to avoid it, if possible.”

“We doin’ this on foot or by Skell do ya think?” Mia asked.

“By Skell, for sure. I can stay on the ground to provide decoy through Ghost Factory, but we are definitely going to need the heavier fire from your mega weapon, Lin, and your G-Buster, Mia.”

“We are in possession of a Phoenix,” L added, against his desire to stay near Pongo, “If it is desired we shall also move our efforts to the sky!”

“That would be fantastic, though please be careful when you use it, the flame is big enough to aggravate enemies we do not wish to fight,” Pongo told him, “So then, three Skells, four if we need the extra offensive power. If you all focus on Pyotr, and it focuses on you, then I should have no problem giving you those buffs from the ground.”

“It’s like attacking bees versus a tiny nat,” Lin stifled a giggle, her attitude quickly changing with a simple realization. “That puts you in a dangerous spot if it does prioritize you, Pongo, you sure you’ll be okay?”

Pongo nodded, switching the comm device in his hand out for both of his dual guns. His photon saber was also strapped to his belt, a weapon L knew he favored. “I have full tension points on both the guns and the saber, enough for Overdrive and a bunch of buffs straight off the bat. Despite this, please do not do anything reckless - this is still a big tyrant, one that has taken down teams in the past. Keep in touch over comms, everyone, and best of luck out there.”

Everyone nodded, a sign of respect and of mutual preparedness. In their parting ways, Lin shared a quick glance with L, and immediately he knew she’d seen the connection. Elma had truly taught Pongo well, and it showed in his leadership. It was hard to think that he was the same person that L had stumbled into that one fateful day on the Noctilum road, a timid and soft spoken rookie.

And it was even harder to think that he was Mira’s new avatar.

With that thought weighing heavy on his shoulders, L turned away, began to head back to his Skell. But he saw Pongo pause, his guns still in both hands. He was looking down at them, a glazed look to his eyes, and L called back to him after Lin and Mia had gotten into their own Skells.

“What would be troubling your mind, Pongo?”

Pongo blinked away the thoughts, rolled his shoulders, and didn’t meet L’s gaze. “Nothing, nothing, just...Pyotr was recorded to be a peaceful tyrant just a few weeks ago. I just wonder what could have caused its demeanor to shift…”

In understanding, L nodded, and a breeze picked up suddenly. He smelled the faint hints of rain on the wind and knew a storm was going to pass soon. Even without that knowledge, L could feel within his gut that something was going to happen, something bigger than any of them could fathom. He wished away the bad feeling before entering his Skell once again and taking to the skies, where Lin and Mia were hovering.

The intercom whirred to life as L found Pongo’s Skell in vehicular mode, dashing across the grassland. “Alright, team, our target is straight ahead. Remember to focus attacks on Pyotr and not the Ovis - we want minimal damage to the surrounding area if possible.”

“Right on. We’ve got your back,” Lin confirmed, “If you can get those buffs in quick then we could probably G-Buster Pyotr on a focused point on his body to maximize damage.”

“We are aware of the back side being a weakened point,” L suggested, “Let us focus our ignited ferocity there first!”

As Lin and Mia gave their agreement to the plan, a shadow appeared over the horizon, a large hulking figure with long limbs and a compact face. Moss grew around its crevices, over its back, its forehead, its hands and feet. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Pyotr, the Shepherd. And there was no doubt that the two figures prancing underneath its feet were the two forewarned Ovis - Claire the Sheltered, Heidi the Lively. There was no way that they’d leave their shepherd to die, L knew at first glance. And with Pongo on the ground, there was a high chance he’d be the first to deal with them.

Something stirred within L. He had felt it before, dark and heavy.

Fear.

“L, NOW!”

When had Lin and Mia prepared their G-Busters?! No matter, L was quick to slam down on the corresponding arts button, and in quick succession, the three flying Skells drew their massive swords and slammed them down onto Pyotr’s backside. Unassuming and unprepared, Pyotr screamed, and a part of his back was sliced clean off. Pongo’s cheer was clear on the comm.

“YES! Keep hitting him where it counts - Ghost Factory!”

He was out of his Skell and on the ground, the familiar shadows echoing around him as he raised his guns out on both sides. L flew a full circle around Pyotr, looking for more weak spots as Lin drew his attention away. Maybe the knees should go next, he thought, maybe it would be worth it to knock him down and get him staggered, or better yet, toppled -

“Chief, the Ovis are riled up! Watch your back!” Mia shouted across the comm, and L noted that as he feared, both Claire and Heidi were charging Pongo. A swing and a miss from Pyotr’s massive fist diverted L’s attention before he could see whether Pongo heeded Mia’s warning. Everything moved faster than he could comprehend, and everything suddenly felt heavier, that feeling of fear consuming his body. His eyes widened when he made eye contact with Mia’s Skell, well above his own, and watched as Pyotr made another swing, this time directed at her. She wasn’t as lucky in avoiding it, taking the majority of the punch in her Skell’s right arm. She cursed over the intercom, but quickly assured them that she would be okay, it wasn’t enough to rip the arm off.

As the human saying went, she should have knocked her hand on a wooden surface.

Pyotr made another quick uppercut, nailing Mia’s Skell right in the cockpit. She was able to get one more curse over the intercom before she went radio silent, before L saw her smoking Skell fall from the sky. Lin cried out her name, and in that moment of prolonged distraction, Pyotr swung wildly at her Skell. L’s heart caught in his throat as he saw both Skells now toppling to the ground, smoking, damaged.

“Lin, Mia, help me out! L, keep him distra - oW -”

Pongo’s orders were cut off. L knew why. The Ovis were becoming a problem, little ticks on his skin that he couldn’t shake. L decided in a moment of clarity that being a distraction would be a suicide attempt, that he should move his efforts to the ground and help them where he could. His Skell landed, and he jumped out before Pyotr could knock him out of the sky.

Instead, Pyotr decided to knock him right back into the sky. Ten feet away from his Skell, the enraged Sylooth kicked at his tiny body. The impact sent him flying towards Pongo, flying towards the Ovis and straight into the ground. L coughed up dirt - and, was that blood, that blue taint there? - but forced himself to stand up. His right arm ached and he grabbed it with his left, feeling something swelling underneath his sleeve. He looked up after feeling the damage.

And there was Pongo, a tiny little thing, standing alone in front of Pyotr. His guns had lowered in defeat, his photon saber lying deactivated meters away. Two destroyed Skells had crash landed too far away, but he saw both Lin and Mia’s forms outside of them, each sporting their own collection of injuries. They were in no place to fight, none of them were. Pyotr roared as he realized he had won, Claire and Heidi joining with chirps of their own. Pongo’s form shook with fatigue and stress. He should have fallen, but something was keeping him upright. Pyotr noticed this, raising his fist, preparing to end what they had begun.

Barely standing, L’s mouth opened, a silent scream. But Pongo spoke first.

And it was in a language L knew wasn’t human.

He knew it wasn’t one the planet would translate. But L knew it, he knew what Pongo was saying, and in his awe he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

“Wait, please!”

Pyotr’s fist stopped in the air, unclenching as Pongo shouted. It blinked once, nearly as confused as Lin and Mia appeared to be. Unaware and unassuming, Pongo continued, “Please, spare my friends! We were only acting on orders!”

And finally, Pongo became confused, for L heard Pyotr respond in a deep rumble, a language only they could hear.

THERE HAVE BEEN ATTEMPTS AGAINST US BEFORE. WE ONLY WISH FOR PEACE.

“...Then why have you been hurting us?”

YOU HAVE SCARED US INTO FIGHTING. THIS CONTINENT WAS ONCE A PLACE OF PEACE, A HAVEN FROM WAR. WE ONLY WISH TO COEXIST WITH THE LIFE AROUND US.

And with those words, L’s body became heavy, weighed down by millenia of memories, millenia of suffering and pain. Did Pongo know the weight of Pyotr’s plea? Had Mira granted him that knowledge? He simply fell to his knees, unable to raise his head and watch the encounter unfold.

“That is our wish too, to be at peace with the life around us…”

THEN WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HURTING US?

There was a pause, and L managed to lift his head high enough to see Pongo, the tears falling down his tired face. “We...We never meant to hurt you. We were just trying to protect ourselves…”

AND WE, TOO, HAVE BEEN STRIVING TO PROTECT OURSELVES. YOU ARE FOREIGNERS TO THIS WORLD, AND WE HAVE FELT THREATENED BY YOUR EXPANSIONS, YOUR WARS.

“The Ganglion were the ones who -”

YOU ARE AS MUCH A PART OF THIS WAR AS THEY ARE. DO NOT PLACE BLAME FOR A TWO SIDED WAR ON ONE SIDE, FOR YOUR KIND CHOSE TO FIGHT BACK.

“We had no choice but to fight back! Peace was never an option with the Ganglion, if we did not fight back we would have all died!”

The hulking form of the Shepherd went quiet. Claire and Heidi bounded up to its feet, rubbing against the false tree bark skin. They dared not speak. L saw Pyotr’s chest rise and fall, heavy breathing, an eventual sigh that stirred the air around them.

IT SEEMS ALL CONFLICTS MUST BE RESOLVED WITH VIOLENCE. IT PAINS US, KNOWING THIS.

Pongo stifled a sob. “It hurts me, too. We have lost so many innocents, just like I imagine you have. But...could we at least work towards peace now? Come to an understanding?”

There was no hesitation.

IT WOULD BRING US GREAT JOY TO SPEAK WITH YOU. BUT WE DO HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU, BEFORE OUR NEGOTIATIONS START.

“Absolutely! What would you ask of me?”

YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER HUMANS. WHAT ARE YOU?

L’s eyes widened, forcing himself up into a kneeling position. Pongo hesitated - no, he didn’t know his true nature, and L expected him to answer as such. Even so, L knew what he had to do. After this was said and done, he’d pull Pongo aside, shed light on his darkness. Pongo had a right to his truth.

“I am simply a kinder human than most, I would like to think.” Pongo eventually responded, “Now if I could ask this of you: might I tend to the wounds of my friends before this conversation? I want to make sure they are okay.”

OF COURSE. MY APOLOGIES FOR DESTROYING YOUR...AVIARY CONSTRUCTIONS.

Pongo quickly turned and made his way towards Lin and Mia, who drilled confused holes through his brain. L stayed put, trying to focus on his breathing - in, out, in, out. His team had almost been wiped out and they were about to sit down and have a chat with a Miran native - of course his nerves were about him.

L almost didn’t acknowledge one of the Ovis stepping up to him. Only when she nudged his shoulder did he blink and await her prompt.

YOU ARE ONE OF THE F’LENLA A’SLEGN, AND YET THE HUMAN WHO SPOKE WITH US IS NOT. HOW IS HE ABLE TO SPEAK THE LANGUAGE OF MIRA?

L looked towards Pongo, making sure he was out of earshot before he responded.

“Our dearest friend, it is because he is not human at all.”

#xenoblade x #Imperium: Noctilum #yeebers this took a while to write #sorry about all the action in this one fhjdhf #i have a slightly better plan for the next chapter #don't bet on it being out any time soon tho #rip my ability to write

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ibatronic · 5 years

Text

Still Alive...

BEFORE YOU READ!

The following does get really personal, so please read (if you so choose) with an open heart and genuine sense of compassion and sensitivity. It's also many things I've wanted to get off my chest for ages. The following will also explain my mood in the past two journals I made. It does end on a lighter note, I promise.

It's been ages since I've posted anything online, let alone anything here... Remember months ago, when I had posted a journal about the slump I was feeling and then posted an artwork of me… slump drawing? There’s more beyond me simply losing motivation to make more art. And a few of you might have noticed I posted a rather… shocking status update in which I threatened suicide. Following that post, a lot of the unpleasant feelings and thoughts that I believed were gone came back to haunt me. Additionally, many things in my past came back to haunt me, prompting me to go soul searching and try to better myself.

For those not in-the-know, I have been suffering from clinical and manic depression for about the past 6 years. Speaking in real-life timeline, back in the 6 years, I remember that it started with my severe trouble making friends, communicating with others socially, and trying to fit in with others. My depression wasn’t just caused by my low turnout in the friends department, but also because I'd never truly felt loved by anyone… not even myself. As I grew up, I had no friends all throughout middle school and no friends all throughout high school, and then came to terms with the fact that I have no friends at ALL! Things like having no friends really did have an effect on me… I gave friendship and putting myself out there an earnest try, but after the many times I got hurt and betrayed, that was the end of it for me. People like myself who are alone usually spend their time practicing something they like, in my case being my art, writing, and studying. From other sources and from my own experience, it helps to be noticed for your talents and interest. This pretty much tied into, if you’d notice, why I was actively moping around DA Forums grousing on why my work doesn’t get as much attention as I’d hoped or why those that are recognized do get it. Sometimes, I feel annoyed that noone cares about my work, not even my relatives. My original work. Like, on DeviantArt, I recall fan-art and fan-artists get tons of favorites on their work. While the highest I've ever gotten was 11. I've put hours, days, and sometimes weeks into these and noone cares. And it's mostly criticism that doesn't even make sense. I just want to tell them how hard it is to make the art, but showing people who aren't interested in the hobby will just make them annoyed about it. Everyone is expecting a @$%^ing anime master from every artist and I just don't get it. Some of the time people will make annoying re-colors to get the respect and attention they want, but they do get both of those things in the end. Mostly, how it goes is: A person will make a rather undeveloped character. Then, they will take someone else's artwork and color in their character. Then they will claim it as their own. Then, they will get hate and attention. The person will 'cry' over it and say that they are going to leave that site. People will feel bad for that person, make the person fan art, subscribe to or watch them or whatever, and the person will be filthy-famous and have tons of friends in the end, even though they didn't do jack @$%^! Or they just stoop so low just to get-rich-quick. Argh! I just don't get it any more! I try to hard making quality animation, art, videos, but no one cares what so ever!

I’ve had nobody. Nobody cared about me. Going this long without someone besides therapists to confide in, or someone to comfort you or share their likes and dislikes with could really mess you up...

An ordinary day for me back in high school that I rarely overlook, was my recurring plight when it came to being around others. For the majority of my life, I had been nothing but an outcast to people my own age, I never fit in with them since they never truly accepted me as their friend. From what I can remember, each year, I was either on my own or hung out with a group of kids as they talked amongst themselves while I just remained silent. And each year, I make the mistake of even having the tiniest bit of optimism that things just might be different. Having been alone and neglected for a long time, I spent every day seeing what it felt like to be going through what I think are quite possibly the worst years of my adolescent life, with my best and only friend gone (he moved), while I was stuck amongst people whom I felt care very little about me. Now, I’m by myself and with some content. Everyday I would go through the same routine—morning academic classes, lunch break, after classes, dismissal—counting the hours as they go by. For kids that suffered from anxiety or depression, like me, they were sent to the Social Work team where they can vent out their problems and try to uncover any solution or coping mechanism to get by the school year. For me, it might've been a different story because ever since my depression started, I received little check-ins from anyone, not even my own parents, relatives, or any old friends I once had (ones that I talked to in elementary or middle school that won’t talk to me anymore). Most of the time in school, I refused to show any emotion, trying to keep them all bottled up as I go through eight hours by hours while the other students talk amongst themselves and don't pay attention to me.

In life, I find what it is like to be in complete isolation, triggering memories of how I had endured loneliness in my childhood and used to be the timid, awkward, and sullen oddball, knowing that there is noone around to brighten my day, only the sound of other kids talking amongst themselves and having fun much to my envy is all I can hear. On one night as I walked home, I realized that I am really alone, having no idea where my life is going at that rate, or if there is someone out there who really cares about me because not a lot of people have spoken to me for a while ever since I became a high school student years back and regret not getting in much contact with them to see how things were. Plus, my closest relatives, such as my parents and brother are not really much help in my condition. As much as I try to talk to them, I don't get the feeling that they truly understand. The way they respond whenever I attempt to console to them is very dismissive and inconsiderate, further supporting my belief that not even they care about me. In the time I'd wrote this, I swore off telling them any ounce of my problems, as if they would actually care...

Even worse was enduring bullying and abuse from other students that triggered bad memories of what caused me not to be so trusting of others. And, I could not fight back against them all that much, doing nothing other than reacting, glaring, snarking, or giving the occasional finger, which wouldn't last long as I am often overpowered by their popularity, dominance, and miraculous ways of getting reactions out of me. Unless I were lucky to find some kind of way of hitting them. There were some days which ended with me getting sent to the principal’s office in order to acknowledge my mental illness with the staff, not to mention what feelings of trauma I get whenever I’m bullied or harassed by some dastardly kid. Sometimes after the bullying, I would have meltdowns or end up running back to my haven so nobody can see my silent (nonexistent) tears of regret and sorrow, even ignoring whatever pains those bullies left on my heart and body. Sometimes the pain is so intense that I can no longer bottle up my emotions, yet now I refuse to show it in front of others and would rather do it alone in my haven so I can be on to do so freely. The only words I can whisper to myself is “I hate myself…” This is also the case for cyberbullies and predators I've fallen victim of in the past—people have anonymously been mean and hurtful to me, and what's worse is that I REALLY cannot do anything about it besides reporting, especially for pedophiles who have managed to lead me on in the past and take advantage of my open wounds just to get an easy nail... Speaking of bullying, I think it's safe to assume that I'd also sufferred the same at the hands of my own father! In the past, and during my childhood, he would abuse me by striking me every time I screwed something up, even if it was a minor or honest mistake. Being both verbally and physically abusive, I can't exactly say I felt truly safe when around him in hindsight, worrying that one slip-up in front of him could result in another clean bruise on my body. Recently, I recall my father once barging into my room at night while I was asleep and interrogating me about some sort of misunderstanding with his credit card and certain online marketing website. Instead of actually filling me in on what happened or what was going on, he would yell me these questions with no fathomable context whatsoever. Even worse was that initially I was suffering from sleep inertia, so I definitely couldn't quite catch on quickly. Eventually, things led to things, and a heated argument erupted between us, prompting us to get into a shouting match and for me to release all my pent up anger on him, even getting physical and delivering a few blows to him thus further angering him. The incident left me with mixed emotions of confusion, sadness, trauma, and all topped with insomnia since I could not go to sleep for the rest of the night. The things he said to me during all this made assured me that he definitely didn't care about me, and that I was expendable just like all his other abandoned love-children... The feelings, it burns. It is when nobody says happy birthday. It is when family members say they love me yet don't show it. They don't know how to love me, and that is the same as not loving me. It is being alone at lunch. It is being alone and lonely all the time. It is spending hours online finding out how others managed to cope with the stinging feeling I get before I go to bed when my head starts spinning with all the evil truths that nobody cares about me. Sure, some may say they do, but who wants to listen to me talk about my passions? Who wants to help me out? Nobody... Nobody even wants to take time out of their day to spend it with me. It's reading books on how to make friends. It's moping for hours wondering why nobody even likes me, much less loves me. It's changing appearances and attitudes only to be rejected and alone and remain unloved. It's questioning who I am entirely, it's masking who I am and changing who I am and feeling like I'm crazy. It's wishing I could be okay with the fact that nobody loves me but it still feels like a hot hand gripping my throat and a heavy weight on my chest. It's replaying every comment in my head over and over. It's terrible, I can't talk with anyone about it because nobody cares. It hurts, God it hurts!

There was one thing during my time in high school that I could confide in, besides art and drawing…

Back in mid-2015, I remember working hard on a series called “Tails for Hire”; one that parodied the already-parody, Sonic for Hire. With the help of an online ally from Kentucky, I was able to finish it and upload it to YouTube that summer. At the time, my YouTube channel was nothing but cobwebs of old, rather second-rate videos. That was until the first episode of Tails for Hire was released. To my surprise, it garnered over 5,000 views the first week it was uploaded, and I was blown away by the good responses and relatively fair criticism. For the first time, I felt… significant! In retrospect, I realize that what lifted my spirits seeing the comments on my TFH videos was the fact that I had some company. Afterwards, my partner for the video, Tales499 and I talked fairly often, I made another (now former) friend on Skype from Norway, I had so many notifications of comments on the videos. I didn’t feel so alone during all this. I guess I wanted people to talk to and share my feelings with in order to quell my loneliness and compensate for my lack of friendships. I’ll admit, the internet was harsh at times with me, but I learn over the years (and now), that it’s a way of helping you grow thicker skin. This all might explain why I felt the yearning desire for popularity on different social media platforms. Though, I have to admit it does sound rather pathetic for me to console to people behind screens instead of face-to-face.

As some of you who know me from my YouTube channel, you’ll know that Tails for Hire is currently on an undeterminably long hiatus, as of June 2016. Currently, no return date was thought of, but don’t fret, one day… ONE DAY, Tails for Hire will return… At this point the hiatus is more of a hibernation.

Months later, after I finally graduated high school, leaving behind the four years of emotional torture I had endured, I was ready to head to university! Or at least, I thought…

I won’t get too deep into the details of what happened there, but I will say this—everything that I struggled with in my early-to-mid adolescence came to haunt me in university as if I was cursed. No matter how hard I tried to suck it up, I didn’t make any real friends or meaningful relationships in university. When I noticed all the other students at the school, I felt generally inadequate—it reminded me of all things that others are better at and how I'm don't have anything to offer anyone. At the end of December 2018, some of you might recall me making a status update on DeviantArt of me contemplating suicide, and that if I don’t post anything the next year, I might have actually gone with it… Few of you showed your concern… But, while I did appreciate it, I felt that people will only care when it’s too late… I’m sorry if I scared or confused some of you. If I EVER feel suicidal again, I’ll see it that seek immediate help.

Short story—public Safety, many counsellors, my roommates, and one of the deans had come to me saying how worried they were about my well-being after hearing reports of me acting strange and making suicidal remarks. This also ties into the fact that the way I've been feeling has caused me to occasionally miss some of my classes, not be able to focus well, and worst of all... develop some suicidal thoughts... I even explicitly fantasized of jumping off a roof or a window to kill myself! I'm sorry if all this info came up out of nowhere. Eventually, the Dean highly recommended that I be put on medical leave until it is decided that I'm fit to come back to campus. I wasn't too fond of the idea given that I worked so hard in coming to this school and at least tough my way through the first semester. But apparently, it's for the best... When others ask why I would even think to kill myself, the only overarching reason I can give is "I'm worthless!" When people notice that I've been OK for few days or acting normal, it's just that I've been manic. When I look at others, I always think of the things I can't do! I'm an artist who can even get noticed, I'm a guy who has never had many friendships that lasted long, I'm a wimp who can't work up the courage to confront others, I'm a university student on medical leave! All of these things and then some are what trigger thoughts of how my life is a joke! But somehow, during those times when I contemplated suicide, I actually felt free! Almost giddy, and that I could finally kiss this worthless life good-bye!

At the moment, I’m going through professional help and trying to keep myself busy during my downtime. Part of me says there’s no hope me, but part me says one day, I’ll be back to my old, wholesomely manic self again. Step by step… it just might happen.

Lately, I’ve tried to get back into the passions I once enjoyed, get the ideas I’ve had out there as if someone would want to see them. But, I still struggle in finding the motivation thinking of the very disheartening outcomes—low viewership, negative or no feedback, or just not feeling happy with the finished product. I sometimes look at my art and wonder if I can do better or it's good enough. I'm turned between both sides on that case, mainly because I don't have anyone else to share with me their well-thought-out opinions, instead of one-word comments or notifications where someone simply favorites something. Mostly due to my depression, almost everything I do in life seems meaningless. Because that's how depression works! No matter how good I (supposedly) am, I don't remember the good things about myself, I just over exaggerate the terrible stuff about me and it becomes who I am in my mind. No matter what I do, I'm not good enough for myself... But no, my fear of death and it being a one-way ticket are what stop me... I try to figure out what I have to live for and what ideas I have to share. It's really hard, given how I compare myself to others and how much success they've achieved besides me, and the negative thoughts are what cloud my mind no matter how hard I try to clear them. Then there's the days where I feel unimportant or under appreciated, as if I make no difference by staying alive. Some days I feel like I'm on top of the world and that noone can stop me, and other and most days I feel nothing but pain. During those good days, I find myself surrounded by people who seem to care and be interested in me, but soon after the feeling wears off, and I just don't know why! In the time, I've written this, I've been feeling really low, as if noone would even care or bother to read this or be concerned with how I'm feeling. But as I finish and sign off... I kinda feel like a huge weight was lifted off of me. It felt good for me to let it all out, even if it is just typing it out. (Sigh)... If you've made it this far in reading the journal, thank you for reading and hopefully understanding. Once again, I'm sorry if this seemed overly dramatic, self-indulgent or just really heavy. But like I said, this was for me to get some of that heavy weight off me. Throughout half of this year, everything that has happened was really just too much to explain, too much to handle, too traumatically stressing, and generally just heavy... which is why I needed time off... Again, thank you for reading...

#depression #bullying #neglect #deviantart #ibatronic #art #hate #sad #loveislove #life #high school #suicide #recover

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jadekitty777 · 5 years

Note

Are you waiting to be asked about Team STRQ? I'll bite. Team STRQ for the character ask meme.

You know it! Although I’mhaving a lot of fun with all of them.

Unsurprisingly doing four of my top favorites all at oncegot long, so I’m putting it under a read more.

Taiyang Xiao Long(YEAH BABY THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!)

· Favorite thingabout them: Everything. Alright,alright – anyone who has spent five seconds with me knows he’s my ultimatefavorite, I’ll try not to be TOO biased. I think what I like the most about Taiis that, while he has a bit of a fiery nature to him, overall, he seems like sucha gentle soul. He’s not afraid to be a little cheesy when it comes to praisinghis girls. He loves doting on them if the opportunity arrives (breakfast in bedfor Ruby, anyone?). He’s also not afraid to push them, yet still tries to be kindin his methods.

· Least favoritething about them: To be honest, while it’s absolutely understandable and realisticto how many parents do act in these situations, I wish Tai had been moreforthcoming about Raven when it came to talking to Yang about her (granted ifhe was, it would certainly lessen the impact of Yang’s own character arc, but Idigress). Keeping her completely in the dark is part of what leads his eldestinto her obsession with knowing more.

When the conversation finallydoes happen, I do like that Tai does his best to not badmouth Raven, which willallow for Yang to make her own decisions on what she thinks of Raven as aperson when she ultimately finds her – as he knows she will.

· Favorite line: Oooh Taiyang’skind of a walking Chinese proverb, so it’s a little hard to pick. I’m going togo with: “You’re right, it’s not coming back… but that doesn’t have to stop youfrom becoming who you want to be.” The message basically comes down to ‘don’tlet it be you who holds yourself back’. I’m sure all of us have faced being ourown worst enemies at times, wherein we never even try because we’re too focusedon saying “I can’t”.

Honorable shout-out to RWBY chibiand “I make a home for this family, that’s what I do all day! And it wouldn’tkill you to show a little APPRECIATION”.

· brOTP: No one gasps insurprise when I tell you it is Qrow. When it comes to actual canon, I like tothink these two are best friends that are as close as brothers in everythingexcept blood. They’ll always be there for each other when the worst of timeshits (Emotion-numbing depression vs. Blackout Binge Drinking).

…They’ll also pants one anotherin the middle of broad daylight for a cheap laugh (Cargo shorts really are easyto get down. One of these days, Tai might just go commando just so he cantraumatize Qrow once and for all).

…And argue over stupid shit likewhose turn it was to do the dishes (Hint: It’s always Qrow’s turn).

…And do irritating shit justbecause they know it annoys the other (Qrow has a really obnoxious singingvoice, so he makes sure to sing EXTRA loud when he knows Tai’s trying to gradepapers).

And yes, Qrow is absolutely theyounger brother.

-On a smaller, but no lessimportant note, I absolutely believe Taiyang had close friendships with Summerand Raven as well.

· OTP: As with all myfavorites, I will multi-ship the hell out of Tai, especially any that can fallunder the friends-to-lovers requirement.

Absolute top OTP will always beTaiqrow (A true shocker, I’m sure). The biggest drive I have for these two hasalways been the amount of emotional support available between them. There’s somuch potential simply on the lengths Qrow may have had to go through helpingout at the house after Summer’s passing or Tai’s rigorous efforts to try andpull Qrow away from his drinking habits. They’re also just… really sexytogether. Like hot damn.

I do remain rather fond of bothof Tai’s canon ships too though. Oh yeah and I will also polyship the hell outof Tai and you will have to tear STR-Crossed out of my cold, dead hands.

I’m also happy to throw him inthe ring with James and really enjoyed my little writing session withJames/Qrow/Tai.

· nOTP: Other thananything that puts him with one of his children, nothing that tends to botherme too much? Even Ozpin/Taiyang, while a little out of nowhere, is still prettysexy to read.

· Randomheadcanon: *Holds up 20* Which one do you want?

-Contrary topopular belief, it’s actually Tai thatRuby and Yang get their daredevil behavior from. Though he’s mellowed out overthe years and as he’s gained wisdom, when he was the girls’ age he could bejust as reckless. Many times, that had gotten him into trouble and, not wantingthe girls to make the same mistakes, tries to ward them from the same flaw hehimself had. (He’s secretly a little proud about it too).

-The sunflowers are either torepresent Summer Rose or they were originally tended to by her and Taicontinues caring for them to keep the memory of her alive. He always cuts freshflowers for the girls whenever they’re sick or hurt, so that their mother canwatch over them.

-Taiyang is either estranged fromhis family or lost it at a young age. He spent most of his childhood inisolation or feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere. When he became apart ofteam STRQ, he finally felt like he’d found a new family and it was one he neverwanted to give up – that was why losing Raven and Summer eventually crushed himand led to his mental breakdown.

-True to his name, Tai fucking loves dragons and if he ever gets luckyenough to see the Gods’ true forms, he’s going to flip out.

· Unpopularopinion: So maybe it’s just the generation I grew up in, but the ‘joke’Tai gives Yang about her arm? Yeahthat one didn’t even hit on my Richter scale as bad. These kinds of ‘off-color’jokes were pretty common place when I was a kid. I think it goes back to what Isaid about the Sun and ‘stalking’ thing. Intent is extremely important, and Taimeant nothing by it… except to make his daughter laugh.

Could it have backfired? Oh yeah,and he would have probably tripped over himself to apologize. But that wasn’twhat happened – nor was it what the writers’ intended to make that happen. Otherwise, they would have led Yang’sresponse in another direction or gave the animation team a specific expressioncue to work in.

· Song Iassociate with them: Going to continue picking random songs, because this isdefinitely not my strong suit. I probably went through all my playlists, but I’mgoing with Chris Daughtry’s “It’s Not Over”. If you read the verses as stages ofTai’s life with those important in it, it lines up fairly perfectly.

-The first twoversus are for Raven and their failed love (“You’ve taken away everything/And Ican’t do without, I try to see the good in life… This love is killing me”)

-Then the next two verses are forSummer and the loss of her (“I cannot wait/We’re wasting too much time… My lifewith you means everything/So I won’t give up that easily”)

-Finally the last verses are forQrow’s losing battle against his alcoholism and depression (“We can’t let thisget away/Let it out/Don’t get caught up in yourself”) and Tai’s own resolve to getback up and start again for his girls (“It’s not over, let’s start over!”)

· Favoritepicture of them:

Never been so attracted to a picturebefore.

Summer Rose

(Our dearestflower, born white and bled red in her final hour)

· Favorite thingabout them: For now, simply that it’s implied she was both a kickasshuntress and an incredible mom. Now, if only we could SEE that in action.

· Least favoritething about them: Well. Being dead’s kind of a drag,ain’t it? I feel my least favorite thing about her is the same thing we’re allkind of feeling at this point – that we know virtually nothing about her. I washoping she’d be brought up when the whole ‘Silver-eyed’ thing got addressed –BUT NO. I’M STILL STARVING RT, GIVE ME SOME CONTENT PLEASE.

· Favorite line: *Saves thisspace for when we get any*

· brOTP: I particularlyenjoy the dynamic Summer and Raven may have had. Like Qrow and Tai, I often seethe girls growing close during their years at Beacon, the two eventuallydeveloping a mutual respect for one another that turns into friendship. Theyboth start to realize just how much they care about each other when Raveninadvertently makes a portal to Summer to save her life. Summer is secretlyhappy whenever she manages to get Raven to confide secrets to her – one ofwhich was her growing feelings for Taiyang.

· OTP: Speaking of Tai,of course I rather enjoy that Summer and he had fallen in love. Just like with Taiqrow,the emotional support factor really drives this one in deep for me. I know thisone gets a lot of flack as a ‘rebound’ on Tai’s part (And equally should getflack on Summer for being a ‘Hero’s complex’, since she’s literally swooping into ‘fix’ what Raven broke), but I personally feel like their love was genuine, simplybecause of how significant an impact losing her had on Taiyang. Just because ithappened quickly after one loss does not immediately discredit it from beingtrue and powerful.

· nOTP: Absolutely herand Qrow. And yes, I know someone is going to call me out for this one because ‘I’vewritten it before’ – AND YES, I KNOW. It’s not that I don’t see the potential inthe ship because I absolutely do. It’s that I’ve come across it just one timetoo many that to put them together, it’s often done at the expense of villainizingTai, Raven, or both, which has soured my ability to enjoy it – one person inparticular does this so well that seeing her work actually turns my stomach. Ialso really think it weakens in-canon Qrow as a character, since I can’t fathomhim lying about being Ruby’s dad and most arguments that try to explain why hewould feel flimsy at best. Also, just, this: “Don’t lie to him Ruby, we’rebetter than that.”

(I will however accept PolyQrow/Summer/Tai in which neither of them know who impregnated Summer and Qrowjust goes by uncle because it was easier for the kids to understand).

· Randomheadcanon: -Summer Rose was first attempted to be killed by then lateractually killed by Marcus Black. The first encounter I see happening sometimein her school years, in which on a mission he comes after her. Taiyang has tointervene, maybe at the cost of his own semblance, and eventually they’re both savedby Raven and Qrow who portal to them just before either are killed. In thesecond, Summer is alone and is being hunted down both by Marcus and his wife.Though she calls Qrow for back-up, he never gets there in time. In the last fewminutes, she manages to kill Marcus’ wife, but is in turn killed by him. I particularlylike this because this would make Qrow and Marcus foils, both who startdrinking heavily from loss but have different responses to those around them.

-HAVE I EVERTOLD Y’ALL ABOUT MY EVIL SUMMER IDEA? I have said it once and I will say it again:black magic and curses are criminally unused in this fairytale inspired show.The idea that Summer was ‘brought back to life’ by Salem to use for her ownpurposes is deliciously fun – or, seeing as we don’t know what it can do yet,being brought back by the relic of creation. In ether scenario, it brings backthe body but not the heart. Her reveal would be devastating to _TRQ, especiallyif they are forced to fight her. If they did I see the scenario going inmultiple directions –

A. In a team fight: Either theyare all killed by her or they kill her

B. In single fights:

+Raven is killed by Summer or theykill each other. I see Summer giving out a lot of passive-aggressive quips overRaven running off and maybe even goads her about her powers and her fears.

+For Qrow, I never see him dyingto her in a one-on-one fight. Getting heavily injured, yes, but never dying. Ido see them being fairly evenly matched, actually. And maybe even Summergetting super offended if he uses his scythe on her.

+Tai fights her, but spends themajority of the battle on the defensive, trying to remind her of who she reallyis. Just as he’s got her hesitating, another villain either injures him orstrikes him down.

That’s not even touching on whatit would mean for Ruby and Yang to encounter her.

· Unpopularopinion: While I do think she probablyhad a habit of being socially withdrawn, I really don’t see Summer as painfullyshy-mannered as some of the fandom portray her as – at least not to a debilitatingextent. I don’t think it’s a bad character trait for her, per say, and it worksin some contexts especially when it’s balanced well. It’s just hard to see hermanaging to survive as team leader with such a submissive personality traitwithout the twins or Tai completely eclipsing her.

· Song Iassociate with them: Mostly because I once envisioned an entire fight scene leadingto her death to this song, I’m going to go with “Heroes” by Zayde Wolf.Surprisingly though, it fits fairly well. Being a ‘hero in the darkest of times’really does exemplify what a huntress is and what Summer herself is meant torepresent.

· Favoritepicture of them: *Saves this space because she stubbornly refuses to put up theteam STRQ photo we’ve all seen ten thousand times*

Raven Branwen

(The sexiestpsychobitch you ever will meet)

· Favorite thingabout them: Her character potential. With the end of volume 5, it feels likeshe’s been left at a crossroads, in which she can choose to continue to lookout for herself like the coward she’s been, or choose to attempt to redeemherself when her daughter gets into trouble again. The fact that we haven’t quiteseen the result of her visit to Tai (or if it ended up being a visit at all)tells me the team is holding back on that decision for now; but, I have absolutelyno doubts that we will be seeing her again.

· Least favoritething about them: Can anyone say manipulative bitch bordering on total sociopath? Thatfirst conversation Raven has with Yang made me jerk back a bit and go ‘Whoa,crazy alert’. It’s definitely a trait that is um… a little hard to like. It hasmassive amounts of writing potential though.

· Favorite line: “Two childrenyou’ve tricked into following you, a disgraced Atleasian scientist, and a FallMaiden with a surname so appropriate, she probably picked it herself. Thatabout right?” Vol 5. Chapter 9 gets a lot of flack for not being veryinteresting, but I could not get enough of Raven’s snark throughout theconversation.

· brOTP: How about withher literal brother? I’m a total sucker for inseparable twins and I’ve alwaysliked the idea that, growing up, the two of them were extremely close. Raven’sa teeter-totter of opposites for me, so I can also see that relationship goingin the exact other direction – BUT FOR NOW…

· OTP: Speaking of teeter-totters,how about that relationship with Tai, huh? Was it toxic as hell or did they trulylove each other and just had an awful falling out, wherein the bitterness wouldsettle in much later on? Who knows! I don’t! But I love exploring both anglesto their fullest extent. I’ll also drive the pain all the way in: If Taiyangends up dying in canon, the break of their bond is powerful enough it causesRaven to cry.

In AUs, I ship the hell out ofSummer and Raven. In-canon, I’ll always go the STR-Crossed route in which allthree of them are just hopelessly in love with one another and in which Ravenpretends she doesn’t regret leaving them behind.

· nOTP: Honestly, beyondthe obvious incest ships (like with her daughter, wtf?), there’s not really anyships with Raven that make me squelch. Even a crackship like Cinder/Raven hasthis weird, sexy angle to it.

· Randomheadcanon: -Like everyone else, Raven used to have a copy of the team STRQphoto. Much like her brother, she kept it on her, even after she left. But shortlyafter Summer died, she burned the photo in the camp’s firepit, cutting off herfinal ties to them.

-Qrow and Ravenwere never sent to Beacon to ‘become huntsman and return with their skills’. Itwas what they were told but they were sent there because the leader at the timehoped they’d die in the process – in Raven’s case, to eliminate her dangerouslyambitious nature. Qrow always knew this was the real reason, but Raven didn’t acceptthis until much later. Upon her return to the tribe, she eventually confrontedand ultimately killed the former leader for that act.

-Though it relies on help fromone of her teammates, Raven can cut things in half with her portals if shecloses it when it’s only halfway through, and has done so on multiple occasionsto cut right through Grimm.

-Raven is either going to die acoward… or a hero.

· Unpopularopinion: I don’t really think Raven left because she got pregnant; ifRaven was so intent on abandoning her, I don’t feel like the show would tell usthat she visits her daughter enough that Yang is able to recognize her birdform. I think it’s an interesting angle, but I think her fear of Salem is thegenuine reason she left but she only really knew one other home: The Tribe. Herdecision to leave Yang behind either was forced from her by the rest of her teamor was her own choice at the time, knowing her daughter would be more at risk ifshe came along.

· Song Iassociate with them: Alright, I scoured around for a bit for this one. I’m going tosettle on “Heaven’s a Lie” by Lacuna Coil. Though there’s not much to actually workwith, it rather matches well with how she feels she was given false promises byOzpin (“Destiny of a lie/Set me free, your heaven’s a lie”) and how sheultimately left her team behind and returned a life of corruption (“I need toknow when I’ll fall into decay… I need to know why did I choose to betray you?Something wrong with all the plans of my life”)

· Favoritepicture of them:

God damn she’s hot when she’sabout to wreck people’s shit.

Qrow Branwen

(The man whowas Emo before it was cool)

· Favorite thingabout them: There’s a lot to love, from his dashing good looks to hisendless sass, but I especially like his emotional vulnerability. I think it’s thesadist in me, but I get endless amounts of joy from him letting down his wallsand being more open: talking about his semblance, panicking whenever Ruby is indanger, his fury and sorrow over Ozpin’s half-truths – yeah, I live for thisshit. If he cries in the show, it will almost definitely become my new favoritemoment.

· Least favoritething about them: So, fun fact: I hatedQrow at first and simply because of this fact -he’s a drunk. Now, this is superpersonal, but I grew up with addiction in my family, so characters like Qrowalmost never make it high up on my list, if they make it on at all. It’ll alwaysremain my least favorite thing about him, but I do like how the show isexploring the issue and, in fact, have enjoyed exploring it myself in mywriting. It’s therapeutic.

· Favorite line: As far as linedelivery goes, got to give it to “Look, this has nothing to do with trust. I- …It’s a long story, okay?” The amount of emotion put into those simple words is frankly,just beautiful. Got to also give proper appreciation to “I DID IT!” and “Well…that’s unfortunate.”

I’ll always be most fond of “Youtwo? You’re gonna go far. But only if you keep learning. If you never stopmoving forward.” Not only as it’s a homage to Monty, but it really shows Qrow’skinder, more loving side when it comes to his nieces.

· brOTP: So whileshipping them is generally off the table, Summer and Qrow being best friends isalways my jam. I can see these two having little drinking sessions together or gettingcompetitive over two-player video games. Perhaps they even geeked out togetherwhen they both realized they loved the tale of the Grimm Reaper. I also stronglybelieve that it was Qrow who encouraged Summer to admit her feelings to Tai, advisingher that to wait could mean to lose her chance entirely. And then, when sheactually did, teased her endlesslyabout it.

· OTP: Can I just fillout a second paragraph about how much I love Taiqrow? Because, I really love Taiqrow.I can see it happening entirely on accident. One night, Taiyang and Qrow aresaying good night and, without thinking, Taiyang just dips down and gives him akiss. He freaks out, not because of the action insomuch that he was afraid hejust ruined their friendship until Qrow just rolls his eyes and drags him infor another one.

On a side note, I’m really startingto get a soft spot for OzQrow and I blame the rest of the fandom for this. Ironic,that I ship them now that Ozpin has technically died and it’s TOO LATE.

As for James/Qrow, I see thehighlights of it, and in small measures like it myself, but it’s not very highup on my list.

Winter and Qrow is a total guiltypleasure ship and I’m not sorry.

· nOTP: Again, beyondthe obvious choices? Eh, I’ve noticed Tyrian/Qrow is gaining some traction and,while it definitely doesn’t give me the heebie-jeebies some ships do, that oneis definitely not my cup of tea.

· Randomheadcanon: -Qrow likes to bestow nicknames to people he likes, as nicknamesare terms of endearment to him. For people like James or Oz, who are Jimmy andWizard respectively, he uses them sparingly; whereas, for family, he tends touse them much more frequently. Especially with his nieces. They often can tell whenhe’s being serious or when they are in trouble if he starts using their actual names.When he was a teacher, almost all of his students got nicknames, since he wasterrible at remembering them by their actual names.

-Qrow’ssemblance caused him to be sent to Ozpin’s office. A lot. It gave everyone,except for the very few who actually knew what his semblance was, theimpression that he was nothing but a troublemaker. Eventually, Qrow started paying Glynda on theside to use her own semblance to fix whatever his would break.

-Qrow’s drinking actually startedin school. He’s generally a happy, reckless drunk, and people tended to likehis company more and, craving both that feeling and the attention, he continuedto seek out social events for an excuse to drink. When he was young, he wasalso extremely choosey on the brew he would have, as a bad mixture often hadthe effect of making his mood plummet instead. As he grew more dependent on thealcohol, he stopped caring as much.

-Qrow isabsolutely bisexual and no one can convince me otherwise.

· Unpopularopinion: I really don’t think Qrow sleeps around as much as the generalfandom believes he does. I get why the archetype is there, especially with how flirtatioushe can be, but with how insecure Qrow actually is, I feel like he’d actually bepretty hesitant when it comes to getting intimate, especially with strangers. Accidentalpregnancies, anyone?

· Song Iassociate with them: Okay this one was actually an easy choice: “Breaking the Habit”by Linkin Park. It really highlights the current struggle Qrow’s going throughin this volume (not knowing what is worth fighting for) while it also can relateback to his addiction and self-worth/depression issues (Not feeling all rightand hurting a lot more than ever before).

· Favoritepicture of them:

Just your resident bird man, looking badass as shit.

#taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #raven branwen #Summer Rose #rwby #strq #team strq

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southwarkcofe · 5 years

Text

‘Grace beyond explanation’

Revd Darius Weithers, Assistant Curate at St Matthew, Croydon, writes...

It was about 2010, and a sunny Friday afternoon in Peckham. We had, as we always did, converted the Church hall into a Youth drop-in space ready for our ‘Alive’ youth group to descend upon us. I was in the kitchen doing something, and one of our young people entered the hall and made a beeline for me. This young man who I will call ‘James’, lived alone with his mum. We greeted each other, James with a huge smile on his face. “My dad has come down to see me from Liverpool!” he said excitedly! Now I was pretty sure that this was a very, very rare occasion, as this young lad barely ever mentioned his dad. In fact, he had already told me a few weeks before - in not so many words - that he considered me to be like a father figure to him. I was happy for him, but also slightly perplexed. So I asked him: “If your dad is visiting from Liverpool, why are you here James?” His reply was so simple, but yet it would literally, and almost instantly change my life forever. “Because I wanted to see you Darius!” were his words. I saw this boy once a week during term-time, but there was a grace beyond explanation, that had permeated our relationship.

Youth ministry, or perhaps ministry as a whole, can often be punctuated by moments of wondering how on earth I am supposed to have any lasting impact? There was always the perceived pressure to find empirical evidence for our ministry’s success, in order to justify its existence. How many young people had we baptised? How many testimonies have we heard? How much has the church grown as a result of our efforts? The reality though, is that much of the impact that this ministry had, is simply intangible.

South London can be a hostile place for young people. Yet it was our humble Church hall - of all places - that became a place of refuge, prayer, friendship, safety, food, games, and bible based discussion. How can you measure the worth of such a ministry? What impact did our bible study, fellowship and prayer actually have? What might have happened had these young men who were with us for hundreds of Fridays, spent those nights roaming the streets? Only God knows.

We never had answers to these questions, yet we - undeniably so - had a sense that God was at work, and that what we were doing was of immeasurable worth in the eyes of Jesus. Ministries such as this one, and relationships such as the one I had with James, simply cannot be treated as some kind of human project, especially if we truly believe that God - and not us - is the orchestrator behind them! In those 7 years, I lost count of the times my heart broke for those boys. I lost count of the times when they threw our love back in our faces. I lost count of the number of ‘hard faced’ young men, who over the space of months and years, softened their gaze and opened their hearts. Yet what kept us going, was not a sense of reward, or success, but was simply the love of God that he was pouring out- by his Grace - for the boys we were reaching out to. We were there in response to a calling by God, to proclaim his Gospel to these young men, who society often has very little love or regard for. As a result, by the time I left Peckham, our group became more like a family than a youth club.

The vision that our humble youth team shared, I believe was imparted unto us by the Spirit of God. We did all we could in our limited way, to show those boys how much we loved them, and we repeatedly - like a broken record in fact - told them that it was God who gave us this love for them. I can remember one lad once who during a discussion, preempted that I was about to tell the group how much I loved them...again!?! Yet even as I write this blog with such fond memories in my heart, my heart is also heavy. My heart is heavy because I miss my boys so deeply. My heart is heavy because I feel like those young, precious sheep are now scattered. On my final Friday in my role as their youth leader, some of us took a photo together. Most of them I have not seen since, and might never see again.

More than all of this, my heart is heavy because even though we had a youth group, paid youth workers and amazing unpaid ones. Even though we had invested so much into this bunch of young men. Even though we had sensed on many, many occasions, the Lord at work in our midst. I knew in my spirit that the Church that supported this ministry just didn’t get it. This is because, as I believed at the time and continue to believe, the Church as a whole just does not get them; Their lives, their fears, their culture, their background, their hopes and despairs, their world. For some reason beyond my fathoming, I sensed not only this, but that the church on a whole was not ready to love those boys with the love of God that we had tasted. That there was for them - in The Church of England - no room at the ‘inn’.

There were times when I tried to relay - to others in the church - why what we were doing was so important, and I know this sounds harsh, but sometimes as if I was trying to describe how amazing Jerk Chicken is, to a group of vegetarians. This filled my heart with much pain, but also much determination. So I owe the beginning of my waking up to my calling towards Priesthood, to ‘my boys’. Those boys showed me just how far we need to travel, to truly be a Church for England, that preaches good news to those in society who are more used to bad news than most of us. It is so difficult to put into words the impact that those boys had on me. As cliche as it might sound, I'm convinced that they affected me much more than me, them.

It took about 7 years to build what we had. I don’t think it took 2 years after I had headed off to College for our beloved church to pull the chain on that Friday night youth club. I’m sure they had very legitimate reasons for doing so, and yet it only makes to galvanise what I had suspected. They were not ready to take on, and love, a bunch of everyday working-class BAME Peckham boys. So as I consider what my specific calling looks like, towards an ever deepening priesthood, I must begin with this story. I begin with a bunch of boys who began turning my hair grey long before I heard the ear-piercing cry of my firstborn daughter, but who were so much more than worth it. I am sure that as I grow as a priest, God will give me many different graces, for many different peoples and places. My hope is that I will grow in compassion for those in society that are otherwise forgotten. Yet it is because there are so many good and worthy causes, that this time of new priesthood has forced me to remember where I have come from. I am determined to remember those ‘Alive’ boys who deep down, in the institution of the Church of England, I fear forgetting. Every single one of them is representative of a whole generation of young men and women who are largely missing from our beloved church.

It is to such people that I owe the awakening that I experienced, to a call to priesthood in the Church of England. I am sure that there will be many amazing facets that will make up my priesthood. I am deeply excited about leading worship and presiding over Communion. I love preaching. I have been surprised that many of the old-skool Parish priest type ministries are right up my street! Yet deep down I cannot shake this sense of also being called to something new in the Church of England. My hope, and my dream, is that the way those formative years in Peckham shaped me; That a calling that was born out of struggle and heartache, will give a shape to my priesthood that will always seek to remember, and seek to reconcile - such as - those to whom I owe so much. Because without them, this journey to Priesthood might never have even begun.

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