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amazingphilza · 3 years

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twitchcon :: cc!multiple x reader

fluff , platonic , gender neutral ! some mcyt headcanons if you were to attend twitchcon w them

cc’s included in order: tommyinnit , tubbo , ranboo , wilbur soot , philza , technoblade

cw: kinda lengthy for the minors (i think), not as much for the hags LMAO /hj

tommyinnit

this man is so excited to be at his first twitchcon & being able to hang out with all his best friends makes it a hundred times better

when he isn’t at a panel or doing meet & greets, he’s dragging you everywhere to see the whole convention center (clingyinnit)

he is just so at awe despite this not being his first convention to attend

you’d be surprised he gets tired pretty quickly & stops over to the partner lounge

you both rest for a bit against a wall in a pretty packed hallway despite it being an exclusive area to twitch partners

every time a famous streamer walks by he will yell it out and record it then vlog your reaction, even if they’re surrounded with bodyguards & trying to get to another place quickly

he’d zoom in his camera to their face at a horrible angle and be like

“oh my god it is THE ninja. ninja famous fortnite player, HELLO.”

but he gets completely ignored

then the camera pans out to you, still really zoomed in that the capture is blurry

“ninjainnit?”

“EH?”

tommy is so confused, forgetting the bit ninja did on his twitter where he renamed himself ‘ninjainnit’ for a split second

okay tommy isn’t that athletic but he will chase you and the rest of your group down a hallway if he had to

he’d probably find a toy gun from the artist alley/seller booths and shoot you and wilbur with it

but if tommy stumbles across any of the dream team, it’s about to be minecraft manhunt but irl

and he will def play his stream music while walking or smth when he’s bored (or trying to jump dream & sapnap)

** DO DO DO DO MANHUNT MUSIC **

oh my god,, now thinking about it he’s probably the one to open like random doors of empty rooms and steal stuff while you film him

like he will take a random empty glass, a bunch of pens, a freebie t-shirt, everything he sees he takes with him and you’re just panic

“tommy we’re literally not supposed to be here, and i’m stuck here filming you. it’s surely a felony in action”

“well, it’s their fault for leaving the doors open! plus this is great content. who’s the dirty crime boy now, HM?”

you’d tell wilbur about this and he’d scold tommy and threaten him with the same pen tommy stole

tommy probably would also drag you some weird event happening outside twitchcon along with tubbo and ranboo

“pokimane is giving out free pizza to everyone if we go to this one restaurant down the street!”

“we are literally gonna get bombarded. have you forgot you’re like three of twitch’s top streamers? i’d rather pay for all of our meals than try getting free pizza from pokimane against all her other fans”

“DEAL! let’s go to five guys then!”

you unfortunately end up paying for all 3 of their meals and picking on their food instead of buying your own

even with all of them making way more money than you, they still happen to be cheapskates

OR tommy will end up getting a burrito from a taco truck, immediately making a mess of himself, then proceed to complain how messy the food is to eat despite knowing what he was getting himself into before even ordering

“shit my clothes are all ruined now!”

“well that’s your fault you got a burrito, as if it’s your first time having one”

“i mean the food is good, i’m not complaining about that but i don’t think it’s that good that it’s worth costing my red and white shirt, im just saying”

tubbo

same with tommy, he is so excited

i don’t know why but i imagine him overpacking his suitcase and you making fun of him for it

anyway tubbo has his irl backpack on and streaming EVERYTHING

probably spends a lot of time at a bunch of different booths, checking out all the pointless gadgets he could buy for his stream

you’re the one to stop him from doing so

“TUBBO IT’S LITERALLY OVER TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS, STOP. DONT GET IT.”

“WHY NOT?? IT WILL BE COOL FOR MY STREAM AND I WILL USE IT EVERYDAY”

“okay theoretically speaking, how the hell are you going to even bring it home? which—let me remind you—is across the country for you and not to mention the giant ocean separating america and the uk”

“free ship-pang!!!”

“i hate to break it to you tubbo but there is no way you can get free shipping on a FIVE FOOT PC. it’s nearly as tall as you! what are you even gonna do on it, hack the government???”

the arguments are all lighthearted but eventually you give in and let him splurge over a thousand dollars in different devices he claimed he “needed”

i could honestly see him visiting the beaches in san diego and going for a swim or even renting out a boat to use for a bit :D

also he’d bring benson along with him and taking a bunch of scenic photos with it in them

i have a feeling he’s the type to schedule a spontaneous meet & greet because he was bored & gets in trouble for causing a mob in a certain part of the convention

he’s like “oh god, i did not expect this many of the bois to show up AHAHAH oops”

tubbo would def pull a lilypichu and bring his melodica or ukulele and play themes while following random people/cosplayers

at the end of the day, you’d find his bag just stuffed with crap he either got for free or bought in the convention

“how did you get all that stuff? i was with you all day??? and it’s only the first day of the convention, hello?? it looks like you’ve been collecting as if twitchcon has went on for a week already!”

“HA i have my ways, do not underestimate my powers”

lani would probably tag along for the vacation honestly

like whenever someone comes up to her giving her gifts/asking for pics, you and tubbo would tease her about how famous she is

and i dunno but something about tubbo just gives me this amusement park energy and going to legoland and spending the whole day there since it’s near by and because he can

ranboo

he is like a beacon in a sea of people, that’s it .

i honestly just see him causing as much chaos as the other two

ranboo would probably like take someone’s camera whether if they’re streaming or if it’s for the vlog, hold it up high, and point the camera directly above someone’s face

it did not matter how tall you were and if you had platform shoes on, ranboo was a skyscraper next to you

“HAHAH this is how i see you from this height, this is funny”

then he shows you the vid of the recording of him getting like an aerial view of your face

like you see your nose and all your pores and just overall a bad angle to be captured in

“OH GOD RANBOO DELETE THAT, ITS HORRIFIC”

i dunno why but i feel like he’d jump scare every person that was cosplaying as his minecraft character from behind for some reason

“BOO!”

“ranboo i’m not even remotely dressed as your skin—”

“don’t worry i’m practicing it’s fineee”

“you’re like the height of 2 people combined, i think you will be fine as is. you even intimidated the security at the front”

i feel like if he had his own panel he’d like pull up some undertale song in the middle of it and scare all the people in the crowd

“lore but in real life”

probably would get some matching keepsake with you from artist alley/the booths!

i could imagine like a cute keychain or smth :D

i feel like he’s the type to like randomly volunteer as a participant for those mini events in a booth thinking it would be funny but regrets it the moment he’s on stage

after introductions the presenter is like “okay ranboo, you will be given a random meme prompt above your head you won’t be able to see until after and you will have to make a random face to compliment it!”

and you can just tell by his facial expression he’s just thinking

oh god what have i gotten myself into

what is this game? who came up with this idea?

you’d laugh at him the whole time, even after he’s off the stage and finished with that small fiasco

“that was horrible. never again.”

“AHAHAH IT LOOKED SO AWKWARD YOU DID GREAT”

“I CROSSED MY EYES AND PUFFED MY CHEEKS BECAUSE I COULDNT THINK OF ANY OTHER FACIAL EXPRESSION. THE PROMPT ENDING UP BEING ‘WHEN TWITTER CANCELS YOU FOR USING PLASTIC STRAWS.’ AND WHEN I SAW WHAT IT WAS—LITERALLY WHAT KIND OF GAME–”

“I GOT PICTURES AND EVERYTHING ITS PERFECT AHAHAHAH”

wilbur soot

honestly with wilbur it’s slightly more chill

he already experienced twitchcon before so he’s just glad to see his friends again after so long

insists that you explore the convention yourself rather than sticking with him the whole time but you do anyway!

wilbur would probably have like a mini concert and gets you front row seats with the rest of the group

but that doesn’t mean before it that you’re not helping him set up

“y/n please– my amp is so heavy, i can carry it”

“don’t worry! i’m strong” :D

and musically talented or not, he will probably bring you and the rest of his friends up to stage to just vibe and sing a bunch of random acoustic songs

it’s not like some big concert hall stage,, i imagine more like a casual thing w a slightly higher platform from the ground yk?

after spending a long day at the convention he’d also bring everyone across the city to la jolla or smth !

you’d all probably have dinner there and chill, watching the pretty sunset

“this place is really pretty but oh my god im gonna lose my breath hiking up this stupid hill, please slow down”

and wilbur is like ??? because he’s completely fine with his long legs and everything

“just walk faster”

“no, you walk slower”

AHAHAH and for context traversing through la jolla by walking around the town is a bit hard since it’s basically on a bunch of hills (walking up from the beach to a restaurant actually is actually sm work, trust me ive been there)

wilbur honestly doesn’t spend that much time in the actual convention center, he’s probably sightseeing a bit of san diego with you instead

but i could imagine him staying at the tabletop games area playing dnd or smth

“c’mon y/n, come join!”

“uhh i’m not sure, i’m not the best at roleplay and...”

“it’s fine don’t worry!”

he’d pull you in with him and end up enjoying yourself even if it was your first time

and if you’re of age, you’d be wilbur’s +1 at the twitch partner party and make sure mans doesn’t too drunk

if it’s not too late in the night, you two would chill at the beach after the party

it’s just a nice, calming moment after all the loud music mixed with hundreds of conversations at the party

also something about like taking polaroids pictures with wilbur just seems to go hand in hand for me

i’m not sure why but you will be taking lots of pics with wilbur for sure (not necessarily you both in the photo, but of sceneries as well while you’re together!)

philza

literally a dad on vacation with his children, it doesn’t matter how old you are

need sunscreen? surprisingly has it

want a snack? probably has a small granola bar somewhere in his bag

but same with wilbur, he’s more chill like this isn’t his first time at twitchcon

omg he’d def bring you to the artist alley and just buy a bunch of fanart and stuff tho

“oh wow look phil, someone made a giant poster of the dream smp and shit!”

“holy shit that’s so good what the fuck!”

and he’s like rushing to that artist’s stall to buy a poster or print

idk why but phil seems like the person to know where he’s going all over the convention center

he probably had a copy of the directory map but yk

you just have trouble reading it bc all the signs seem to be misleading to you

nothing really crazy screams out to me of what phil would do at twitchcon besides like go to a few events, spend a bunch of time w his friends, etc

HOWEVER i could see him wasting a lot of his time at the gaming area and testing new games that are currently on the works of being developed

like “woah y/n, this vr game is sick, you should try it out!”

ngl i feel like phil would plan a visit to disneyland for everyone, like he gets the tickets and everything but once you’re at the park it’s free reign, y’all go everywhere with not much of a plan

the minors would try to cheap out phil and pay less than the others even though everyone else fully paid phil back and everything LMAO

ok but if he’s feeling nice, phil will buy everyone cotton candy/pretzels :D

and if you’re not hungry, he’d at least get you a mickey balloon

HE WILL HAVE MATCHING MICKEY EARS WITH MUMZA YES .

ALSO STAYING FOR THE FIREWORKS THOUGH OMG

just in general, best idea phil had for taking everyone to disneyland :D

technoblade

surprisingly techno is really calm despite this being like one of his first conventions

but when he finally settles in and gets comfortable, he’s showing the same energy

if you’re playfully yelling, he will yell back

however there’s still those awkward moments that are unavoidable

idk why but something about him makes me think that if you feel tired and want to go back to your hotel room, he’d go with you just to make sure you get there safe

he probably also needs a break from being around everyone else for a moment too LMAO

i could also see him searching far and wide in the artist alley for fanart of himself AHAHAH

walking around with him in the convention consists of someone yelling “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD” every 5 minutes but you don’t really mind

something about him makes me think he’ll be forced into playing minecraft twitch rivals along with the rest of sbi or smth

and he’s like “oh god, i’m going to be on stage? and people will see my face while i play minecraft?”

“i’m sure it will be fun!”

“i mean i like being competitive and feeding my ego, but i’m not that desperate.. well”

do i imagine techno getting easily tired of being surrounded by a bunch of people and just going back to his hotel room with phil and watching some anime with him? yes

and will you watch even if you have no idea what’s going on? also yes

i feel like after a while of you guys hanging out in techno’s room, the rest of the gang will just slowly join you guys

like eventually everyone is there; you, techno, phil, wilbur, niki, tommy, tubbo, ranboo, etc

and techno is like “wha– where did you guys come from?” because his room is basically packed

and niki could be like “oh we can go if you want!”

then techno just insists that she’s fine “but who let the child get in?” clearly implying tommy’s presence

“OI!!”

eventually techno gives in with the company and someone gets a bunch of board games to play from the front desk

lots of yelling and laughing for sure

when it becomes late at night, techno is like half conscious, you’re on your phone, wilbur is staring out the window & enjoying the night view, tommy is passed out on the couch from tiredness, tubbo & ranboo is still wide awake quietly talking, and phil & niki are helping clean up the giant mess

eventually everyone brings themselves to go back to their own room except tommy who won’t budge

you give techno a look and he immediately understands what you were thinking

he rushes to the bathroom to fill up two cups with ice cold water and handed one to you

“on three?”

“okay.. one”

“two”

“three!”

then both of you pour the water on the poor child’s face

he jolts awake and saying a string of curses

“what the fuck techno? y/n too?”

“get out” is the only think techno says that before tommy rushes out with his stuff and you leave right after

a/n: i honestly can’t wait until conventions open up again though,, phil and ranboo were talking about vidcon earlier and omg.

also i kinda want to take in tommy requests but i’m not sure??? it would be both cc! and c! x gn!reader for sure tho. i love writing him to bits but who knows, maybe i’ll only stick to my ideas,, or not. send in a tommy x reader request, might do it, might not, but he’s my fav cc if you can’t tell so! :D (i dunno if i will keep it strictly platonic, but unrequited crushes and stuff are fun to write hehe,,)

edit: let’s hope i fixed all the grammar mistakes LMAO we love writing late at night :) /s /hj

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op-sheepy · 3 years

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ok so I'm particularly interested in

Bellamy Law

Law and Bible stuff

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

shichibukai applications

reverse hanahaki disease (?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

if you feel like elaborating on any of these!

This is gonna get long and I actually contemplated posting them separately but would that have been more work? Yeah, that felt like more work so for anyone interested, check under the cut. :D

---------------------------------o

Bellamy Law

Hm… This would be an attempt to explore the parallels and contrasts between Bellamy and Law. I've always found it fascinating that the former was a foil to the latter.

They both come from well-off towns in the North Blue.

Bellamy left because of boredom. Law had no choice because Flevance.

Both ended up seeking Doflamingo because of his notoriety as a pirate. Both admired him initially

Doffy favored one over the other though. Bellamy always sought his approval but was never really part of the inner circle Doflamingo cared about.

Law got the dubious privilege of being part of the family despite being absent for so long. Even offered one of the highest seats by Doffy's side for seemingly nothing.

Law had no trouble turning his back on Doffy once he realized the man's nature. Bellamy tried to stick to his principles until the end despite admitting that he new he was wrong.

Bellamy can (and did) quit piracy after his ordeal with Doflamingo. Having the option to live peacefully, perhaps a return to his previous life (the one he considered boring). Law can't do that quite as easily what with his Devil fruit and his reputation.

I thought it would be interesting trying to explore what Bellamy was thinking. Did he hear the Donquixote Pirates talk about their missing 'family'? Did he get to see Doffy be amused at Law's rise as a Supernova while he kept being reminded of his own status? Did Law save Bellamy partially because he also saw what he could have been had Corazon not saved him?

On principle, Bellamy should have hated Trafalgar Law. Does. Bastard even saved him without him wanting it. But there was something about the shadows haunting those eyes and Bellamy started to wonder.

He had heard the family talk about Law before. The child personally taught by Doflamingo, chosen to be his right hand. Never was he compared to the man because Law was just obviously better. Smarter. Stronger. Bellamy was ever just an uncouth thug.

He was allowed to 'borrow' Doflamingo's symbol while Law had an empty seat waiting for his return–a seat Bellamy had wanted enough to risk everything for.

Maybe he had resented, Trafalgar Law for carelessly rejecting the things he had that Bellamy had always desired. In the end too, Trafalgar Law did prove to be better. He'd done as a child what Bellamy had trouble doing even as he was now.

But having been given the chance to observe the other man as they all recovered, he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether despite Law being better than Bellamy, Bellamy had had it better–barring the poor life choices.

---------------------------------o

Law and Bible stuff

This is just me wanting to know how many biblical parallels and themes I can draw from Law, the Donquixote brothers, the characters associated with them, and his backstory. Honestly not sure whether this would become a fic and in what style or I'm gonna give up and just make it a post.

Not gonna elaborate on them much but here are the ideas in more bullet points (yay):

Law gets familiar with all four horsemen of the apocalypse: conquest, war, famine, and death. He even survives them.

Law is like the son in the parable of the prodigal son to the Donquixote pirates. Except the themes are inverted.

Doflamingo and Rocinante -> Cain and Abel

Ope Ope no Mi -> Granting eternal life by sacrificing one's own life

Gods descending or living among humans. Also, Homing and his family being prosecuted for other people's sins.

That scene where they were hanged by their arms outstretched looks like a crucifixion. Also, Rocinante was on the right while Doflamingo was on the left. Similar to how the penitent thief was on the right and the unrepentant one to the left.

Flevance being considered a paradise with walls/fences/gates and somewhere Law cannot return to.

In the panel where the Donquixote pirates are seated at the table, there were thirteen of them with Doffy at the center. Same as The Last Supper

There are a lot more of these (David and Goliath, Solomon, Jonah, Job, etc.) but I kinda lost the notes and some are more visual so I can't really explain it too well. This would is a drabble series to emphasize or highlight the parallels so no proper snippet for this one.

---------------------------------o

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

Originally an idea to get around most of the Heart Pirates being nameless but evolved to include other characters as kids. Chopper is a kindergarten teacher and he convinces Law to take over his class for a week because somehow Law has the qualifications to and free time. Naturally, he wasn't able to say no.

Unfortunately, despite not being terrible at handling children, Chopper's class is filled with menaces. Also, despite not being terrible, Law can still be awkward so...

"Mr. Trofao–fargar—"

"Trafalgar."

The kid—which one was this one again? Shit, he should really get them name plates or something—scrunched up his face and tried harder, "Tar-pal—"

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Mr. Low"—eh, close enough—"can I go to the bathroom?" Wide imploring eyes stared up at him.

"Sure, go ahead." Law gestured towards the exit of the classroom with his head.

The kid just stared expectantly at him and he tried to suppress the need to narrow his eyes.

"Is there… anything else?"

"Mr. Chopper always comes with me to hold my hand."

Really?

"Mr. Chopper isn't here. You should practice doing it on your own now." He said after a deep inhale.

"But the monsters might get me…"

"No, they won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Before the kid could open his mouth again to argue, he added, "Besides, children taste terrible so you're safe."

The kid looked stricken and took a step back from him. Uh oh. Glistening eyes, wobbling lower lip… "Alright! I'll go with you." The kid did not look reassured. In fact he looked like going alone with Law was the last thing he wanted to do. Guess, he kinda implied that he ate children didn't he? Oops.

Well, the kid needs to go and he's not going to be cleaning up after him if he wets himself.

Law glanced at the rest of the children. It was Arts and Craft time and they seemed preoccupied enough. Still, Law doubted Chopper ever left these kids alone–already he could see some of them glancing up at him, waiting for him to leave no doubt to cause trouble. That Monkey kid in particular looked extremely suspicious.

He stood up from his crouch and clapped twice to get everyone's attention.

"Alright. Fall in line. Single file."

There was some grumbling and questioning directed at him. "What's going on?"

Law shrugged. "You're all going to the bathroom."

---------------------------------o

Shichibukai Application Forms

Crackfic where the World Government and relevant parties review various Shichbukai Applications. Most submitted by the pirates applying themselves, some produced by their own staff. They discuss and debate. As well as judge pirate resumes.

She scanned the document. Terrible format, really. If you fail to impress within the first page, you've failed entirely. There just wasn't anyone promising enough in this batch of applications or any of the other ones before. The last one had been that clown. "Apprentice to the Pirate King," was a pretty hefty credential.

"Oh, how about this one? Three years experience pillaging, and they even listed all the towns they looted." One of the newly transferred administrative staff said.

"None of these are worth considering at all. You know, when Mihawk was asked to submit his application, he hadn't bothered with all of this. He just sent us a card with his name on it and the title "World's Strongest Swordsman," underneath."

The staff perked up. "Oh, there was an application like that." There was scramble and some shuffling before a plain white card was produced. "Here."

"'From Trafalgar Law'. What does this even mean?"

"Well, it did come with a big box..."

---------------------------------o

Reverse Hanahaki Disease

(?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

Haha. At first it was going to be that way (because it is hilarious) but the inflicted would probably choke to death too soon. Or if both enemies had it, they'd end up just coughing flowers at each other until they stopped being enemies.

The version I ended up going with was that this variant of Hanahaki, instead of afflicting those with unrequited love, affected those in denial instead. The reverse part comes from the original idea that this would usually happen if you somehow fell in love with your nemesis (someone you originally hated). So it's not the thought that the other person can't love you, it's that you can't accept that you love that other person. You get cured by confessing to the person sincerely.

This is actually another KidLaw (surprise!). And the flower coughed up directly represents the person they're in love with (I went with Oda's flower representation for them because I found it funny for plot)

So the idea is that, you get sick but you don't automatically know (maybe) who it is because that's part of being in denial. Kid and Law have many enemies after all. In this story they both get it though not exactly at the same time and not known to the other.

He survived Amber Lead Syndrome only to be killed off by a stupid flower disease that apparently knows more about his own feelings than he does.

He glared at the petals. Tulips. Red.

An image of a cocky grin and a shock of red hair flashed through his mind and—nope. That's not right.

He coughed harder, tears stinging his eyes with the effort. More flowers. Now he has enough for a bouquet.

Alright, he was a doctor. He could do this. Differential time.

First, which variant does he have. He doesn't particularly feel unloved or hopeless. There wasn't anyone he wanted in particular to love him. Ok, nothing. It was maybe safe to say he had that other variant.

Which was stupid because Law had many enemies and he hated all of them.

And cue the racking coughs. More red. He was very familiar with that particular shade.

New theory. This was a new variant that somehow makes you sick when you think of the person you hated the most.

Yes, that had to be it. He thought as he all but collapsed on the floor from the sudden paroxysm.

I knew this was gonna get long. :) Oh well...

Thank you for playing. :D

#One Piece #One piece fanfiction #wip game #trafalgar law #donquixote brothers #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote roci #donquixote homing #donquixote pirates #one piece bellamy #bellamy the hyena #eustass kid #kidlaw #trafalgar d water law

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remmushound · 3 years

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Beyond the Bay chapter 14, Seeing Ghosts (part 2)

Part 1 - https://remmushound.tumblr.com/post/659856430715764736/chapter-14-seeing-ghosts-part-1-part-2

Summary: The rest of the return home and they meet someone new

Tags: @ilo-artistry @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr

Content warning: Swears

“I heard it!” Mikey said, waving his hands around in a wide motion, “It was like BANG. Er. Hm…” Just mouthing the sound effects did not do the point justice, so Mikey stood up and wobbled over to the closest thing that looked metal, banging on it a few times to show the resounding CLANK! “Like this!”

Raph’s eyes furrowed, and then shot wide. A breath hissed through his teeth and he shook his head back and forth with a slow pace. The reaction didn't go unnoticed.

“What’s up, Big Red? You seeing ghosts too?” Leonardo asked.

Raph gave another hiss, hands coming up to scratch at his head. He bit his toothpick in half and spat both halves separately onto the floor.

Donatello followed Raph’s spit and split toothpick all the way to the floor. “I just mopped in here.”

“Yeah. I might’ve.” Raph swiped his tongue over his lips.

“This is news to me.” Leo put his hands on his hips.

Raph eyed his brother with an ‘are you serious’ look. “No the fuck it ain’t. I told you an’ dad both that sommat weird was happenin’ right before Don and Mike came home. That something was in the bathroom with me!”

Michelangelo gasped softly. “It’s a pervert ghost.”

“I knew that chastity belt would come in handy!” Donatello exclaimed. “Ain’t no pervert ghost taking my turtle-hood. Not without a fight!”

“Donnie, please stop talking.” Leonardo said quickly, and in the same breath addressed Mikey and Raph. “If he saw something, and he saw something, then… they saw something.”

“Yes, that’s how seeing things tend to work.” Donnie agreed.

“What I’m saying is that Mikey, apparently, wasn’t there when Raph had his prevent ghost encounter, and Raph wasn’t here when Mikey had his. Raph, did you tell Mikey about what you saw?”

“Nah.” Raph shook his head. “He was all… you know… seizing.”

“Then how could Mikey know about it and give the exact same account? And it’s not even in the same place! Something is here, and something is following you guys.”

“Seems like a stretch to me.” Leo crossed his arms, and though he tried to show nothing but confidence, his voice wavered as uncertainty latched upon him.

“Your voice says otherwise.” Leonardo waved a finger.

“With all do respect, Leo, you are in our world.” Raphael said, “It doesn’t work the same as yours. Something could have gone through or…”

“I would have noticed it.” Leo flashed his teeth, “I would have senses something-- Donatello’s alarms would have picked it up!”

“Mystic stuff isn’t always so easy to detect, you know.” Donatello said, “It’s possible his tech wasn’t advanced enough to pick up on mystic traces.”

“Okay, now I’m offended.” Donnie crossed his arms.

“I speak only the truth.” Donatello stuck up his large nose.

“Guys, stop fighting!” Mikey whined.

“Who’s fighting?” Leo asked, “We’re not fighting!”

“You’re fighting with me right now!”

“No I’m not!”

“Can we not do this?” Michelangelo frowned, starting to shrink into his shell.

“I know what I saw.” Raph snarled.

“I thought it was what you didn't see.” Leo retorted.

“Heard, then!” Raph got in Leo’s face, “And Mike heard it too!”

All the arguing and shouting and pleading mixed into one near-unintelligible screaming match where just enough of each argument got through for the opposing party to make a new comeback. Through the cacophony of voices, there came a soft voice that couldn’t placed to anyone.

“Please stop fighting…”

The barely audible words were heard even past the screaming, and it put an immediate end to all arguments. Some of the turtles were left with their mouths still hanging open, mouthing the words they were about to say except without volume. Eyes widened and one by one turned to seek the source of the voice that had spoken.

The small origin of the small voice couldn’t have stood more than three feet in height. His body was a sleek one with rounded edges and an oversized head; if there was a single pointed edge on his entire body, none of the turtles could see it. His eyes were wide, owl-like screens with white pupils rimmed in green sliding around, impossibly expressive for something clearly inorganic.

Everyone stepped back, and it came naturally to all of them that the smaller brothers were pressed back deeper into fold while the bigger brothers stood in front, eyes locked on the robot. A whirl joined every fluid motion he made looking between all of them, from Raph to Donnie to Leo to Raphael to Mikey. No one could find the breath to respond, and when the stranger took a step forward, everyone else took a step back.

“I’m terribly sorry.” The voice was the most polite voice one could imagine; he folded his hands together as he kept looking between the turtles. “I did not intend to make you fight. Or to startle you just now. I only wanted to stop the yelling.”

Still no words could be said, for they were all speechless.

“I am speaking the right language…” The robot said slowly, “I heard you all speaking it just a second ago. OH! Is my accent weird…?”

Donatello was the first one to break out of his silence, the stunned look on his face quickly shifting back to his normal, uncaring expression as he turned to look at his brothers.

“Wait, why are we stunned again? We’ve seen way weirder.”

Michelangelo let his shock fade away. “Oh yeah.”

“What’s your name?” Raphael asked politely.

The robot seemed overjoyed, giving a bounce of pure happiness. “Hello! My name is Professor Zayton Honeycutt and I am a man of science! Both literally and metaphorically.”

“I… you…” Donnie stumbled over his words as they all fought to get out at once. Though the stunned shine in his eyes remained, astonishment and excitement slowly grew to join. “You’re a robot!”

“Yes!” Said Honeycutt.

“You’re… tiny.” Raph scrutinized.

“Yes!” Said Honeycutt.

“You’re the ghost?” Leo gawked.

“Yes!” Said Honeycutt.

“You’re so cuuuuute!” Mikey ran forward to get a closer look, falling to the ground to ever so tenderly shift Honeycutt around.

“Yes!” Honeycutt said, “I am Professor Zayton Honeycutt, and I am a man of science! Both literally and metaphorically!”

“You eh… said that already.” Raphael pointed out.

“Ah. Apologies. As a robot, I do tend to make a habit of redundancy.”

“Right…” Leo said slowly, then cleared his throat, “Well, I suppose you need our names…”

“Nope!” Said Honeycutt, “You’re Leonardo, you’re Donatello, you’re Raphael, and you’re Michelangelo!” He seemed very proud of himself, turning next to the Hamato brothers, “And you’re Leonardo, you’re Donatello, you’re Raphael, and You’re Michelangelo. Easy pattern to follow!”

“Exactly how long have you been following us…?” Raph’s words were slow as he lumbered forward to join Mikey in looking over the robot, though without touching him.

“Oh, not that long!” Honeycutt beeped, “Only a week…”

Leo’s eyes went wide. “A WEEK?!”

“Yes!” Honeycutt said, “Seven days! Eight if you count today!”

“I…” Leo was lost for words and when they finally escaped his lips, there was very little force behind them, “How did I not know…?”

“Do not feel sad, Leonardo, I was in hiding! Not even the Triceraton Prime Leader himself could have found me!”

Raph blinked. “The what?”

“The Prime Leader!” Honeycutt repeated.

“Yeah… w-what is that?” Leo asked. He kneeled down to try and get more level with Honeycutt, but even then was two heads too big.

“That’s the name for the triceraton leader.” The answer came from Mikey, not from Honeycutt. Mikey was proud as first, beaming so wide his eyes were squinted shut. Then his smile faded and he blinked as joy was replaced with utter confusion.

“That’s correct!” Honeycutt praised.

“Mike…?” Donnie asked in his soft voice, “How’d you know that?”

“I… I dunno…” Mikey shrugged. His panicked eyes confirmed his words true. He turned to his brothers as the fear took seed in every aspect of his being. “It— it just slipped out!”

“Oh, what joy!” Honeycutt declared with a clap of his hands.

“No, no, not joy!” Mikey’s voice had grown into a higher pitch.

Honeycut tilted his head and his face panel shifted to one of confusion. “Why not joy? Knowledge is such a wondrous thing to achieve! Wouldn’t you agree, Donatello and Donatello?”

Neither of the purple ninja seemed particularly interested to respond to the robot’s query. Like a stubborn child who couldn’t take a hint that he was unwanted in the situation, Honeycutt remained patiently waiting on the tips of his feet, screen bright. To put an end to the awkward staring contest that they had unwillingly entered, Donnie cleared his throat.

“Yeah. I… I guess so…” He was extremely uncomfortable, shoulders bunched and head drawn deeper into his shell.

Honeycutt, seeming satisfied with the answer, beeped his agreement, “Yes! There is no guessing required! It is an unchanging fact of life on all planets, especially earth!”

“Wait…” Leonardo said, taking a step forward to point at Honeycutt, “You’re the andoroido, aren’t you? The android that bought all of Monroe’s rifts. Are you the one who took Don’s stuff too?”

From bright excitement to somber shyness, Honeycutt’s face screen shifted dark. “Yes. I apologize, but the Splinterson’s may not return home…”

Raph huffed hot air out of his nostrils. “Who you think you are, a free elf?”

Leonardo sputtered, and then broke down into laughter. Raph’s smile widened as his joke was acknowledged, but he was quick to clear his throat and straighten his posture to save face. Leo had enough of Leonardo’s laughter quickly, and before he could stop himself, he reacted the same way he would have if it had been Mikey laughing.

“This is a serious matter,” Leo said, “Not a laughing one.”

Leonardo made a point to laugh directly in Leo’s face, crossing his arms as he leaned so close his beak almost touched Leo’s. “Sounds like a job for mister serious then. Go on.”

“Don’t think I won’t.” Leo snorted, then turned to Honeycutt, “Zayton, I demand you give Donatello his stuff back now and give us those rifts you bought.”

“No.” Came Honeycutt’s simple answer.

“Uh.” Leo didn't know how to react at first. He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna give you until the count of three to return that stuff!”

“Oh! Okay!” Said Honeycutt chipperly.

Leo, all confidence now down the drain, began to count down. “One…”

Honeycutt’s face was still just as happy and joyful, fingers intertwined as he listened.

“T-two…” Leo’s voice stuttered.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait to find out what comes after two!” Honeycutt was excited.

“T… two and a half. Two and three quarters…”

Honeycutt still had yet to react.

“Three…”

“Yay! Good job!” Honeycutt clapped an applause, “You made it all the way to three!”

Leo’s shoulders slumped. Even without turning around, he could hear the snickers and snorts of his brothers trying their damndest not to laugh, except for Mikey and Leonardo, who were practically falling over with the force of his guffaws. Raphael cleared his throat and laid an oversized hand on Leo’s shoulder. Leo turned around to look at him.

“Why not let us have a go at him, eh?”

Leo, with no other option, agreed.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles #bayverse oc

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lochrannn · 3 years

Text

AU-gust: Escaping the Family

Read on AO3

No warnings

prompt no 6: Gaming

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves, Five Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

This is by far the weirdest birthday Lila has ever had.

She’s in a new city in a foreign country, she’s in an escape room for the first time in her life, and she’s somehow ended up in a team with six bickering adult siblings and their teenage brother, who were apparently all born on the same day as her.

This, she finds completely unbelievable, though why they would lie, just to make use of the promotional free admission to people born on the first of October is entirely beyond her.

They’re all wearing stickers with Hello, my name is _______ and their handwritten name printed on them, though Lila feels it’s a little superfluous, as everyone except for her already knows each other, and she was also instantly annoyed when the little twerp in the pretentious school uniform wrote ‘Five’ on his name badge and his siblings are apparently indulging him.

Whatever, she’s not here to argue with a teenager. She’s really not too sure why she’s here at all.

Maybe she was feeling a little low and lonely when she passed the building and saw the ad for the birthday special, but now she's not too sure why she thought this was a good place to meet new people.

Currently she’s quickly losing her cool watching these complete strangers make an absolute pig’s ear of things.

The boy, Five, apparently, is sitting at an antique looking bureau trying to fiddle with something and swatting his brother Ben away, whenever he’s trying to help or interfere, she’s not entirely certain which.

The two siblings who look like models or influencers or something like that, Allison and Klaus are in another corner of the room and flicking small marbles up against the ceiling, though Lila is completely in the dark as to why, and going off their constant criticising of each other’s aim, they’re not doing a particularly good job.

The remaining three siblings Vanya, Luther, and Diego are huddled together in yet another corner, arguing over a scrap of paper and the presumed meaning of the words written on it, though it’s mostly devolved into hissed threats of bodily harm between the two bigger brothers and exasperated eye-rolling from Vanya.

Nobody has paid any attention to Lila in a solid fifteen minutes.

She’d take it personally if it weren’t for the fact that the only reason they seem to be interacting with each other is so they can make snide remarks about their lack of success with their respective tasks.

Lila decides that she’s had enough.

“Jesus Christ, you people are by far the most dysfunctional family I’ve ever come across and I should know, my parents were murdered in a botched robbery when I was four!”

By the end of her outburst she is shouting and now a pin could be heard if it were dropped.

The little wanker in the knee high socks is the first to break the silence, “Thought this was an escape room not a therapy session for traumatized orphans.”

“Hey, Five, don’t be mean to the nice crazy lady!” Diego, who she’s admittedly has had a bit of an eye on, jumps in, but right now the last thing Lila needs is some arsehole pretty boy white-knighting her, so she levels him with the deadliest glare she can manage and to her satisfaction he withers a little and doesn’t say anything else.

The rest of them just stare at her with differing levels of disbelief.

“Right!” Lila says with a determination that she’s mostly using to cover up the sudden awkwardness, “this might not have occurred to you, but can I suggest that we work together as a team and maybe try and solve the puzzles together?” She tries to keep the sarcasm in her voice to a minimum.

The siblings give each other slightly confused looks as if working together may be the furthest thing from their minds.

In the end Vanya is the first to break and says, “We’ve got a message here and I’m quite certain that it’s in Greek, though Diego says it’s Latin and Luther says it’s Russian. Does anyone have an idea what to do with this?”

Five gets up in a huff, storms over to unceremoniously take the note out of Vanya’s hand and then mumbles, “This is definitely ancient Greek, nice spot Vanya! Give me a minute, I think I can translate it.”

Ben, who has now finally got a chance to look at what Five was fiddling with at the bureau, calls out to the rest of them, “There’s two overlaying circle plaques here with the letters A to G in lower case and capital letters on them. There’s also some random small b’s and hashtags strewn in.”

“Let me see!” Vanya comes over to Ben excitedly, seemingly having had an idea. “Oh yeah, that’s a circle of fifths. Hold on we just have to turn it like this to get the right parallel modes together -”

There’s a click and one of the draws opens and Ben reaches in and presents a key to the rest of the group.

Lila is a bit surprised herself at how effective her little tantrum seems to have been.

“Ooh! Ooh! Do us next!” Klaus says with a little enthusiastic clap, looking expectantly at Lila, as if she’s done anything beyond merely pointing out that they should work together.

Allison, next to him, gives him a look that is mostly just an eyebrow lift, but Lila doesn’t need to have grown up with siblings to know that this is probably a very frequent expression between the two of them. Then Allison turns to the room at large and starts explaining, “There’s a small hole up there in the ceiling and we’re pretty certain there’s another switch inside it and there were these conveniently placed marbles that look like they just about fit through the hole, but we've missed everytime so far. I don’t know, maybe Five could get on Luther’s shoulders and see if he can reach it that way…” Allison trails off looking up at the ceiling.

“Show me?” Diego says slightly hesitantly, having kept quiet since Lila had put him in his place with a look.

He walks over to his brother and sister, takes one of the marbles from Allison, flicks it up at the ceiling without much hesitation, and hits the ceiling just next to the tiny hole in the wood panelling.

Without a word Klaus hands him another marble and Diego flicks this one up as well, manages to hit the hole and there’s another click from one of the draws in the bureau.

Ben reaches in and pulls out another key with a delighted, “Aha!”

In the end they get out using the two keys on the locks on the door and punching the code that Five deciphered from the Greek message into the additional keypad.

And then Lila suddenly finds herself out on the cold pavement, her quasi teammates a little way off, apparently arguing over where to go for food, though she’s trying strenuously not to eavesdrop, as now, after she was trying to get away from them as fast as possible, she feels a little forlorn.

She’s pulling the edges of her coat more tightly around herself while she’s wondering whether to try and catch a bus or splash out on a taxi for the occasion of her birthday, when Diego separates from his siblings and wanders over to her, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“We’re… uh… we’re going for some food, d’you wanna come with?” he asks uncertainly, pulling a hand out to point a thumb over his shoulder towards his family.

Lila looks around him to where the five grown-ups and the teenager are apparently in the middle of a heated argument, and though a moment ago she felt oddly lonely, the thought of spending the rest of the evening with their constant bickering feels like a little much after all.

It seems Diego recognises the dilemma playing out on her face because he crosses his arms, looks down at his boot where he’s kicking at nothing on the pavement, and mumbles, “Or I could ditch them and you and I go out for a drink?”

Lila would have probably said yes anyway, but the shy smile on his face when he finally looks back up at her is stupidly irresistible.

“Won’t your siblings miss you for your birthday dinner?” Lila asks sincerely, though she hopes he’ll say they won’t.

“Eh, we meet up every first Sunday of the month, so I’ll see them at the weekend anyway,” he offers with a shrug.

“Well, do you know of anywhere where I can get a decent pint around here, then?” Lila asks with a bright smile on her face and a small flutter in her chest.

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #luther hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #lochrannn lxd au challenge

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Note

Your whole Contest rant read almost like a parody. The Contests were the most popular goal for female companions in the anime, and the vast majority of fans of Contests were female fans. Likewise Misty had already gotten stale and dull in Johto, and Contests brought in better battles, storylines and character development. Saying they're all about being girly makes me think you have no idea what they're about, since most are abut battles and combinations. I doubt most will agree with you.

Oh, but Nonny, you don't believe in what you're saying since you won't put your name to it, so why should I listen?

It's a 'rant' because you disagree, not for actual content.

The nature of a rant is crazed disorder, but this comes in numbered sections clearly laid out.

More aptly, the first three words of that post were 'I hate Contests'.

If this view is such an anathema, why did you keep on reading?

Who's the fool here?

Whether anyone agrees with me or not is immaterial. Truth isn't a popularity contest.

It's still my opinion whatever anyone else thinks, no lesser or greater.

If you want to be liked, then lie.

I tried this method, keeping my feelings to myself, never daring to speak my mind, and where did it get me?

• Unfollowed

• Ghosted

• Insulted

• Blocked

• Shunned

Where is the incentive to hold back if that's the reward?

Might as well say what I want. I think I've a right to on my blog.

It is you who misunderstand. I complain Contests are vacuous and girly, and your defence is that they are for girls and most fans were girls.

Well, yeah. That's what I said. A show once having universal appeal downgraded itself to be toddler fantasy pap:

The anime began aimed at everyone, especially children and teenagers, but now, when its concern with fluff and sparkles takes precedent, it's a fantasy for toddler girls.

You tell me I'm wrong by concurring it's for girls, then you insist considering it to be girly means I know nothing about it.

Eh?

Girls got along fine watching Pokémon for years without being pandered to and infantilised by shallow spectacles like this.

Pokémon used to be for everyone, although because game-players were, and still are, mostly boys, what one saw of the fandom was largely their input.

• Letters to magazines were mainly from boys.

• If you knew of any fans at school, they were boys.

• Attendants to downloading Mew were nearly all boys.

The exception were fan sites, shipping and art, which were dominated by girls.

Then along came Contests, and that balance tipped, until we get to the point now that I doubt many viewers of the anime are male, because it no longer holds any appeal.

Why should they put up with a monotonous fashion parade when they watched it entirely for fierce showdowns?

We started with tough girls like Jessie and Misty, then along came the Contest blender, and we ended up with feeble vessels like Mallow and Lillie.

Ultra girliness is all very well on the periphery, or as part of an ensemble, but when it's the only stock feminine character available, it's boring to the point of paralysis.

Why should I be pleased a series with edge devolved into a mess of pink and cuddly cushions?

With whom were Contests the favourite female occupation? Fans?

What were the options?

• Tagged along because she was going that way (Misty/Iris).

• Contests/Showcases (May/Dawn/Serena).

• Lives nearby (Lillie/Mallow/Lana/Chloë).

I'm not really surprised at the result. I still don't see why this invalidates my take.

Amid your ravings, I am told that 'most are about battles and combinations'.

Most? Some aren't then?

What are these few about then? Vietnam?

By your own admission, a few are nothing but vacuous posturing.

Again, you agree with me. What's the complaint if I'm right?

What storylines? New Ribbon or no Ribbon?

And what character development? May and Dawn began wanting to be champion, and finished wanting to be champion.

Since that was the close of their story, any 'lessons' they learn are redundant as we'll never see them put into application.

Better battles? Better than what?

Have have you the nerve to lie that Contests are about combat?

The entire premise is showing off how pretty attacks are, not the strength.

Were it a display of power, as a normal fight is, people would be entering with teams of enormous hulking beasts, leaving the likes of Piplup bloody lost.

Some ugly Pokémon, like Gabite and Ambipom, are included, but because they've got some shiny move up their metaphorical sleeve.

Come on, man! The first round is decided on who's bustin' out the sparkles!

Every subsequent round may pose as battling, but you don't succeed by beating the opponent unconscious as usual.

You win if your 'energy bar' is highly than theirs, bought about by pulling off attention-seeking stunts.

Knocking 'em out is a blessing as it assures a win, but it's not the goal.

How is that battle in any legitimate sense when the very markers of victory and loss are removed?

Since beauty is subjective, the winner doesn't succeed because they are measurably superior to their opponent, or at least capable of thinking on their feet.

They win just on the whim of this set of judges liking their performance more. Another day, another panel, and it'd be different.

A real fight in a proper competition doesn't depend on arbitrary standards like that. You take 'em down here, you'd take 'em down in any stadium, any country. It is thus a quantifiable achievement.

In real life, we don't class a sash from a beauty pageant as of equal value to a black belt.

It's okay, but we know it was a matter of luck, whereas any sporting trophy comes from clearly out matching the rest, with hours of strain, sacrifice and suffering paving the path to that moment.

Contests involve no such effort. You pick what glitters and the rest is rehearsal. No need to enter a single fight to hone your skills.

Why isn't Ash eager to get in on the action then, if it's 'truly' such a test of combatants?

The answer is because it's nothing to do with his career as a Trainer. If it were, we wouldn't need the separate term of 'Co-Ordinator' to describe entrants.

Trainers train Pokémon, Gym Leaders lead Gyms, Co-Ordinators co-ordinate routines to be spectacular.

Why have different descriptions if it's exactly the same?

Martial arts, both in fantasy and reality, have a spiritual element. Those who dedicate their lives to it are regarded as having reached a higher level of being.

Battles share that quality. It's not about brute force, focus is place more on inner strength, in heart, courage, determination and loyalty.

A Pokémon which, on paper, is weaker than its foe, can still come out on top if it's prepared to go the distance and want it at all costs, compared to an apathetic opponent.

Simultaneously, the Trainers have their own battle of minds, picking up on style and mistakes, always ready to pounce.

Contests have no such deeper consequence. They are wholly fixated on what's flashy and external. Ice shards are no more glassy just because you really mean 'em.

Combinations are a couple of attacks put together to look nice. How is this refuting my assertion they are but ephemeral bits off fluff?

Why should I be interested in a career so hollow, and ultimately futile, since neither girl won, and now never existed?

Your also claim the ejection of Misty is warranted since she became 'stale and dull', as if refuting my words.

If you'd bothered to read it properly rather than twisting yer knickers, you might notice I wrote exactly the same thing.

Perhaps it makes no difference. By Hoenn they'd rendered her a leaden blandness sucked dry of all that made her special.

I am not saying a Hoenn Misty would've been a more interesting companion. Her personality had to be erased before being allowed back at all.

I was mocking the excuse given for her exit, that she had no longterm goal, when there was no reason she couldn't participate in Contests.

A. If featuring them is intended as promotion, the audience is more likely to invest in the activity of a familiar face.

B. Just ruin her character if it's an obstacle, as they did everyone else.

C. Contests are a rip off of a competition Misty entered!

The truth still stands that had Misty stayed, we'd have no May, and in turn, no Max, and that's a bad thing?

In conclusion, you disagree with me by agreeing with me, so what exactly is the issue?

Since you fail to object elsewhere, I take it that the remainder is to your taste, and you also think Jessie was shafted, resembles a backwards country cliché and that May and Dawn should have won.

Not a bad dissection then.

#pokémon #contests #misty #hoenn #inbox

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katabasiss · 5 years

Text

D I V I N E D U S T

@endymions title exchange for @acheloides

There was dust on her hand, etching it’s way between the crevices: coating her nails. Gold for the sunflowers she adored, gold for her hair in soft light, gold for tint of her cheeks. She rubbed the dust within her palm absentmindedly. Her hands were dry. There wasn’t much to do about that she decided - she had much to do, too much to do. There were preparations to be made, people to talk to - mothers to comfort.

An empty bed to lay beside.

No. This was her job. She could fix this, make it better - rid her dry, dry hands of this putrid dust.

She recalled the moment it happened. The slow decline of the flower her lover had held. Her sharp features, softer as they collapsed under a wave of gold. A hand reaching for her, eyes desperate, mouth -

No. There was too much to do. She couldn’t. She didn’t have time to think; to cry, to mourn, to plead.

She rubbed at her palm again and looked up in contemplation. She had a plan - a solid plan, she thought. It would fix this. All of this. It had to. As she scraped her thumb against her palm for the third time, she stood up and began to jog along the barren corridors. There would be no more ‘dust’. Everything would go back to normal.

Her heels bellowed along the marble that adorned floor, a chill residing from them that coated her bones. As her destination rose in her peripheral vision, feet rouge from the force exerted, she curled up her hair - the black locks tightly forming a braided crown. Yes, she thought, this would do nicely. Her hands flung up but this time to meet the harsh jutting rocks she was quickly approaching. They scraped harshly against the sides, rocks digging their way into her palm. Her dust coated hands now torn at the edges. She lifted a hand up –

-and began to climb. Continued to climb, even as her thighs burned, even as sweat dripped down her eyes, even as the skin on her feet cracked: until she could see the top. Until jagged stone turned to long forgotten fields of cracked wheat, until the blackened landscape turned a dirty blue mulled with dull greys.

When her now bloodied hands felt that dry crackle of yellowed grass oppose to jagged rock, she cried a breath, arms straining under the weight of pulling herself up, collapsing underneath her and she slowly found the energy to turn when a voice above made itself known.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my blasted field?”

She looked up and noted a man drawn with wrinkles around each corner with hair as grey as the clouds gathering above. Still laying on the ground – rubbing her palm absentmindedly with her ring finger, she looked up and met the man’s gaze -

“They call me Hades. I’ve come to save my wife”

The old man, who later introduced himself half reluctantly as Henry, somehow affectionately short for Harold he grumbled - had clearly taken pity on her, Hades thought as they slowly trekked through acres of dry dust. Her foot shuffled and kicked up dust - she watched as it halfheartedly flew away with child-like effort as the faint breeze grasped desperately for it like a mother and an escaping toddler. Why? Hades pondered - perhaps it was because of the state of her hair? the rips in her dress? Maybe the sheer lack of shoes took him by surprise?

“Where are you taking me?” Hades inquired, curiosity crawling out of her tightly locked lips.

“Home. To my wife.”

“Why? Why with me?”

“Why?”, Henry scoffed, “Because I just met a batshit crazy lady out in my bleeding field claiming to be the God of death and dressed to the bloody nines as my late grandma would’ve – bless her soul. If my wife would’ve find out an’ I didn’t help yah? I’d be in the doghouse.”

Hades paused for half a step and frowned. She wasn’t particularly dressed any differently than how she did last time she was on this plane – she had kept up with the height of fashion then. A blue ankle-length dress, tightly upkept hair: nothing excessive. But then, Hades supposed - rubbing her palm, mortals do have an exceptionally short life-time; more often than not fleeting and unused. She would know best after all. She remembered the stacks of death records piled up, the ink still present and smudged on the edge of her hand even now.

She tilted her head in inclination of a nod but then noted the emphasis Henry had put on the word ‘God’.

“Why does everyone assume I am a male?” She asked, a hint of bitterness poisoning her words and relying her thoughts on the, if she did say so, rather sexist presumption.

“You mean why does everyone assume the Greek god of death in mythology is a guy?”

“That’s exactly what I said” Hades puzzled. She drew in half a breath and reluctantly with a wince and her hand half held out in a reassuring position questioned, “Do you perhaps need hearing aids? Forgive me for asking of course”.

“Jesus fucking Christ”

“I…think you’d find that to be rather impossible considering Jesus and Christ are in fact, the same person”

Henry sighed. “Look kid, you really wanna know? It’s just how it is, I don’t know why okay?”

Hades grumbled, “that doesn’t seem very fair”

“Yeah life isn’t kid.” She supposed that was fair. Life was cruel in a way no one would ever claim had they not seen the serenity of death. Life was awfully lonely, Hades thought. “What you doing here anyway?”

“I told you. I’m here to save my wife.”

“Yeah? Course you are. Bet she’s Persephone too eh?” Hades frowned, mortals often didn’t know them – perhaps this man was a deity in disguise? a demi-god perhaps? The days the Hellenic ruled were long gone. Her brothers and sisters left to merely grasp on the edges of their domains, to cry only a whisper of power.

She began to study the man more in-depth - a microscopic focus. His veins red apparent with blood, different from the ichor gold within her own. He was aged and whilst kind-looking, not in an overly graceful manor thanks to the perpetual frown painted on the corner of his lips. No. This man was no God, no higher power.

“How did you know?” She quizzed.

“Don’t take a genius does it?”

How awfully vague.

“Look up ahead kid. That’s my house.”

In line with where Henry pointed and buried beneath rows of corn, with a half-caved roof was indeed, a quaint little house. A cottage really, if Hades was to be pedantic. It had faint walls, stripped and deprived of any colour thanks to the iron regime of the molten heat and a little weather vane stationary and much too heavy for what little breeze there was outside.

Once inside, Hades found the outside had little reflection on the interior – the walls painted in a multitude of colours ranging from green and blue to yellow; the carpets thick and full, and the atmosphere warm but in a kindly way that was barren and devoid in the heat outside.

“Henry?” the voice was squeaked and nasally in that way only a southern American accent could achieve. When the voice emerged it came from a woman – small and hunched with tightly permed dark locks and dressed in bright pink loose garments.

“We’ve got a guest. Said she’s called Hades – three guesses as to what her wife’s called?”

“Henry!” the woman reprimanded as she walked closer. She held out a hand, “You can call me Lisa dear. What can we do for?”

“I – I came to – to err” Hades coughed, the shock and novelty wearing off of the petite woman’s hand outstretched before her nose, “I came to find a way to help my wife”

“What’s wrong with her dear?”

She wasn’t sure what to say. The dealings of the God’s were not the concern of mortals. But, Hades thought, there was no one else. What good were the dealings of the God’s staying separate from those of mortals when there were a lack of God’s to have said dealings?

“I don’t know” she whispered rubbing her palm, “she turned to dust”.

“Dust?” Henry cut in, “How can a –“ he sighed between words, “- a god, of all things, turn to dust?”

She hesitantly sat down on the loved blue sofa, opposite from where Henry and Lisa sat – slouched and leaned forward respectively.

“There are…not many things that can fell one of our calibre. Many have tried, and all have failed – from Kronus, to Death, to even one another. But one thing that we are all mortal to: is belief.”

“Belief?”

“It is the one thing that holds us together – it was belief that created us, and belief that shall end us. It is the rising waves, the oppressive heat, the dawn of a new day and the dusk of another. It will outlive us all – including immortals.”

“So belief? That’s what’s wrong with your wife – err Persephone?”

“The days of the Hellenic are long gone” Hades shrugged, “too few know and invoke her name. She has been…replaced by others.”

“Yeah – there’s a reason it’s mythology” Henry scoffed. Lisa swatted her hand at his chest and glared.

“Fine. If you’re really Hades then lass, then how – how are you not, what was it? Dust?”

“Whilst we are all privy to the ebb and flow of belief, there are – things that cannot die. Time, death, war – all are forever. We are the past, present and we will be the future. There is something – wrong, with this world. Mortals have begun to play our role, to play God. They control weather – springtime is no longer present; crops fail to harvest; the stars lack their shine and bright glow. Love is seen as a burden; this world is built on the ideals of success being the only thing worthwhile. When I talk about belief, on one hand, I do indeed mean, the worship invoked in our names – the candles lit for our sakes. But, a name forgotten is quickly traded for another. Our domains? What we control? That is where the belief needs to be centred. If there is no belief in love – where does that go? Love must disappear.”

Silence knelt its presence in their conversation, all that could be heard was the slow battering of dust against the panels of the house.

“So, let me get this straight dear,” Lisa began, her eyes darting slighting towards her husband but a smile in the direction of Hades, “It’s not the belief in – in your wife, Persephone that is – that presumably killed her is it? It’s the belief in – what is she the Goddess of again dear?”

“err springtime?” Henry questioned in response.

“Yes. It’s that the belief in springtime is gone?”

“In a way” Hades sighed, “It’s – springtime is deemed a fact of this world. It cannot be believed in or against, it just is. It’s that springtime has seized to exist in a way,” she rubbed her palm, “Humans, they – I don’t, don’t know the term for it – global warming I think? They have done something, none the less, and – springtime, autumn – fall whatever you call it, it is no more.”

“Global warming – killed a Goddess?” Henry stated incredulously.

“Global warming, killed springtime and with it – “ Hades retorted, “my wife. Yes.”

Silence had now begun to stand, looming over the group and pulling itself up by grasping on their tongues. Lisa coughed, quickly biting the hand that restricted her and forcing the silence to retreat.

“Would you – would anyone like any tea?”.

Hades smiled up at her and nodded, “Please”

“Right we go then dear, I’ll be right back” She said, smiling back with cracked lips tinted a pale crimson.

“So what was your grand plan then lass?” Henry questioned, “You said you’d come to save your wife. How you gonna do that? Fight fist the God of Global warming?”

“There is no God of Global warming”

“No –“ Henry said in an odd voice that Hades couldn’t discern, “Just one of Death”

Hades frowned, not in response to his statement but rather to his question. ”I don’t know in all honesty. I – I thought maybe I’d go around, try to reinforce belief, rally whatever of us there are left together for one cause.”

“So you’re becoming an environmental activist?” Henry drawled.

“What’s this?” Lisa cut in, precariously balancing a tray of overflowing mugs – milky tea tracing the sides as she shuffled slowly forward. Hades stood up to help but was quickly shot down with mutterings of “No no no dear – you just stay there.”

“Hades here wants to become an environmental activist”

“That’s not what I said” Hades frowned, “I want to rally the troops so to speak, inspire belief- see who’s left. Thought I’d take a car and drive, it can’t be that difficult can it?”

“What rallying the troops?”

“No. Driving”

“Your whole plan resides on you driving around and you don’t even know how?” Henry questioned incredulously

“Well then, isn’t it lucky you do dear” Lisa stated, with a pointed smile towards Henry. They participated in a staring match for what seemed like hours, neither folding nor laying their cards down on the rickety table in front.

“Guess it’s a good thing you got a taxi driver then kid,” Henry drawled bitterly, running a thumb around the rim of his mug, “where’s the first stop?”

Hades brought her own cracked mug to her honey-stained lips and took a sip, tasting the bitter tea swirling with thick milk. She didn’t know who was alive, still around even. But she was death, riches, the underworld - if she was still around, what were the chances he would be? They had to go to the most vile, black-hearted place around; if he was to be anywhere – if he was even alive, it would be there.

“Vinton, Iowa”

The first thought Hades had when she saw Henry stutter the mangled car from the worn garage was, “this is how an immortal dies”. It was a pale blue, perhaps once a rich cobalt now whitened with sun damage and scabbed at every nook and cranny. It groaned a pitiful noise when Henry drifted towards Hades – or at least attempted to. The car seemed to miss its mark by about 5 meters, leaving Hades to half jog towards the passenger door.

“I think this is older then I am” she said, ducking her head hesitantly in the car to sit down.

Henry snorted, “Bessie’s perfectly well and fit, don’t be a wimp lass”. Hades turned to him, looking sceptical.

“She looks like she’d fall apart going below the speed limit”

Henry glared at her in response and was quick to remind her just who it was who was driving her “ass around”. Naturally with that reminder, she shut up and instead turned to the battered radio player and began fiddling with its knobs. Henry slapped her hand away.

“If you gonna be annoying, you can get out right now”

“So you want to sit in silence with nothing but my company for hours?”

Henry seemed to think better on this and whilst still glaring at her lifted his own hand to the radio, turning to the first station that didn’t bellow out an ear-splitting crackle.

As they drove through the fields of wheat and grass, Hades mind was stuck on Persephone. She knew she was doing the right thing but in all honesty, she had no idea if it would work or not. She – she just didn’t know. What if she failed? What if –

Her thoughts were disturbed by Henry turning down the radio to a silent whisper and asking, “So why Iowa of all places?”

“If I truly want to rally the troops so to speak, I need a leader. I’m all well and good but – I’m not exactly known for my social skills, so to speak that is”

“Can’t see why” Henry cut in, his tone sarcastic and as dry as the river of heat embracing the car. Hades glared at him, she may not have much interaction with mortals – that was more Thanatos’ realm, but she occasionally still knew sarcasm when it hit her.

“Yes well, the fact stands, I’m not the best person for this job.”

“So who is?”

“Who better to lead troops then the God of war. I want Ares.”

“Ares. You think you’re gonna find Ares, the God of war of all things, in an unremarkable little town in Iowa”

“It is more often than not, the unremarkable that is the remarkable. You just have to remember to look. You can find the most brutal anger in the plainest of people, the most embracing love in the ordinary. The extraordinary are only that because that is all they have. The ordinary? The unremarkable as you say? In my experience, they have always been the jack of all trades, skilled in a multitude of ways that extraordinary simply cannot comprehend.”

“Some would say the Gods, if they were real that is, were extraordinary. How you feel about that?”

“Immortals are not without their flaws” Hades scoffed, “my brother Zeus is cruel. Does horrible things to those around him; Poseidon with a temper that can fell cities to their knees – myself even, an apathy at times that scares even my wife. No one is exempt – even the Gods.”

Silence once again made itself know – how kind of their old friend Hades thought. Henry coughed, apparently unsure of what to say.

“Neat”.

Hades snorted, an ugly coughing escaped Henry is response.

“Is that what your laugh sounds like?”

Her eyes widened, and her hand shot up towards her mouth as her cheeks blushed a deep crimson.

“Shut up”

Henry laughed, his own laugh a loud, racketing bellow that came deep from within.

“No no no, I didn’t mean it like that lass. It’s perfectly fine. It’s just you don’t tend to think of the so-called deity of death laughing”

“I mean technically, Thanatos is the God of death – I’m just – I just have the underworld.” Hades stuttered out “Oh and – and money”

Henry’s laugh continued as the landscape blurred past them – yellow turning green with pine, the road now a grey tarmac rather than dusty paths.

When they finally reached Iowa, they were greeted by a titled sign and clear skies – silence befell them.

“What are you doing?” Hades asked as Henry indicated to turn into a half-empty car park lined with blocked, grey scale buildings.

“You can’t go out or around like that lass”

“Like what?”

“Like you been holed up all your life in a tower with your grandmother as your only company” Henry scoffed.

“I like these clothes” Hades said, running her hand down the bottom of her dress, feeling the scruff of the blue linen on her hand.

“And you’ll find more clothes you like”

“You don’t have to do this” she said as he chugged the car to a stop after taking what she could only assume was five hours to park.

“Oh I’m not doing this for you lass,” Henry laughed before putting on a mimicry of a higher pitched voice, “I refuse to be seen in public with you looking like that”

“I don’t – I don’t understand”

He sighed getting out of the car, “Doesn’t matter anyway lass. Come on – any thoughts on what you’d like?”

“Clothes” she dragged out, still largely unsure as to what exactly was happening.

“Oh fucking hell – no shit sherlock” Henry replied, more to himself then to her.

“Who is sherlock? Do we need him? Can he help?”

As they walked into the store, limonium flooring slapped underneath her heels and reflected the clinical bright lights.

“Go nuts kid, I’ll out here if you wanna show off your outfits”

“What do I pick?”

“Whatever you think is neat”

Naturally, this was a horrible idea. The first look Hades picked was an attack of colour – a pastel ankle length skirt paired with a purple flower blouse and black Velcro trainers. She thought it looked great; the first out of Henry’s mouth however was a harsh, “No”.

The next outfit was potentially a bit blander, she thought. A blue strappy shirt with flared trousers and a dull green cloak. One again however, she was rejected with a quick “no” and an incredulous “How did you even find that?!”.

Finally, disheartened and frustrated with the constant rejections, she decided to simply copy what she did last time she was on this plane and mimick others. The girl to her left was wearing an oversized beige jacket, a jumper and what appeared to be rolled up trousers accompanied with boots. That would do nicely, Hades thought.

As she slowly drew back the changing room curtain once again, she carefully watched Henry’s features and was relieved to be met with an, admittedly, disinterested thumbs up.

Once they left it was back on the road to Vinton, Iowa. Well no, first they stopped at the drive through starbucks but then – it was back on the road to Vinton, Iowa.

As Henry parked the car in a barren car park, Hades watched the town – the people who turned their heads towards the car and greeted them with stares cased in fire and masked with southern hospitality.

“Quaint” Henry mummered under his breath, “So where exactly do we find the God of war?”

Hades frowned, sniffing the air as they stepped out of the car before pointing due east. “That way”.

“You sure?”

She glared back at Henry who like a solider on a battlefield, held up his hands in surrender. As they walked towards their destination, Hades found herself remiss in the fact there was no dirt to kick up. The tarmac coated in a thin layer of dirty water instead and she found herself in response watching the puddles cling to Henry’s shoe like a dribble of spit as he walked in front of her.

“Turn left” Hades said to Henry who was a few steps ahead of her and they soon found themselves face to face with a suburban estate, doors and walls the same colour – the same lawn repeated again and again.

“The God of war is in a suburban estate?” Henry dragged out.

“They have a lot of pent of anger” Hades responded. As they walked to a nondescript doorstep, Hades peaked inside the window and noted how the regimented white yellowed into sepia tones – giving way to the apparent secrets hidden behind a pure facade. She slowly pressed a hand towards the door and with a creek it opened, revealing blood stained wall paper pealing at the edges and an isolated sofa chair with its back to the door illuminated by only a faint glow of the tv screen in front.

“Ares” Hades began

“Been awhile” the figure replied, smoke misting from the corners of his lips and drenching the room in thick tobacco.

Hades hummed in response, it had been a while she supposed but in regards to the life span of an immortal? “Only a century or so” she mollified, her tone gentle yet hesitant in nature. In the dim light, she could see Ares draw in another breath of smoke and exhale slowly – his brown hair, once the rival of Adonis now drooping and low, cut into his cheekbones as he did so.

“I remember,” he responded scornfully, “in any place there is enough war, there is death walking alongside him”

Henry, who had been silent until now chose this moment to speak up – “I thought you were saying you two were friendly?”

Hades opened her mouth to respond but Ares quickly beat her to the punch, “War and death are always friendly –“ he tilted his head as if in contemplation before quickly huffing out a laugh, “as are riches and war. Always have been. Always will be.”

Hades took a step forward, her boot crunching over the rotted floorboards below. “We need your help” she sighed, cutting straight to the point.

“Help?” Ares huffed, “the fuck you want me for?”

“Look at the place Ares”, she snorted, making a move to turn on the light and in doing so, allowing it to become apparent to the trio just how desolate the place was. As she slowly ran her fingers over the coarse fabric of his chair she whispered, “What is war without love? What’s the point?”, until she was squatting, face to face against Ares. “We can help you. We can bring her back.”

“Yeah? Why should I believe you? After last time and what happened?” he huffed before continuing, “I never got that weapon back”

“Because Persephone is gone”. It was the first time she’d ever said it aloud. Aloud and with clarity. Amidst the fire and smoke wrapping itself around her throat, a deep chill made itself known in her bones, tracing the insides of skin and curling along her veins.

“Really gone huh?”

Hades nodded, rubbing her palms on her knees and revelling in the sweat that dampened them. She had never sweat before, and she thought absentmindedly ‘what did that mean for her?’

“You got a plan?”

She smirked, meeting his gunpowder dark eyes, “Don’t I always?”

#gonna be honest i wrote this on like the first day in a rush and then promptly forgot about it hsakhfkls #so like it's kinda shit and badly written but i hope you like it!#plus ngl half the reason i didn't develop the writing further is because it sparked my wip djkdjdk so i should really be saying thanks #endystitleexchange #title exchange

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pluck-my-life · 6 years

Note

Hey Snark! Silenda (loverofthebirbs) here. I was wondering why exactly do you like to ship Red x Chuck x Bomb together? I know why you like the polyship itself, but why the separate ships on their own? (Red x Chuck, Red x Bomb, and Chuck x Bomb?) You got me to kinda see some appeal in Red x Stella even if I've never liked it, so I wanted to know because you give good reasons! c:

Oh hey @loverofthebirbs nice to see you! My brain self-awakened at 6 am and is now bubbling with activity, so buckle up for a ride! *stretches hands preparing to type a lot*

First of all, it’s inclusivity. I don’t want to imagine a couple snuggling on the couch while there’s a “third wheel” on the other side of it, lonely and awkward and maybe a little bitter seeing all the affection and feeling excluded. And among the three only Red understands from the get-go how PDA can be painful for the onlooker, and what would he do if he’s the one in the relationship? He’d have to persuade his partner to cuddle in private, but! the other two are insanely physical and can’t resist touching him even as friends, and in a relationship? They’d have a hand on him all the freaking time unless he explicitly states he needs to be alone. Now Bomb can exist outside a relationship just being happy for his friends, because he’s got great empathy and maaaybe he could be ace, but that leaves us with your least favorite ship? And I absolutely can’t imagine Red or Chuck being the third wheel, unless Red is totally ace and satisfied with just having friends. I can see ace!Red + Chuck/Bomb, with an effort, because I connect with him the most and I’m not ace, but then the whole thing feel kinda bland. Sweet but bland, like a cookie without filling or icing. Movie!Bomb can’t fully satisfy Chuck in a relationship, he would be left at home while Chuck goes clubbing and picking up someone for the night, and he would sigh about not being cool enough to share Chuck’s adventures (while understanding that you can’t put restrictions on him, freedom is crucial for his happiness) and Red would feel obliged to cuddle with him to make him feel better, but if Chuck sees them like that he’d want to be in that fluff pile, and that would still turn into awkward polyamory, however more dysfunctional than my usual sort. And you can’t have Red/Bomb while leaving Chuck out, you just can’t, not with his obvious crush on Red. Bomb himself would try to talk Red into giving him a chance, because Bomb can’t stand seeing his friends suffer. Chuck’s attraction to Red is the key factor here, he’d want in on any relationship Red is having, whether it’s with Bomb or Stella or both. I can ship all four, connected via Red, and as far as I remember I’ve told you in messages how Red couldn’t deal with his roommates all the time, he’d need a breather and someone he can trust, to be able to fall apart in someone’s arms (and Bomb hasn’t reached the emotional maturity yet, he can maybe nod at Red’s complaints and hug him, but Stella could actually understand, maybe even share his burden of being a self-sufficient bird with needy partners while her own friends are perfectly able to entertain themselves). Red and Stella are both leader types, but Red is introvert or at least ambivert, and these types are said to get “adopted” by extroverts (such as Stella or Chuck). I must say I’m projecting a lot here, but isn’t it the whole point of shipping? to have at least some imaginary relationships when you can’t have it irl for one reason or another? When I was in a social phase and had relationships I wasn’t in any fandoms, I didn’t even draw anything. The whole fandom thing is my substitute for love life, and tbh it’s more reliable and satisfying than 1) trying to meet people, 2) talk to them enough to decide if they’re worth meeting, 3) find out you’re not attracted to them but they kind of are, because I’m the picky side here, and the whole thing turns awkward. And this is how I find friends through Tinder, even when I’m looking for a hookup. And then I’m likely to find a therapist for them via my own therapist, because the only people I resonate with are kinda messed up. In the Bird Village it’s the other way around, Red finds mates through group therapy, but the result is the same: misfits sticking together. And here we get to another reason I’m polyshipping through the character connect to: I can’t really love myself, even on a mentally healthy day I struggle to find myself attractive - but loving a character while simultaneously connecting with him almost takes me there. And here comes the best part: I connect with other characters in my ships as well (I don’t usually ship people I can’t relate to) and then I get to feel for both parts, even for three parts on a good day, and this fills my huge emotional capacity almost to the brim while my mind is involved too, imagining stuff and supporting the connections - unlike in a real relationship, when my brain gets bored and wanders over fantasies or trivial matters even during intimate moments. I’ve never thought of it that way, but it seems like I’m polyamorous because of my neurodivergency. No person I’ve ever had experience with had a personality as multifaceted as mine, ergo I can’t be satisfied with just one person emotionally (not even talking about sex - without emotional involvement it’s plain boring). Just like another character mentioned here, though for a different reason: if I’m a very big computer, and Chuck is a very fast computer, the result is technically the same: the calculations are done quickly and we’re left idle, understimulated. I don’t fully understand my connection with Chuck, or rather I can’t pinpoint it, because… let’s just try to list it. I’m anarchist, Chaotic Good, I love to entertain people with jokes and dorky behavior when I’m in a social mood (especially when drunk), I can be very active and enthusiastic when I have the energy… A lot of my qualities that I don’t even notice because they’re so natural would remind people of Chuck rather than Red, and isn’t that ironic in light of me not initially liking the “sexy and annoying” type? Or maybe it’s just my second-hand embarrassment getting in the way of just laughing at their antics? Most of the time I lack Chuck’s confidence, especially that finding-yourself-attractive brand of confidence, but with some effort I could adopt that quality and it could make me a better-functioning person. Now if I could adopt Bomb’s ability for unconditional love I could become that fusion phoenix we’ve been talking about, maybe even a complete person… but that wouldn’t happen without gaining some femininity from Stella’s flock - good thing it comes mixed in with mischief and badassery, which make it far more palatable than the annoying “tomboy turning into a prom queen” trope that needs to get thrown in a volcano. I’m carefully exploring a straight ship through the most capable character, borrowing some of her confidence to support my weak, underdeveloped female side. I would feel fairly comfortable as Dahlia too, except it makes me self-conscious about boring people out of their minds while being bossy - not the most attractive archetype, though I’m not familiar with her enough to see her good side (gotta rewatch the Stella toons, this time with a more analytical mindset)… Gale is the one I’m most wary of: I have that selfish bitchy side to me that I prefer to keep far away from the front parts of my personality, because I’m madly scared of her - can’t let her take reins of my self-criticism… or maybe I need to befriend her first? Except that’d take a lot of work I’m not yet ready for. I could do with Poppy’s carefree attitude and Willow’s love for the process of art, not the result I can show off in the internet to earn a little bit of attention - I think those qualities can go hand in hand. Less self-consciousness, more enjoyment, and if I can’t feel encouraged and supported whether others provide it or not, maybe I should achieve that through the powers of my imagination. My brain could be a whole world of its own if I wasn’t constrained by depression, anxiety, fear of rejection… things that sound familiar, and they do play a part in connecting me to characters. If I didn’t have them I’d be out in the real world, doing… I don’t know what exactly, if making art is one of my coping mechanisms?.. Crafting, I guess? Eh, my train of thought took a wrong turn… Here is another post about my connection to characters, if you haven’t seen it.

Why are you mentioning separate ships? They all happen in the same headcanon-universe, more or less. Polyamory isn’t always threesomes, and interpersonal relationships all have their own dynamics. Two can entertain themselves while the third one is busy or not in the mood. A fourth can spice up the picture once in a while, with or without intimacy. Pairings mix in my brain like colors and flavors, add a mood and it’s a different picture every time. I’ve drawn frisky Red x Chuck and passionate too, in my drafts there are unfinished comic panels for a fluffy first time and a quirky first time (that would be AUs from each other but whatever, how exactly their intimate life starts out doesn’t matter in the long run) as well as some scenes implying that Chuck has been annoying Red to get the rough treatment for a change (more on sexual dynamics here). Some of my scenarios involve Bomb walking in on the pair and they insist that he should join, even if he’s embarrassed, because it’s definitely better for his psyche than trying to go back to whatever he was doing before he heard the noise and went to investigate. He worries and even explodes when the two upset him by bickering with each other (in the comics), how would he know the noises weren’t arguing and fighting if he’s so socially inexperienced? Again, that makes Red x Bomb first time a separate AU, but those are just scenes their eventual life doesn’t depend on, I draw them to convey moods and emotions rather than to mark an event in the birds’ life. Maybe it’s not Bomb’s first time per se, maybe it’s his first time trying to be active rather than being pleasured by his mates, and he still needs tons of encouragement because he must be so insecure about, well… everything about his appearance! He’s not a conventionally attractive bird, there’s no way he hasn’t been teased a lot growing up, even if he was home-schooled (very likely due to his condition). You’ve mentioned Chuck giving him confidence about his ability by being impressed, same way Red could make him feel attractive (Red far more likely than Chuck, ‘cos the latter is a bit of a thrill-seeker, more attracted to a snarky bird with a temper, while Red would seek solace and relaxation after dealing with the needy, sometimes insensitive little annoyance that is Chuck). Bomb is a good empathetic listener, something both of them need, but Chuck can forget whatever bothers him and move on, while Red would dwell on it until he works things out on his own or Bomb asks what’s bothering him. He might not help to resolve the issue but he can comfort Red without too much talking, platonically or intimately or both, because that’s how moods work in harmonious relationships: people can cry after sex, or cry into their lover’s shoulder until they’ve dealt with that feeling and then get horny, or they could get overcome with feelings right in the process - crying is emotional unloading, and sex is… well, you see the parallel. Watching a movie we cry during emotional climaxes. Now I’ll leave these metaphors for potential fics and conclude that Red x Bomb is the emotional aspect of the trio’s dynamics, Red x Chuck is more sexual, and understanding Chuck x Bomb requires me to further my connection to both. I haven’t incorporated Stella in their dynamics, and she may not want to have relationships with all three anyway, but this is fine in polyamory too. It’s all about balance and satisfying everyone’s needs, not the geometry of connections.

#angry birds #headcanons #polyamory #character analysis #chirpy chirp #personal #relationships #Red #Bomb #Chuck #Stella #Stella's Sorority #Red x Bomb #Red x Chuck #German Flag #Red x Stella #Chuck x Bomb

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errolcandelaria · 6 years

Text

2018

Another year has passed. That’s another three hundred sixty-five and one fourth days, eight thousand six hundred seventy hours, five hundred twenty-five thousand and six hundred minutes, and thirty-one million plus seconds. That was a lot of numbers. I don’t know about you, but this year has been a ride!! I really went out of my comfort zone, I have met amazing people, made more friends, experienced a few firsts, released a pint of tears and at last, made a decision that I think would change my life forever.

Let me break it down. January was good. I started the year with cough and colds, alone in my room taking videos of myself and the fireworks that can be clearly seen right on my window pane. This was also the month ~ I think~ when I made up my mind that I really want to pursue medicine. This was the month when I fell in love with all the hospital works. That I had envisioned all the times that I’ve been in a hospital, trying to remember the smell of alcohol drenched cotton balls; the hallways, the rush in the emergency room, everything. I never knew I loved those things until last 2016, when I started watching this surgical TV show that I am now obsessed with.

February was okay. Like the usual, I hated my birthday. It’s eerie that I feel like there really is something in my birthday that I don’t quite feel like it’s worth celebrating for. I am not worthy of their time, money and efforts. There were also lots of questions that roamed my mind. To whether tell my parents about my plans or not; is medicine really for me; will they support me with my decision; and WILL I SURVIVE IF EVER I GOT INTO MEDICAL SCHOOL. There were days that I am adamant about my decision, that I tell myself ~ Of course I can do it!! And there were also weeks where I get discouraged, and the fear of making bad decisions really gripped my body tight.

March, hmm. I couldn’t quite remember the events that had happened this month. But I am pretty sure this was the month that I went full on crazy about someone in our college. I really want to know that person’s name, but I had to go incognito because everything will be messed up if that person knew.

April. CSSP NIGHT!!! LIT LIT LIT LIT!!! This was one of the happiest night of my life. Played bingo for the first time, got to see my crush perform on stage for the first time, AND ACTUALLY KNOWING THY NAME!!! Added on facebook, then got accepted the next day. O diba. I don’t remember that much events in this month. I am pretty sure I was still in the phase of constant dilemma about the decision I made for my future.

May. The semester is almost over!! But say no more, I still had an internship over the summer.

June. INTERNSHIP WOOOOH!! Lit lit lit rin. Pero hindi capital letters kasi muntik na ko magkaroon ng mental breakdown. Why? Internship. I never had a hardtime naman looking for a company to train to unlike some of my classmates pero the ~pressure? That’s what held me back talaga. I think? Culture shock siguro is the best term to describe what I felt. Ano ba. I was just a normal student tapos I get to be an intern in a huge BPO company tapos I had to talk to potential employees pa. IN PURE ENGLISH!! Syempre na shookt ako. Tapos I got assigned in a station right next to our boss pa!! Imagine the pressure. But she was really nice. She’s funny, approachable and all. Pero still nu, I couldn’t help but get intimidated by her presence. I lost track din on how many times I got scolded for doing the call outs wrong. I got the feeling that my supervisor has this impulse deep down to strangle me with the cord of the telephone I use. But in all, I still got to finish it. I finished it without even noticing I was almost done. Days passed by like hours. Literal. 10 hours a day ba naman ang oras na nababawas sa 240 hours ko eh. But seriously, I didn’t even notice that I was almost done with it. I met amazing people there, I got to talk with real people looking for jobs, interact with people older and far superior than me, which was my greatest fear!! Talk about getting out of your comfort zone huh.

July. This was the month when I finished my internship. Actually, it wasn’t easy coming back to your old shit. I missed waking up way early to catch the 6:30 am UV so I would arrive at work at exactly 7:45. Separation anxiety? No. I just miss the ambiance. The faces of the people that I get to interact with daily, the cold work room that would chill you right to your bones, and yung pag kain ko ng Richeese every after lunch. WOOH!

August. Back to bizz. FIRST SEM. 4TH YEAR. I’M OFFICIALLY A GRADUATING STUDENT!!! What’s with the enthusiasm? Boy doesn’t even know what’s about to come at him. If there’s this saying na life throws you lemons, and you would just make lemonades out of it, oh boy. Life threw me pineapples, sea urchins, a school bus and a nuclear bomb. Which I don’t know how to deal with, cause HOW DO YOU EVEN COOK A SEA URCHIN? August was one of the months of this year that made me cry. Not even because of a heartbreak, nor a typical teenager shortcoming, but because of the terrorizing spirit that lies within the subject that is research I. Starting from the day that our professor had assigned us to do an individual research proposal, all of us knew that it will be the beginning of the tormenting last first semester in our college lives.

September. Wake me up when September ends. Cause there was no relevant thing that I could remember happened this month. Again, I am pretty sure that I was still rehearsing the words that I would tell my parents about my plans after graduation. Still uncertain on what’s gonna come next.

October. We were assigned to our respective thesis groups. This was also the month that we submitted the first draft of our real thesis proposal. Mind you, we almost got rejected. Title lang tiningnan nung prof naming bes. This was when the inside joke ‘bibili na naming ng condensed milk si prof para di na sya ma-bother sa proposal naming evaporada’. Beh. This was my busiest month this year. Revisions here and there, almost everyday we were in school since we refused to have another overnight cause we accomplish nothing when we are in an air-conditioned room. The impetus of the warm and cozy bed was really inviting and irresistible. So ayun, we were in the school almost everyday.

November. Thesis proposal defense!!! Holy shit. We had an overnight to rehearse everything we have to say the day before the defense. I was so nervous, but my group mates were just chilling. Literally. Kasi nga ang lamig sa kwarto. I don’t know but I have this thing that I always overcomplicate things. Things that can be handled by a five-year old child I tend to make it seem like the apocalypse is about to happen. I have always had an anxiety in speaking in front of the class, so imagine my nervousness about this one cause I have to present a proposal in front of three intimidating research gods. And then the day of the defense came, WE PASSED!! I couldn’t forget the awkward shriek I did when the assigned panel to our group delivered the good (?) news to us, in his timid, kinda shy low voice. All the stress, the fear, the anxiety I have that day flew away as he uttered the words “Eheh, uhm. Pumasa kayo…. Pero with major revisions”. Boy I didn’t even hear everything the panel said after those words. Buti na lang our mentor recorded everything, cause if not, mangangapa kami and mamatay sa kakaalala kung ano ano yung mga suggestions na binigay nila.

December. Ahhh. The final month of the year!! Was there something relevant that happened this month? YES!!! LIT LIT LIT LIT ULIT!! Our section had THE most extreme, wildest, and craziest after-defense slash victory party slash walwal party ever!!! What a wonderful way to welcome the last month of twenty seventeen! I also met a new friend, a twitter friend from our college. Haha. Ooh. I also decided to tell my parents about my plans. Imagine my fear, anxiety, fear of rejection, lahat na pota!! Aaaaand. It didn’t go well. They did not approve. But anyway, I still want to prove myself that I got what it takes to be a good physician, so I have decided that even though I am not certain that I will go to med school right after graduation, I would still review for the NMAT and take it this coming March or April. Diba. Because, sabi nga sa bible, for the Lord has plans for all of us. Plans that will prosper us and not to harm us, plans that will give us hope and future. Honestly those are the words that give me hope. That I could still be something I want to be despite the fear, the people that hold me back, and the discouragement I get from my own environment. I can do it naman diba?

I think the word that encapsulates the events that took place this year is uncertainty. For me at least. It is what I feared the most. Afraid of what will happen next. Maybe it is the utmost reason why I missed a lot of chances to – prove myself, to show off what I got in my jacket pocket, what I can offer, and to improve the things here I am good at.

I have had a lot of shortcomings this year. The tears that I let out were way fewer than last year, but the tears from this year came from a deeper source. Maybe because I already decided what I want to do until I die, but the people around tell me otherwise. I felt like my dream was invalidated. Trashed. Thrown away. Just because the dream is a 24-karat gold and I only have a couple of gravel and sand. And it cuts even deeper and the wounds won’t heal in an instant.

I’m a fond believer of that famous saying that’s about crossing a bridge when you arrived there, but what if there are even no roads, or pathways or pavements that will lead you to that bridge? You haven’t even reached the bridge yet, but you have already been stopped because the enforcers told you the roads are closed. I could handle everything life throws at me. I made a ridiculous stewed sea urchin, I put the pineapples on my pizza, I defused the nuclear bomb and used it as a decoration in my room, kasi nga I cross the bridge when I get there. I deal with what’s in front of me. Pero how could you deal with something, if along the way, the people around you have already poked a hole in your tires? That even though they believe in you, unconsciously they are telling you that ~no, you won’t do it cause we won’t allow you. It will just fuel your fear kasi you will never know what’s on the other side. You cannot cross the bridge because you won’t even get there. The fear of uncertainty will eat you alive, chew you and spit you out to where you started. And I don’t want to be that person who grieves, and regrets his life decisions after a couple of years because he patterned it out from what the people around him pressured him to do. I want to dictate my future, but there are just inevitable circumstances that make it hard to do so, and it makes me real sad. I thought this year will be different. I had high hopes with it, but it just let me down. They let me down.

But I will still continue striving. This time, I will have enough courage, and bravery to stand up for the choices I make. I will never let any opportunity slip through my hands like water. I will face this year in my warrior suit, equipped with the disappointments, discouragements, fears, heartbreaks, anxieties, regrets, and problems the past year had thrown at me, that I have successfully overcome.

I can already feel that this year will be tiring, productive, troublesome, hard, insane, bountiful, delightful, pleasing, satisfying, wild, I can list a couple more adjectives but in all, I will sum it up with just a word stressful. But hey, being stressed means that you are actually doing something. I expect a lot of disappointments and heartbreaks to come this year, but deep down, a spark of hope still shines. I have the right to be a pessimist, cause hello, 2017??? But it does not mean I will be for the rest of the year.

I’m on my *crossed fingers* final year in college, so that means I will be graduating this year. That alone is one hell of an event to look forward to. Alongside that, my medical journey will also be put on trial this year 🤣. My fate to becoming a medical doctor will be decided hopefully before I graduate from college. But again in crossed fingers, I really hope that whoever is to decide, I want the decision to be in my favor cause not only it will trace my future, it will also reveal how tough, matured, brave and steadfast I have become. These are just two of what I think be the highlights of this year. Here’s to a handful more of new experiences!! Cheers. 🥂

May 2018 be my year.

Seriously. Cause 2018 is Year of the Dog, and I’m a big big huge enormous fan of dogs. so can this year be my year?

#2018 #adios2017

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thesolitaryhobbyist · 7 years

Text

Yuukoku no Moriarty highlights/comments, chapters 4 - 10

Selective, but I tried to include important points. Doesn’t detail the resolutions of the actual heists/crimes. Minor/vague spoilers unmarked, a few more significant spoilers in a separate section at the end.

Chapter 4: The Case of the Noble Kidnapping

Opium, and the military.

Unspecified bad blood between Albert and Moran.

(Maybe Moran being ex-military might be relevant?)

William is kidnapped.

William’s catchphrase really seems to be “I will hand down your punishment!”, more or less.

MI6.

I won’t say more for 2 reasons: 1. I didn’t seriously try to understand all the details (sorry, I’ve misunderstood Albert enough); and 2. The entire plot hinges on one reveal, which I’ll mention below.

Chapter 5: The ‘Noahtic’, Act 1

‘Noahtic’ is the name of a cruise ship.

How William plans to go from Durham’s local hero to London’s Napoleon of Crime, a rough summary:

[interior, Moriarty London residence, a meeting between the Moriarty brothers, and Fred and Moran]

William: ‘The [class] system can’t be changed immediately. But what we can do is plunge London into the depths of hell. Turn it into a city of crime. [...] Crime isn’t the end, it’s the means. The system can’t be changed immediately. But people’s hearts, they change in an instant. People are mobilised by their feelings, you must have understood that from Durham. What hits people the hardest - that’s death. [...] We’ll direct a production and decorate the set to allow death to come to the forefront [...] People’s...the country’s eyes will be opened. [...] The time has come for the curtains to rise. If this ‘play’ on this big stage succeeds, we can accomplish anything.’

Albert: Oh, and I’m in MI6, so I can pull strings.

William: Let’s start by exposing this one Earl’s misdeeds.

(So that’s why these chapter titles use ‘act’ in them. And also probably the/an inspiration for the name ‘William’, as in Shakespeare.)

Holmes and William have a deduction-off on the Noahtic:

Holmes: I deduce you’re a mathematician! I saw you staring at the golden ratio in the staircase!

William points out what Holmes does is technically abduction, then goes on: ‘You play violin, but you aren’t a performer. Moreover, you excel at physical combat. And if I may, you also have an interest in scientific experiments, and are a bit reliant on drugs. It’s obvious you’re an Oxbridge alumnus (!), yet you speak with a cockney accent (!!). That must be because you’re proud of your roots, particularly on your mother’s side (!!!)...am I right?’

Holmes: HAHAHAHA srsly, ur hilarious

(Bless this cockney Holmes.)

Chapter 6: The ‘Noahtic’, Act 2

At the Moriarty London residence:

Moran: ‘Cleaning up after a big operation like this is tough, eh, Fred? Maybe using civilian lives bothers you? But “death is what moves people most”, isn’t it? I'm telling you, if I was Enders’ [the killer on the Noahtic] target instead of that man, I’d have willingly given my life. If William’s plan needed me to sacrifice my life, I’d do it any time. You would, too, right, Fred?’

Fred: ‘............got it.’

(Yeah...Fred Porlock.)

Holmes: 'When you eliminate the [...]' Blah blah, you know the drill.

I didn’t catch if there was a specific reason he was on the cruise, though.

Chapter 7: A Study in ‘S’, Act 1

When you want to avenge your fiancee’s death, who you gonna call?

On the coach ride back from that consultation, Moran offers to kill Holmes "any time", but William turns him down.

(He and ACD canon Moran need to have a chat about killing Holmes...)

Holmes is theatrical and impish, and speaks quite casually.

Mrs Hudson yells at Holmes in the street to pay rent, while he’s carrying a bag of apples, and he tries to give her an apple as ‘payment’. They fight in the street. The public is entertained.

Stamford passes by. Holmes asks to borrow money from him, but he suggests finding a flatmate.

Mrs Hudson rejects three would-be flatmates before Watson shows up.

Watson’s moustache was sacrificed to the bishounen character design cause, sadly.

When Watson first enters 221B, Holmes is ‘dead’.

I present to you:

Goth jewellery Holmes.

That woman is Mrs Hudson (well, Hudson-san). She’s “eternally 17″, according to herself, but “about thrice that”, according to Holmes.

Watson tries to smooth-talk Mrs Hudson when she’s angry at Holmes for meeting her at a seedy pub, instead of a restaurant, to introduce her to Watson. (Spoiler about this at the end.)

She’s not impressed, and thinks he’s some kind of womanizer.

When Mrs Hudson complains about Holmes’ abilities being ‘wasted’, Holmes excuses himself to go to the toilet.

Then Mrs Hudson tells Watson that Holmes worries her a lot, and because he’s like a kid, she doesn’t want him to live with just anyone.

Watson smiles and points out that she worries about him “like family”.

Holmes and Watson team up to beat up the man who harassed and groped Mrs Hudson.

After that, Mrs Hudson gives Watson her approval.

Enoch J. Drebber is an Earl here.

Holmes is arrested because Earl Drebber ‘wrote’ “Sherlock” in blood on the floor of the room he was killed in.

(Because dying messages are totally a thing, eh? [insert Ace Attorney joke here])

Holmes and Watson address each other using given names from the get-go. Just how things work in this manga, apparently. The Yard still address Holmes as ‘Holmes’, though.

Volume 2 omake, a summary

“William’s room / No entry! / Except Lewis”

Lewis wants to help with William’s plans, but William always says it’s fine, Lewis, it’s too dangerous for you.

Internally he’s like: brother, that hurts!

One day, he knocks over William’s diary while cleaning his room.

The angel on his shoulder (yes, this trope is used) is like: reading other people’s diaries is wrong!

The devil is like: at that rate, finding another way to be useful is wrong! and dude, we’re villains!

That’s fair enough, so Lewis reads it.

That night... and the next night, and the next night... he makes stargazy pie for dinner, with increasing numbers of fish.

Because William wrote in his diary that Lewis’ stargazy pie was delicious, and he hoped he would make it again.

Everyone loves it. Except Moran, who yells that he’s sick of it. No one cares.

(But the real question: if the diary isn’t a throwaway plot device, is there any other juicy info in there? Or is it just full of food reviews?)

(I’m not sure which I’d prefer.)

(And it’s not impossible William planted the diary.)

Chapter 8: A Study in ‘S’, Act 2

Meanwhile, in Utah...

Kidding, nobody in this is from Utah. Earl Drebber is from Wales.

Lestrade and Gregson! Lestrade is much more cooperative than Gregson. (Spoiler at the end.)

Watson is quick to trust Holmes and believe in his innocence.

The elaborateness of the crime really brings Holmes back to that Noahtic case...

Baker Street Irregulars!

Fred ninja-jumps up to the rooftops in an alleyway.

Chapter 9: A Study in ‘S’, Act 3

That entire confrontation between Jefferson Hope, Holmes, and Watson is pretty great. (Spoilers at the end.)

Holmes makes a pun on Jefferson Hope’s name.

Holmes: I don’t care about credit, just write “Holmes is amazing!” in your [Watson’s] diary.

It’s published. Holmes is not amused.

Watson: ‘Even when the whole world hates you [Holmes], I alone will be on your side!’

(Gee, that’s not foreboding at all.)

Watson makes Holmes wear The Outfit to meet the press outside 221B. Holmes is not amused.

Holmes passed his ‘audition’ as the ‘main character’ in William’s play, though he doesn’t know it yet...

Chapter 10: The Hunting of the Baskervilles, Act 1

WTF, Sir Charles Baskerville?

He and some other nobles abduct children, then hunt/abuse/mutilate them, like something straight out of Kuroshitsuji. And he has a ‘trophy room’.

I personally don’t find the panels too gory, but stuff does happen on-page.

Moran immediately cancels his plans for the night - i.e., sleeping with one of the women he bragged to at the pub about his new job as a ‘butler’ - so he could accompany Fred to report the Baskerville tip-off to William.

Fred is reluctant to go because it’s late and the abductors come early in the morning, so there might not be time. Moran is like naaah don’t be a coward, let’s run for it, William looks at the big picture, but I know he doesn’t ignore suffering when it’s in front of him.

(Moran backstory, when?)

And about that job - Moran shirks work when Lewis and William aren’t around, and Fred covers for him.

And Moran says though Fred seems distant from William, he and Fred have a special connection to each other.

(Now I can’t help but see Fred’s attitude towards Moran as some kind of rebellious younger brother thing and I cannot wait for backstabbing to happen outside the omake.)

Lewis still wants in on the action, and finally confronts William after Moran gives him a ‘but you’re brothers, tell him how you feel!’ pep talk.

William: oh nooo, I only wanted to protect you, Lewis, but I didn’t consider your feelings, only my ego! From now on, I’ll let you in on the action, too, just like old times!

Other unsolicited comments:

Lady in the vol. 1 colour spread of the Moriarty comrades’ debut album photoshoot: please don’t be Irene Adler, please be someone else, please.

Judging by the page one literal cliffhanger, this won’t be how it goes, but consider: instead of baritsu-ing William over Reichenbach, Holmes shows up late and stabs him with a broken oar. (...This duel.)

William is 24/7 cool, even when he was abducted in chapter 4. The only times he’s really cracked so far were the chapter 1 page one cliffhanger, and his conversation with Lewis in chapter 10. Please crack more, William.

Chapter 4 SPOILER

The kidnapping was planned so Albert could bust some opium smugglers, who were the kidnappers.

Chapter 7 SPOILER

When he went ‘to the toilet’, Holmes gave that man a message ‘from’ Mrs Hudson, to get him to approach her.

‘She’ wrote that she liked a certain kind of role-play...

Because Holmes thought Mrs Hudson would ask Watson to be his flatmate if she saw that he’s a “gentleman brimming with a sense of justice”.

And Watson really is, so he's pissed when Holmes tells him

But his tirade is cut short because the Yard comes.

Chapter 8 SPOILER

Lestrade, who's driving the Yard’s coach (uhh, whatever the right term is), swerves so the doors open and Holmes and Watson can escape. When Gregson demands an explanation, Lestrade claims a cat suddenly jumped onto the path ahead.

Chapter 9 SPOILER

Jefferson Hope asks Holmes to kill him. If he does, Fred, who’s watching from a rooftop, will tell him about the criminal mastermind who advised Hope.

Holmes points his gun at him.

Watson: nooo, there has to be another way! *points his gun at Holmes*

Holmes shoots.

...at the ground.

Holmes: haha what do you take me for? I don’t want to be told the answers. I’ll find them on my own. *handcuffs Hope*

Watson: *tears of joy*

After the Moriarty crew pass the press mob outside 221B, there in response to the news of Hope’s arrest, Lewis says there was a ‘60% chance’ Holmes would have killed Hope.

William says the whole thing was a test of Holmes’ character. The gist of the conversation is that Holmes will be of use in exposing the upper classes’ sins.

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #professor moriarty #sebastian moran #sherlock holmes #ynm notes

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mollykittykat · 7 years

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The Cupboard Game Pt. 1

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst.

There was a knock on the door, signaling the next round of the cupboard game. There was barely a half second’s pause before the four children sprang into action, covering their tracks and scampering in separate directions.

Rule one: no leaving out toys or coloring books. The objects didn’t have to go where they belonged, they only needed to be out of sight; tucked under a couch or shoved between a mattress… whatever got rid of it quicker.

Rule two: remain absolutely silent. This was the second most important rule of the game. Speed and efficiency got you points, but if you tripped trying to get to you hiding spot or couldn’t sit still once you were hidden your chances of winning were practically null. Michelangelo struggled with this rule for a long time, and even now he had some problems refraining from readjusting his position after settling in the cramped storage chest.

Rule three: you have to wait for the signal before you can leave you hiding spot. The signal wasn’t the stranger’s goodbye or the footsteps disappearing down the hall, it was the sound of their father rapping on the wall with his knuckles when he was certain the coast was clear. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. Then they all climbed out and abided by rule four: no talking for five minutes. They were permitted to read and draw, but no spoken words were allowed. Then, when time was up, Splinter decided on who won the cupboard game and the winner would get a piece of candy.

Half the time Leonardo won. Donnie was a close second, as he was very dutiful about putting his things away and always seemed to know the quickest most efficient route to the nearest hiding spot. Michelangelo, as aforementioned, had problems with fidgeting, but he was small and quick, good at fitting into small corners. Raphael was a tad bit more manic, his determination to outdo his siblings causing him behave recklessly every time the game started. Competition had always been a difficult subject for Raphael, as there was practically no grey area separating desperation from indifference. There was one instance when… after a long winning streak from Leonardo… the hotheaded child actually decided that he was no longer going to play The Cupboard Game. There was the knock at the door, and as his brothers began to scatter Raph stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, staring at his father in a challenging manner.

Splinter motioned for him to hide, and Raphael stomped his foot and screamed “no!” like only a four year old could.

This immediately proved to be a terrible, terrible decision. One hand was snapped violently over Raph’s mouth, remaining there even as the child bit at his father’s palm. Splinter’s other hand painfully gripped a pressure point in the defiant tot’s neck as he dragged him the final distance to the kitchen area and shut the tantruming child away in the cupboard.

The cupboard was never meant to be a place of punishment. Leonardo’s earliest memory was of him and his four siblings snug beneath blankets, dozing away in the comforting darkness of the space lit alone by the gentle red glow of the light on the baby monitor. That monitor served as Splinter’s only way of knowing if any of them started crying, because otherwise the cupboard was locked tight and completely soundproofed. It was technically their first hiding spot before any of them could properly comprehend the rules of the cupboard game. Now it served as sort of a “tantrum room.” If you couldn’t keep your voice down you’d go into the cupboard, which would then be locked for a set amount of time. Raphael of course slammed his tiny legs against the cabinet doors, but the light thumping and nearly inaudible screaming was soon drowned out by a radio Splinter turned on before answering the door.

It was only a package. The person who had delivered it was long gone, leaving the cardboard box filled with preschool-appropriate reading material on the stoop of the dingy apartment room. Splinter brought the package in, ignoring rule three of the game in order to drag Raphael out of the cupboard and scold him.

“When I tell you to hide, you hide!” he reprimanded, face flushed with anger as he clasped the tiny turtle by the shoulders and shook him “do you understand me?!” Raphael tried to answer, but he was crying too hard to form words, struggling to keep the volume of his own sobs down in order to avoid further punishment. “I said do you understand me!?” “It… it hurts Papa…”

Splinter suddenly stopped. Coming to his senses he realized the terrified expression on the four year old’s face. Raphael had acted like a child, but he was a child, a child who had not yet been told the severity of the situation. Even if the matter had been fully explained, however, it was no excuse for the bruises Splinter found that his clenched hands were leaving on the little creature’s shoulders. At once the fear and the anger was gone, and in it’s place was a suffocating sense of guilt. Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo crept out of their hiding spots, drawn out by the commotion, and were greeted by the sight of Raphael wrapped inside a firm embrace, their father on his knees on the tile floor sobbing out apologies.

Rule 5 of The Cupboard Game: There is no opting out of the cupboard game. This was the most single most important rule.

Soon after the incident Splinter sat his sons down for tea and a family meeting. There, he explained that if anyone found out there were four talking turtles living in the apartment, there was a chance someone would try and take them away. As far as he knew, the four of them were the only turtles in the world that could walk and grow and interact like humans, and such things often made people afraid. That was why they had to play the game. That was none of them were allowed to leave the apartment. Leonardo brought up the issue that their home was so small, with barely enough room for so much as a game of tag, and Splinter somberly agreed. He promised that one day he’d find a bigger home for them, although he failed to mention that such a thing was easier said than done when one has recently started their life over, working a janitorial job with not a penny to their name, which too had been changed over the course of the move. Of course Michelangelo, unaware of this, never refrained from using his crayons to draw big castles and bright green backyards, basing his idea of what their future home should look like off the cartoons that kept him quiet and satiated.

In the following weeks Splinter seemed to come home a good deal later than normal, acting far sleepier than before, often sore and suffering from bad headaches, falling short on household duties and phonics lessons much to his visible shame. “I can only get us a bigger home if I work harder” was the answer Donatello received after no small amount of prying, though the explanation made the lispy little knowitall fairly indignant. Eight hours of sleep and no more than forty hours of work per week was the healthy statistic, he declared, and here Splinter was pushing seventy hours per week while getting between five and six hours of sleep every night. Unfortunately, the preschooler’s wordy little lecture won him nothing more than a pat on the head and a promise that it wouldn’t last forever.

The knock came one more time, everyone and everything safely hidden away by the time Splinter gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open. Donnie was tucked in the cardboard box under the bed, Leo was buried in shredded newspaper in the wooden chest next to the couch, Raph was behind an ironing board in the coat closet, and Michelangelo was hugging a teddybear behind a wooden panel on the bottom book shelf, when they all overheard a strange high-pitched raspy voice speaking out in a sharp informal manner.

“Aye! if it isn’t ‘The Splinter!’ I was afraid I got the wrong address for a second there!”

“…. Daiki. Or ‘Mister Takara' if you’re trying to sell me something.” Leonardo noted the tone with which his father correct the stranger; the inflectionless mutter of annoyance he usually used when the old lady downstairs reminded him about the rent. “Look, I know what you want. I told you we’ll talk about it another time.”

“Oh don’t pull that stunt again Splints.” The door was jammed by the stranger’s foot, and all of a sudden there were footsteps making their way into the living area. The hiding children tensed, unnerved by this turn of events. Splinter didn’t let anyone into the apartment, not ever, and it was clear by the tone of their father’s voice that he was as uncomfortable as they were. “What do you think you’re-” “Getting your attention”

Despite knowing it would kill his chances at winning, Michelangelo gently shifted aside the wooden panel keeping him hidden, hoping to catch a much-needed peek of the ensuing conversation. He couldn’t see his father through the slit but he could see a stranger with big sunken eyes and the structure of a scarecrow, brightly colored tattoos all down his arm and along his face. Immediately he thought of some of the super villains in the Wingnut and Screwloose cartoons and hugged his teddybear a little tighter.

“Ha! Man, this place looks like a real hunk of garbage, and what’s with all the thrift shop furniture?” The intruder laughed, giving the couch a light kick of disdain “I guess this is what happens when you work in a profession you’re not made for, eh?”

“My job at Channel Six suites me just fine, Nezumi” Splinter returned, “and you need to leave.” He attempted to subtly herd the invader back to the doorway, but the goon saw through the attempt and sidestepped him.

“Yeah, on your knees scrubbing bathroom stalls. Sources say you just got yourself a part-time job loading crates down at the docks too. You’re obviously in need of funds, why didn’t you give me a call?” Nezumi’s insult followed up by the revelation that he’d been snooping left Splinter at a momentary loss for words. “The last time we worked together was three years ago” he eventually answered when he found his voice again, hands clenched at his sides “and I put our partnership to an end at the first opportunity. You know perfectly well that I have no intention of going back.”

“You beat Visioso’s best guy in thirty seconds flat! How am I supposed to let a powerhouse like that just walk away?”

“Listen” There was a light thump. Michelangelo could see Splinter’s hand grip the intruder’s shirt collar, loosely pinning him against the wall. Mikey instinctively flinched, then pressed his ear to the wooden panel, straining to make out his father’s nearly inaudible whisper

“You know what happened all those years ago? You caught me at a moment of desperation. I don’t like fighting for the sake of entertainment, especially dangerous and illegal entertainment, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice, so stop. Haunting. Me.”

Mikey didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, not because he couldn’t hear but because he simply hadn’t Donnie to explain the sentence’s meaning to him in layman’s terms. To him it just seemed like a jumble of standalone words, mashed into sentences that had no coherency. What he did know, however, was that his dad sounded frustrated, and Nezumi sounded like he didn’t care.

“They’ve raised a fifty thousand dollar purse for the final round” the intruder continued, speaking loudly and excitedly as he proceeded to ignore everything Splinter had just said “Some of the baddest of the bad are going to be pitted against each other, and I know you can beat every last one of them. Daiki, we can’t lose!” This time there was no holding back. A firm hand gripped the gangly stranger by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to move toward the doorway

“Thank you for the visit.”

“You- you can’t be content living like this!” Nezumi futilely struggled against the iron grip like a fish writhing on a hook “There’s got to be something that can get you fighting again!”

“Goodbye”

From his corner of the closet Raphael had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing as he heard Nezumi thrown out into the hallway, stumbling into the apposing wall by the force of the shove, Splinter evicting him with minimal effort. Mikey found it funny too, so much so that he pushed the panel hiding him aside just a bit further to get a better glimpse of the action. The hideous sunken eyes of the man in the hallway glared daggers at Splinter, flicked around in thoughtful frustration, and then suddenly landed upon Michelangelo’s big blue orbs peering out of the gap in the bookshelf. The youngest turtle’s heart leapt as he met the stranger’s dark gaze, a newfound look of shock and confusion overtaking Nezumi’s face before suddenly their silent exchange was cut off by the shut door, which Splinter immediately locked.

Michelangelo scampered to push the panel back in place, his heart still stuck in his throat, stomach twisting as he thought about the ugly man and his startled expression. He didn’t care if Splinter knew that he had broken the rules of the game. As bad as his father’s scoldings were he was now certain that someone saw him. That meant someone was going to come and take him away, and he would never get to see his dad or his brothers ever again. That thought stayed with him, and the more he pondered it the harder he cried, small muffled sobs escaping him as he played out the worst possible outcome in his mind, every detail exaggerated and emphasized by his overactive imagination.

Soft heart shattered by the prospect of separation he stayed where he was even after Splinter knocked on the wall. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. The final five minutes passed, then ten after that, but Michelangelo didn’t move.

Finally there was a knock on the wood panel of the book shelf, the hands of his elder brother shoving back the barrier before Mikey could so much as answer. Raph was wearing a smug smile, cheeks puffed up with an arcor strawberry cream candy, arms crossed over his chest as if he’d just defeated the king of the world. “I won! I won I won! Look!…” Raphael stuck out his tongue, the little hard candy balanced upon it, but the taunting gesture didn’t last long when Raphael noticed that Michelangelo was still crying, face pressed into his tear-soaked teddybear, shoulders heaving with every panicked sob.

Confused, then regretful, the hotheaded tot removed the partially eaten treat from his tongue and held it out to his little brother. “Hereyago. Shush okay? you’ can have it if you wannit…” But it was no use. Michelangelo was unresponsive to the offer, and if anything his sobs had only gotten louder since his brother invaded his hiding place. Knowing that the refusal of food was something serious, especially for a turtle like Michelangelo, Raphael backed off and raced to fetch his father, getting his attention with a few tugs on his pant leg. Now hearing Mikey’s sobs himself Splinter removed himself from dinner duty, kneeling down by the bookshelf to examine the situation while Leonardo hopped up on the kitchen counter to keep the ramen noodles stirred, Donatello rattling off the instructions on the cardboard box.

“Michelangelo?” Mikey looked up from his stuffed animal just in time to see familiar hands reach into the bookshelf, pulling him into the light of the living area. “Hush my son, it’s alright” The deep paternal voice was a million miles off from the sharp angry tone with which Splinter had addressed the stranger. Finding something to tether his emotions to Mikey abandoned his teddybear altogether and gripped the fabric of Splinter’s buttondown shirt like his life depended on it. He buried his face in his father’s chest, tears giving way to light hiccups as strong reassuring palms coarse with callouses rubbed up and down the turtle’s shell.

Splinter picked Mikey up and moved to the couch, cradling the sobbing four year old in his lap as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” Michelangelo found it a struggle to answer. Even though he knew what he wanted to say he was afraid to say it. He wasn’t going to just get in trouble, he was going to make everyone angry and scared, but deep down he knew it was better than them not knowing what had happened all, especially if this was going to put him and his brothers in danger. “…He looked a’me!” “Who?” “The.. the… Th’man!” Mikey hiccuped as his gaze moved to the door, breathing heavily as he was caught in the throes of a fresh crying fit. “I know I- I was s’posed to stay h-hidden but- *hic*… I- I… wanted t’see wh- who- what was… an’ I- *hic*…I… I peeked”

It took Splinter a few seconds to understand just what his son was going on about. Realizing what had happened he looked concerned himself, gaze moving toward the bookshelf briefly before returning to Michelangelo. “And you’re certain he saw you?” “I… I think so. He- *hic* he l-looked over at me th-then his face got all weird, then y’closed the door an… an… an…” Unable to finish his thought Michelangelo buried his face back into his fathers chest, a long sorrowful exhale wetting his parent’s work shirt with snot. Splinter gently rocked back in forth, working to soothe the distraught tot as his gaze coasted back and forth between the bookshelf and the door, a sense of dread building up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that someone had caught sight of one of the turtles. Especially someone like Nezumi.

“Well, he is more likely to think he was imagining things than assume that a talking turtle lives in my apartment” Splinter coaxed, working to reassure himself as well as the kid he clutched in his arms. “Is someone gonna take me away?” “I don’t think so” Splinter smiled pityingly at his son, picking him up and repositioning him on his lap so that he could look him in he eyes. “Now, I am disappointed that you let yourself be seen like that. You know that it would have been safer if you had stayed hidden… but I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything. After all, you’re safe here.”

“Yeah!” Raphael suddenly interjected, climbing up onto the couch next to his father, clasping an egg timer from the kitchen in his large green hands “An’ if he does try somethin’, Papa’s gonna kick him in the mouth so hard, that Noobzumi dork’s gonna poop teeth!” Despite the tears still running down his cheeks Michelangelo began to dissolve into giggles, the mere mention of the word ‘poop’ striking him as the epitome of comedy. Splinter, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly violent statement coming out of his four year old son. Seeing he’d accomplished the job of cheering up his younger sibling while recognizing the threat of another oncoming scolding, Raphael quickly twisted the knob of the egg timer, forcing it to ring ten seconds early. “Eggs is done!” He tossed the timer onto his father’s lap and scampered back to the kitchen area, where Leonardo and Donatello were struggling to portion the steaming of noodles and the eggs, threatening to accidentally topple the large pots of boiling water in the process. “Boys, stop! let me handle that!” Splinter immediately put Mikey on the cushion next to him before rising to his feet and hurrying to the stove, leaving the youngest to ponder the conversation while he finished dinner preparations.

Mikey didn’t like that look on Nezumi’s face. In fact he was quite certain he didn’t like Nezumi at all, which was not a feeling he was accustomed to… disliking someone at first glance. However, his father seemed to be confident that this slip-up wouldn’t result in catastrophe. Reassured, Mikey wiped the last bit of snot away from his face with his elbow, then slipped down from the couch to retrieve his teddybear.

“It’s okay. ‘Aphie’s right” he soothed, picking up his stuffed animal and cradling it in his arms much like his own father had done with him just a few moment’s ago “Papa’s gonna make sure nothin' bad’s gonna happen.” “Now come on…” He looped the tear-soaked teddy around his shoulders, giving it a piggyback ride to the kitchen “it’s time for dinner. Not pizza this time, but chick’n ramen’s super good too, so no whining!”

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2k12 #the cupboard game #human splinter AU #((if you have any feedback let me know!#even if it's just pointing out a typo I'll be in you your debt))#turtle tots #hamato yoshi

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Text

A Sample Chapter

Craic. Like Banter.

I’m Jack Hewler, bard, rogue, and quickly becoming the greatest fool to ever pluck a string.

You would think certain excuses would exempt you from certain things, ‘I’m not a fighter. I’ve never left this city. I’m not a thief. I’m a fucking bard’ all of these, of course, fall on deaf ears.

I learnt from an early age that there are two types of conversations, one when you want to tell something, and one when you want something. And yes, before you ask, my mother was a whore.

The one I had today was one of the latter.

I won’t lie and say it started a normal day, it didn’t, I’m the kind of wastrel that doesn’t seem to have normal days. It started with me being beaten with my own lute in a puddle of my own making.

‘Looter!’

‘The word you’re looking for is bard, innkeeper, and if you would, please stop mishandling me with my instrument. Shall I play you a song? By the narrow streets we meet? The Last Prince? Gods help me just stop hitting me, it’s expensive!’

The innkeep-who-was-a-watchman gave me an indignant look ‘I’m a watchman ye simpleton, and you were seen rummaging through the Jeweller’s on Bartle Row, what do you have to say about that?’

I stood, brushing the indignity off my jerkin, and doing my best to ignore the cool wetness in my crotch. Sorry. ‘I am… Sincerely sorry sir. But you have me mistaken, I have no interest in jewellery and certainly none in wasting a watchman’s valuable time. I was in the Inn last night, you may have guessed. There are men who can vouch for me, I got into something of a drinking contest with a fisherman, his name was Joe. Or Joel… Perhaps James?’

The watchman was nonplussed ‘How old are ye, boy’

‘Jonath- Oh. Twenty, sir.’

I heard a jangle of what could only be chains in his back pocket

‘Fooourteen sir. I am fourteen years old and cannot be arrested by an officer of the watch thank you very much and now that you mention it I recall you beating me with a lute, terrible business that so what say you and I forget this eh?’

‘Fourteen?’

‘Fifteen in a week’

‘Where’s your father then, I’ll have a talk with him, see if we can’t get ye back to the barracks for some words’

‘Ah. Where is he indeed? The Gods only know. Mother told me he was the adventurous sort, perhaps called out to… ‘I took a look around for the first thing that inspired me ‘The sea,’ I gave a false wistfulness to my look ‘A man of action, or so I was led to believe’

‘Yer mother then’

Crestfallen, I embodied that in the moment ‘Themsen’s’

He gave a booming laugh ‘Well ‘mon then whoreson, let’s see yer mammy’.

. . .

I sat on the stool outside my mother’s room, separated by only a thin veil. I heard screams, wails and guttural whimpers. False, undoubtedly, but the poet in me believed some of them were real. Perhaps love was blossoming under this very roof as I wasted what may have been my last day a free man? Mostly though, I heard my mother’s voice, disappointed, pleading, and trying to pierce the steely demeanour of my captor.

‘Just a few questions then, and can I speak to my boy? I’ll clout him if you’ll let me.’

‘The sooner we get this done with the better, but aye, I’ll give ye a minute. Just bring him right out when yer finished alright?’

She did clout me. My mother was young, I suppose, but in her profession even the young were old. Past thirty she was near enough the mother of the brothel, still, she was pretty, and I was told by my bolder patrons that she saw enough coin coming her way. It didn’t make our lentils and porridge taste that much sweeter for knowing, I’ll admit.

She gave me a mournful look, grey eyes full of pity, disappointment, and yes, probably resentment. I was her one thing that she had to put her time in, to make all of this, some of it, any of it worth it in the slightest. And I had piss on my pants and a watchman outside.

‘Oh Jack, I love you son but you’re a bloody ejit. What happened?’

‘I had a bit too much to drink is all. I know I know I know I know, you don’t want me drinking but it was in good company see? Fisherman, good man, brings in shoal, that’s worth a fair bit aye? He said he’d be happy enough to take me on a fish- ‘

‘Trawl’

‘Trawl, aye, and he said I could play for some of the fishermen, trawlermen, whogivesashit mammy, and I’d be paid a coin or two for every pound of shoal I could bring in on top of the money I’d make for barding, singing, ah you know the business’

‘Jack’

‘Mammy’

‘Shoal isn’t a fish, it’s a collective for fish. I didn’t pay for that tutor, so you wouldn’t even know your fish from your fucking nouns, and I didn’t pay so you could waste your days strumming a lute for some trawlerman as he brings in something that’d be worth what? A hundred at the market? Hundred fifty in winter maybe split between five?’

‘Six with me, and Jonathan says two hundred, and he sails once a week, two days is all, I could still do some of the singing and all that in the taverns til’ I find something better here. But mammy, I’m trying. I’m the son of- well you know Lord Bartle isn’t like to let me squire for him or any of his pasty cunts-for-kids, and I dunno what else you want honestly. Fishing’s good. Honest, aye? I’m not going to be spending my days in the barracks if I’m doing honest work’

‘Honest work is for honest men Jack, and I’ve never met a bigger liar in my life’

‘Mam!’

‘Not a bad thing. All the good heroes tell a fib every once in a while, remember? You really ought to keep trying for the squire role, big man on top says he’s holding a melee, twelve to fifteen, whoever wins gets to squire for his eldest. Stick to that, boy. You’re strong, betcha’ Jonathan saw that when he said he’d like a hand, but don’t let yourself sink to a life like – like me Jack. You deserve better. Jack for the gods sakes, I deserve better. I’ll not eek another year. Stay out of trouble, hear me? Answer the man’s questions, get your stick and practice, if you don’t make the melee you can join fish and sing all you like, but try. Alright?’

There was no arguing her. She was right, and I knew it ‘Alright mammy’.

I rushed down the stairs as Themsen gave me a shout, didn’t hear him right but he was probably wishing me luck.

‘Run backwards through a field’a dicks ye fucking lecher of a whoremonger’. We were friends like that.

‘No, you prune of a ewe, change your bloody knickers’

‘Ah, right you are’

The Watchman’s voice came booming through the wooden entrance door, left ajar

‘Come out now, I’ve wasted enough time’

‘Run backwards through a field’a dicks ye fucking lecher of a watchman’ shouted one of the whores, errant in the lounge.

Funny kind of family you find, in a brothel.

. . .

The Watchman’s name was Darren, and we sat in a rather dour room. Wooden panels, single candle on a trestle-table, dark besides. Bars on the heavy wooden doors where they’d have put glass in richer districts with less thieves and murderers taking up residence.

Well, convicted ones, at least.

I wasn’t alone besides the watchman, there was a scribe who was meant to record everything I said, I asked him how he wrote fast enough, if there was any code or something, seemed fascinating is all, I said. He just shrugged and said he writes what he can and fills in the blanks later. Bit of a shit system if you’re asking me, but they weren’t as Darren reminded me, and I suppose the real justice, real codes were for proper scribes in proper courts and all that nonsense. This was probably the only watchman who could read.

‘Serjeant Darren Axewit interviewing a Jack Hewler as suspect for the looting of Howe’s Jeweller’s on Bartle Row on the fifth day of the Month of the Bear Twelve-Fourteen AE. Before we begin, Master Hewler, do you have any questions’

Your mouth gets you into trouble, child. True enough.

‘Nah—Meaning no, obviously’ I gave a weak chuckle ‘Don’t write that, the Nah bit, or the chuckle, mind, any of this, really. Keep the no. Sorry.’

‘Where were you last night, Hewler?

‘I was playing for the Shoal’s Rest Inn. I uh, played about ten songs, maybe twelve, I don’t really recall, but I was only paid for ten. Still, the audience liked me well enough, so I think I played a little longer than I should have. That kept me occupied for nine to around…’ A soft drumbeat I was giving with my fingertips was cut short by a sharp cough from Darren ‘Uh half ten probably. After that I was approached by a man, maybe thirty, bearded, brown hair. Said he was a fisherman. Liked my songs I guess. Offered to buy me a drink. Said yes. Drank a lot. More than I could handle. We talked a bit about a business venture. Wanted me to be a fisherman. Said yes. Tried to get home. Didn’t. Probably two or three in the morning I fell asleep in the gutter. I awoke to Serjeant Axewit here hitting me with a l-‘

‘Ignore that bit Mikken’

‘Course of course’ Mikken said in a sing-song voice.

I threw my hands up ‘Well. That’s my story then’.

Darren sighed ‘The one yer sticking with at least. Tell me, ever been to Bartle Row?’

‘Once or twice. I was asked to open for Ernest Claxon, you don’t know him, but he’s a pretty big bard from Muras, I was really quite honoured, it was after Lord Bartle hosted him, but he still played at the Penny Cross Tavern, they couldn’t find one and I happened to be in the area so…’

‘And why did ye happen to be in the area, Jack?’

‘Ah this was about three months back, mind. But I was in the area cause mam, that’s my mother, wanted me to try for squiring one of the Lord’s sons. It didn’t really work out as well as it could’ve but ah, the kids seemed to like me well enough to tell me to try for the melee next week so that’s probably what I’m up to next to tell the truth.’ I was sweating, rambling, and all in all a bit of a mess, but Darren seemed more bored than accusatory, he probably just wanted me gone.

‘Said you agreed to be a fisherman, now a squire? Thought you were a bard? Having trouble making ends meet, Jack? Maybe needed some jewels or gold to tide things over?’

Ah shit. They want to throw someone in a prison it seems. They may not even care if it’s you that did it.

Time for an appeal of the heart. Gods help me I hope the Watchman has one.

‘Ever had a mother, Serjeant?’

He looked at me for a few seconds, then, probably deciding to humour me, gave a nod.

‘Probably had plans for you, right? Be someone, do something, might have even pointed you to a few tradesmen, or wanted you to open a farm, get married have kids, all that nonsense, aye?’

So far so silent Jack, not too late to go back.

Cowards go back.

‘Well my mam has plans for me, become a squire, maybe a knight, maybe get myself a castle if I’m good enough at knocking ponces and nonces off their horses’

A stifled laugh from Mikken gave me courage to go on.

‘Well my ma has a good heart, but I’m near fifteen and I think I have a better idea of what I’m good for than she does, gods bless her. Might be I’m meant to be a bard, I’m a half decent singer, made a few maids cry if I’m being immodest. Honestly though, there’s no money in it, and maybe there is money in a castle and all, but do you look at me and say, stalwart defender of the realm, man of virtue, Knight? I don’t think so. So, fish, aye. Decent wage if you’re decent at it, so I don’t see why I can’t keep my options open.’

It was quiet but for Mikken’s scratching until Darren gave a sigh, an apology, and escorted me out the barracks that were oh-so-nearly my prison. Warning me, telling me to stay out of trouble, and reminding me he knew where I lived (I didn’t live in the brothel, but I didn’t have the heart or inclination to tell him) he turned me out into the bustling streets of Tuvanan. My home city.

Then I saw her.

. . .

Brown hair, brown eyes, swarthy skin, with an accent that sounded like she was being prodded to finish her sentence as quickly and with as much alacrity as possible. It excited the young and wearied the old. She was tall for a girl, about five feet and eight inches, a full two inches taller than me, to my more masculine shame, though she was nineteen. I had seen the woman about, asked after her. Sometimes she had stolen my shows, and sometimes I hers. She hadn’t been long in town, perhaps two months, and I knew next to nothing about her save for her name.

‘Hullo Caillen’

‘Master Hewler, I see you’ve been given the old talking to by our brave protectors.’

‘Ah yes, lovely people. Even quite handsome with just the one candle in the cell’

She gave a good-natured laugh. A nice one. Like spring. I don’t know, I only really write songs to get girls, I have the cart before the horse in that regard I suppose. Still, she was pretty, and I was happy to finally meet her proper.

‘Well, sir, walk with me, I have a show to make.’

‘So long as it’s not at the Shoal’s Rest’ I said half-jokingly. There were only so many inns in our small city, and so far, she had stolen three from me. One for eternity, for I’m a bad loser, and two for several nights of patronage.

‘Ah, you know it then!’ Bright smile knowing exactly what she was inflicting

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me’

‘I am, actually. I’m playing Themsen’s tonight. That’s where your mother works, is it not?’

‘Ah. Yes. Word gets around, doesn’t it?’

The journey got awkward after that, pleasantries were exchanged though, and two bards walking through the streets cut a fine figure even when we weren’t on the better side of Tuvanan, so I felt I stood a little taller after my near emasculation by the hands of mother and law on that day.

We made our way through cobbled streets, crowds so thick you could scarce move, and even at the best of times the poorer alleys were hardly enough for three to walk abreast, and with stalls and crowds we slipped through, weaving sideways, ducking under crates and the less perceptive of our fellow citizens. By rights I should have been leading, it was my city, and I was the man, but Caillen was in front, still, she held my hand so that I wouldn’t lose her in the bustle. That was alright in the scheme of things.

After the better part of an hour navigating the city under the guidance of a non-native, we came upon Themsen’s, for that was closer than my own venue. I dusted off and prepared to make my goodbye.

‘Well Caillen, it was an interesting day, I’ll give you that, maybe we can talk again sometime.’

Ah the very embodiment of a gentleman. Cold, distant, and milquetoast. I’m sure she will cry into her harp for your embrace

She gave me a quizzical look, or maybe a mischievous one. I’m good at reading people, but not good at reading liars. And she was one. I knew that much.

‘You’re not coming in? I assumed you’d play here with me.’

‘Oh no, I’m flattered, but I have my own venue, If I don’t turn up they’ll geld me and make me serenade my manhood. I’m just really not up for that when I’m hungover’

‘Jack. A proposition, then.’

‘Mother told me to not take a stranger on a proposition.’

‘Fine woman. Still, listen. If you play with me tonight, listen, joke with me, have a bit of, what is it you say here, crack?’

‘Craic. Like banter.’

‘Craic. If we have a bit of craic we’ll arrange something of an agreement, or a plan, you have some nights, some venues, I’ll do the same. No stepping on each other’s toes. I’ll have more, obviously. I’m better.’

‘Obviously’ I said. But she wasn’t. The reason she kept stealing shows from me was because she had a pretty face that was nearly noble when the patrons were in their cups. At least I was hired for being good.

‘A deal?’ Her pale hand shot out of her cloak, sort of like how those swamp monsters came from the fens. Her dressing in moss-green didn’t help the image. But I shook it.

Like a loser.

We were given a resounding welcome, not only had the baby of the brothel returned, chainless, but he had brought back a woman. I’d assumed they were just happy to see me, but Themsen shouted that verbatim. Red as the tide after a battle at sea, I was, and Caillen noticed, giving me a pinch on the cheek and scurrying off to arrange the stage as I stood there, part in shock, part in embarrassment, and yet wholly glad at being a free man, ready to relax with the people I had grown up with.

They treat you like a child because you are one Jack. So be a child for them tonight. Be one for your mother.

I stormed upstairs and entered my mother’s room without even considering that she may have had a visitor. She did not. I picked her up and showered her with kisses. ‘I told you they couldn’t have me ma, I mean, I probably did, I’m the smart sort, you always said, talked them in circles so fast they nearly ran into each other, oh and that shite the magistrates say about codes for scribes, aye, just that, shite. Man just wrote whatever he felt like, not that fast even, might as well have got me to draw them a picture, could’ve drawn them something fancy like, it would’ve got them more entertainment, fuck knows maybe a conviction’

‘Shit boy would you calm yourself and let me go!’ She said, laughing the whole time ‘I’m glad son, I thought you were meant to be playing the shoal this evening though?’

‘Ah I’m playing with Caillen downstairs, nice enough lass, offered me a fair deal, better than the Shoal so I said Aye why not? After all it’s not every day your boy escapes the clutches of evil, and hey maybe you could have a cup of wine or two to celebrate’

‘I appreciate that, but my figure…’

‘Is sung of by the bards, me, specifically. Not in a weird way though, and ah, not advertising you or anything. Ah shite I don’t sing about you ma, but you’re pretty enough to have a cup while we sing and make merry for a few, aye? And hey I don’t mean to be a boor, but I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten since last night.’

She rested her hand on my cheek, an amused smile betraying the stern woman she tried to get back into when I laid her down. ‘I’ll see you fed Jack, but I can’t join you tonight. I have work’

She must’ve seen my face drop for she hugged me fiercely ‘Any other man I’d chase away but this is important son, alright? Can’t have the two of us skipping every time we dodge misfortune.’

I gave a weary smile back ‘We’d get no work done at all’.

. . .

By the time I had eaten, toasted bread, some red meat and butter in case you were wondering –

We weren’t

Caillen was about ready to play, so I drank a smidge of mead, to clear my throat you understand. I had no desire to drink til’ at least the dark ones came to drag us back to hell. But as soon as I took stage she took me aside ‘Most the songs I have are for one, so play second, and maybe some backing melodies, you know when they’re sang in bands?’ I gave a solemn nod ‘Cheer up boy, less work for you!’ and the merry bard took centre stage while I sat on a stool.

There’s something fitting about this you know. You reached too far and now you pay the price, second fiddle to the woman who steals coin from your pocket, food from your very mouth!

Have you ever had a voice in your head that wouldn’t quiet itself? Me neither.

I played, played well even, as she got into her eighth song she turned back to me and asked some of the patrons to put her hands together for her partner Jack Hewler. I got a smattering of applause from the patrons who weren’t too busy drinking, fondling, or gaping at the women, and of course Caillen. But still, I was given a raucous cheer from every whore in the building (Some even upstairs to my delight). It lessened the sting of the night.

Caillen for all her boasting, wasn’t all that skilled with a lute or voice. I had to lessen the intricacies of my melodies simply to save her from embarrassment. I’ll admit, I felt better for it, but it still angered me that I was losing business to her and she had the nerve to be worse than I was. Still, I played.

And played.

Is this our twelfth song? Is this why I don’t get the nights while Caillen does? And I still hadn’t sang. I have a few of what my old tutor Byleck called ‘complexes’ on me I’ll admit, but still, I turned away good coin to play here, it was becoming beyond uncouth.

Caillen’s voice was breathy after her last performance ‘And for our final song, because what better number to finish than thirteen’ Some soft laughter permeated the room ‘I would like to invite Master Jack Hewler to sing a song with me that comes from my home, but I think we all should know’.

Oh, I was wrong, she really does want to kill you.

This wasn’t good. I only really know local songs, only a few of the big ones on the continent, if she wanted to make a fool of me she was certainly putting the best foot forward.

‘You’re not there,

When I look for you

You’re hardly gone,

When I don’t.

There’s a man,

I mistook for you

Oh, gods I promised,

That I won’t’

Thank God, it’s By the narrow streets, a few words changed, but maybe it’s different where she comes from, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be

Sing

‘You can’t hide it,

I’m the first one

By the stars,

I’ll be the last.

I decided,

To trek under the sun

To retake,

The roads we passed’

And our voices joined for the chorus, prettily if I say so myself.

‘There’s no refuge,

No solace.

No Solitude,

And no peace.

So what time,

That is left to you,

Is best spent,

In the Narrow Streets’

That’s how I sang it, at least, and near every man and woman in Themsen’s. But Cuillen finished the last line different, drowned out by inebriated singing to a slow song about a broken husband going to a brothel. I’d have to ask her about her version.

But we finished with very respectable applause from everyone in the establishment, no mean feat considering it was after midnight and most were turning to bed and other more carnal vices. Still, Themsen offered to fix us a drink since we had played so well.

Cuillen, ever a warm smile, asked for ‘Just a small cup of wine, but not watered down if you don’t mind terribly’

‘And I’ll take the water you’d have put in her cup, best not to keep piling on old problems, eh?’

‘Right you are Master Hewler, right you are, get yourself a sit down so I can fuck off to bed, aye?’

And just like that, we were the last man and woman in the common room. We’d gotten about halfway through our drinks before I spoke to her.

‘Excellent as always Cuillen’

‘Sorry for shafting you with the performance’

‘Dunno what you mean’

‘You do, still it’s kind of you to say. You’re not a terrible singer yourself’

‘Careful my lady,’ I gave a mock bow from my booth ‘You’re edging closer to a compliment every day… About the song’

‘Noras Traithe. Old city of elves. Way up in the North, might’ve been held by Pherneius, some people think Ekreth’

‘Okay, gibberish’.

‘If you like. Maybe you should read a book’

‘Maybe you should tell me?’

‘It’s late, I don’t care enough, and there’s something more important’

‘More important than elves dead for a thousand years?’

‘Oh yes. Why do you think the watchman arrested you, Jack?’

Oh yes indeed. This is simply terrible news.

‘I don’t like the slant of this at all, Cuillen’

She leaned closer, smile on her face.

‘Because the person they were looking for was a bard, Jack. Lute slung over their shoulder, hood up, rummaging through the Jewellers. I even got a cloak to match the one you wore the night we first met. Shame you didn’t wear it.’

‘You got me arrested? Oh, gods is this the part you kill me for no witnesses? I don’t want to die in a brothel, at least take me to a church. Maybe a shitheap. Anywhere but here.’

Leaning back, smiling all the wider ‘Relax, you’re not going to be killed, at least not by me. I got you arrested because you’re innocent, and you can talk your way out of it. And I wanted to meet you, because I’m going to need you for what comes next.’

And just like that, Jack Hewler became a drop in a pond full of piss.

‘What… What does come next, exactly?’

Her playful voice was no hiding the rogue, but embracing it with full force, ‘Come now, Jack, don’t you want to know what I stole? Or rather, what I couldn’t. What we’re going to have to steal?’.

No Jack. Listen to me. No, no, no. You are meddling in things you don’t understand. No.

‘Yes’.

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