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antiloreolympus · 3 years

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14 Anti LO Asks

1. To the one anon: good question - how is it that the mortals dont know who Persephone is / assume she is a minor goddess and therefore its okay to mess with her but the gods (or Olympians / underworld denizens) know exactly everything about her (despite her being there only every so often and only being 20ish) - enough to say shes "wearing her signature white color" during a murder trial.

Also the reason why Persephone is wearing white is because

A). RS wanted persephone to always be "dressed as a bride" (and have Hades dressed as a groom respectively) to show that their matching / is supposed to be a visual cue that their eventually gonna be together.

B). I believe this is RS way of saying that Persephone (despite murdering some mortals) is innocent because in purity culture White = innocence, virginity, youth etc. (Even though RS explicity ssid she wanted to go against purity culture morals shes very much leaning into them).

2. why are Psyche’s eyes yellow even in her human form? Is she sick??

3. honestly? LO is just gossisp girl at this point, espect even GG (at least in the first season) bothered to saturze the rich and was calling out how wealth and power makes them corrupt assholes. meanwhile LO is just GG season 2 and on of being like no no, the poor people are the evil people and the rich people are the oppressed ones! all while also fawning over their wealth and status and being way into grown men wanting to bang barely legal teens and claiming to be "feminist" somehow.

4. Tumblr is well-known for broken tag system. Check the post' tags before complaining that it's op's fault. How about you guys not tag greek mythology when posting about LO? LO is not one-shot or short fancomic. It's also definitely not considered actual greek mythology. LO is years long webcomic with huge fans. LO has its own tag. Tell your fellow fans to stop using the greek mythology tag.

5. I would argue nyx is the only woman with a unique in design in LO but thats only because she looks like a deformed chicken woman. why was my night mom disrespected this much 😭

6. So now that LO is back from break and I can finally read chapter 170 - Why oh Why do ALL the female characters Have to be defined by their male love interests??? (Or really just love interests in general).

I understand LO qualifies as the "romance" genre and there are certain stipulations or I guess themes or what have you that make it romance but for f*cks sake.

Psyche being worried about Eros loving the "fake" her I kinda get, but really? Thats your most pressing concern?? Hera is defined by her garbage marriage to Zeus - King of the gods (of which is why she is Queen of the gods). Hestia + Athena are now defined solely by their relationship to each other (not the TGOEM or their respective traits of being a goddess of the hearth + goddess of war, strategy etc etc).

Aphrodite is defined by giving Persephone "relationship" advice (e.g: telling her to curb stomp Minthe because "nymphs dont take things from gods" - doubly implying that people are things to own) And by her jealousy of Persephone in the first place because Hades made a comment about how he thought Persephone was prettier than her. And also because of her "house of debauchery" (Artemis' words) - and relationship with Ares.

Persephone is defined both by Apollo raping her and by her fated future status as Queen of the underworld (so her relationship with Hades). Hell, even the minor characters such as nymphs are defined by this relationship status / standard. Minthe is defined by her mean spirited personality yes, but Also because of her abusive relationship with Hades prior to the introduction of Persephone. Psyche is defined by her relationship woes with Eros. Daphne is defined by her relationship with Thanatos (and because shes a flower nymph) but also mostly because she looks like Persephone.

Rhea is defined by her marriage / relationship to Kronos (lets ignore the whole "fertility goddess power" plot for a second). Even Aetna is defined by Haphestus creating her! Is there not a single character (especially female) is isnt defined by their romantic love interest???Sorry. Maybe I'm overthinking this, but thats definitely how ot comes off as of late, in regard to the latest chapters.

Okay, same anon as earlier - I take it back somewhat - we have Artemis and Hecate that are not defined by their romantic relationships - but rather their lack of one.

However the way they are shown - it still comes off as a standard - "Artemis is stingy / a stick in the mud" because shes not romantically involved and is "barbaric" (according to Hera). And Hecate is still somewhat defined by her being Hades' employee (and cheerleader for him and Persephone to be together).

So technically yes, we have at least 2 characters that are not defined by their romantic interests / relationships, but they are still held to the standard of their "un-ladylike / undesirable" because their not romantically involved.

(I guess I should count Demeter, but only because shes more defined by just being "Persephone's overbearing mom" )

7. i think whats also kinda weird about this trial is like?? persephone is obvs framed as not liking the attention (bc duh) but she didnt like the previous press either, she wanted to be private, but wouldnt being with hades force her to be in the spotlight that makes her uncomfortable? also the citizens of the underworld already dislike hades, why would they want a uncontrollable felon as their queen, even if she found innocent? idk the whole thing just makes the endgame less plausible, tbh.

8. love that rachel was able to find a random deity name to name her random nymph the greek word for "beans" meanwhile apparently cant google actual greek names for even one off characters? like andrew, ellen, george, alexis, damian, luke, phoebe, sophia, and so any other english names are also greek, but she cant even bother with that? what exactly is her "research" if she cant even bother to spend 30 seconds googling greek names? at this point LO seems determined to be as un-Greek as possible.

9. wait so everyone in LO went from having no idea who persephone was, to her only showing up on ONE magazine cover, to now being the most well known person with a signature color? all in the span of two weeks with no genuine public outings? how does that make sense? also white isnt even her signature color if 90%+ the female cast and even a lot of the men ((including ZEUS) all wear it too.

10. the fact the courthouse WASNT the areopagus, aka the place in greece where they say the first ever trial ever happened and where the court system was invented, is just another point of rachel talking out her ass about being "respectful" or "researched" on greece and their mythology. its literally one of the most famous mythology spots ever with some fantastic stories to it and she's just like "nah! boring rectangle will do!" like why even both with mythology then if its this devoid of it?

11. Anons are saying Hades in the FS chapter is leaning down and talking to Persy like a child. Say it aint true.

(I wanna see. I thought RS was finally giving Persy adult proportions). 😨

12. So wait, hold up. I kinda get where RS is coming from with the law school in the underworld (because Hades is supposed to be a kinda Judge, jury, executioner situation in the afterlife when it comes to mortals and their "punishments" and whatnot). However, is RS stating that the ONLY law school / courthouse exists in the underworld? If so, why? Why wouldn't Athena be there then. She's a goddess of strategy and justice (among other things).

Also is RS really implying that Hades owns not only the banks and underworld but the law too? She really wants Hades to be a Gary Sue along side her Mary Sue - Hades controls everything that matters and since its his realm and blah blah blah rules, Zeus, king of the gods cant do anything about it.

(Which is dumb. Because you would think that because Persephone committed the crime in the mortal realm / on, or near Olympus that therefore she would be brought back there to dole out justice under Zeus jurisdiction because she committed the crime in His Realm).

13. FP Spoiler ahead:

Why on earth couldn't the reporters have Greek names? There is so much wrong and bad with this story, yet this irks me so much. It is Brenda all over again.

14. i dont really get the point of the trial plotline, tbh. even persephone says she should be punished and held accountable, but hades is framed in the right for trying to go against that and weasel her out of it. so?? plus zeus has legit reason to punish them? persephone is a danger to others, demeter and hermes both committed treason to cover it up, and hades was harboring a fugitive of the law and is now trying to force the system to let her go. how is zeus in the wrong for this?

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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roses-bel-air-darling · 3 years

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I don't care if Corpse's face leak is real or not. The possibility of it being real is really scary because 1) someone is crazy enough to dig so deep just to expose a person they don't know but deeply hate for no reason 2) people are hating on a man for the way he looks even though he's never claimed to be a supermodel and there's no need for him to be 3) haters are basically saying "it's time to end him" and Corpse worked hard to be where he's at rn & 4) we don't know how it can affect Corpse.

I know. It amazes yet frightens me how far people will go. Although no longer a fan of him anymore cause of very obvious reasons. The same thing happened to cry, where a fan literally stalked him and found information of the high school he went to and his old house address down in Florida, like back in 2013 or 2014? And he confirmed here on tumblr that it was his old home and was pissed how someone found his old home and took a picture and posted it online.

What is the part that fans don't understand that he wants to keep his personal life and looks out of the spotlight, he wants and respects his privacy to have a balance between work and personal?

Yes. He never claimed that he looked like a supermodel. Cause of his voice so many people thought he was a going to look like a Greek god.

That part I will never understand is how those people were the same fans claiming to be anti bullying, being all about body positivity and such. Look how the way they are acting with the 'face reveal'. Their behavior on canceling him and ditching him just cause he's not looking like their dream bf is disgusting.

He's a human being, and I'm proud of how far he's come with his accomplishments. And him finally coming out of shell and trying to get over his fears. And being friends with sykunno, rae, Tina, Emma, Ludwig, etc, who helped him grow as a person. Regardless of how he looks if the reveal is fake or not. I'll still be a fan cause I love his content, his friendships with his friends and personality. He's a sweet person and doesnt deserve to be dealing with this disgusting behavior.

Lastly, I am also worried how this is going to affect his mental health. The poor guy has depression, anxiety, and is an agoraphobic. I'm afraid of how he's going to deal with this and maybe the possibility of ending his channel, for the sake of his mental health.

If he needs a break over this, I wouldn't even be upset cause it's understandable. He's going to prioritize his mental wellbeing above anything else. I just hope he's going to be alright and still have people who love and support him. 💖

#corpse husband

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redheadedteatotaler · 3 years

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Little bits of this and that to discuss...let’s get going.

Update: The A03 link should be fixed now. Thanks to trueromantic1 for the heads up!

Ryan at RK Outpost discusses Star Wars continued backlash and embarrassment as part of his livestream earlier today:

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The Western Journal caught up to Kevin Sorbo at CPAC recently, and it seems that the upcoming movie with Ben Shapiro isn’t the only thing Gina’s in talks about working on...

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I want to preface this by stating that I normally stay as far away from Mike Zeroh as possible (as do most of Gina’s fans, he’s well known for being one of if not the most unreliable reactor when it comes to news), I simply wanted to include these as a way to draw attention to him and what he does.

So, earlier today he posted this:

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In this one he claims that his sources have told him that Cara Dune is indeed going to be recast. I don’t buy it....why? Because after an hour of searching, he was the ONLY person I could find who has “sources”, who has made this claim. That alone makes me have serious doubt. Not to mention, the comment section gives you a really really good idea of how fans will react. As bad as I hate Darth Kennedy the Hypocritical, I can’t see her shooting herself in the other foot.

The other big reason? Three hours later, he posted this one:

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He’s been reporting the EXACT SAME INFORMATION about her firing for weeks now. I’m guessing he’s been called out (he was called out in this video, someone pointed out how the leaks have been faked for years between him and Doomcock), which is why he posted the whole thing about Cara Dune being recast.

Simply put....Zeroh is at the bottom of the food chain when it comes to news, and his sources are most likely found in his head. In other words he makes things up for popularity’s sake.

A trio of new works hit A03 today.

@wolfy22bookie‘s latest creation, The Perfect Flower is as fluffy as a dandelion.

@name1name1‘s latest work is a Boska piece titled Just A Beer.

@ladymarinenc steps into the CaraDin fan fic realm with her first ever piece called A New Normal.

I’ve been talking about spotlighting the CaraDin shippers who are writers once a week, and I need your help to pull this off. I just realized that everyone on the ship list may not necessarily write, and this is where you come in. Out of all of us in our little group, how many Tumblr’s are also writers?

For the spotlight, here’s how things will work. I’ll assign each writer a number Each Wednesday I’ll use a generator to choose a number at random, and then contact that writer to fill out the little questionnaire. I’m well aware that everyone’s got a busy life, so said writer will have until 8pm Central Time on Sunday to get their responses back to me, to be featured in the Monday update. Not gonna lie...I did pull a couple of these questions from the latest “ask” list that’s going around.

If you are a writer, and do not wish to take part, please do not hesitate to let me know. While I think shining a spotlight on the amazing talent that exists in our group is a good idea, I do not want to put anyone on the spot.

For this update, I used my own writing to give you guys a feel of what it will look like. If there’s something I don’t ask the writer that you’d love to know and think others would too, let me know.

Pen Name on A03: prettypinkliquid

Link to Works: http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/prettypinkliquid/

Do You Have Work Available Anywhere Outside of A03? Yes, my Gina actor fic can be found on my blog.

Ships: CaraDin, Riletty, Cannic

CaraDin Moment That Made You Say “I Ship It”: The fight in Chapter 4 piqued my interest, but “I Won’t Leave You” is where I jumped onboard.

Favorite CaraDin To Read: Domestic fluff

Favorite CaraDin To Write: Slightly angsty but fluffy domestic pieces

How Long Have You Been A Writer? Since I was nine.

Does Your First Fic Still Exist? No, that poor thing is long gone.

What Fandom Is It From? Days of Our Lives

Research or No Research? Depends on the subject. In some cases I prefer to make things up as I go, particularly if it’s a heavy subject.

What Is The Hardest Part About Writing To You? Actually sitting down to write.

Where Do You Seem To Get Your Best Ideas? Work. It never fails.

Random Quote From a WIP: “In other words I should expect to be a grandfather again by the new year,” --Greef Karga, speaking to Cara.

Not Gina related, but this Mandalorian fan edit by Trinity Studios is worth watching.

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Till next time!

#gina carano #the carano files

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cyaneyesullivan · 3 years

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Let’s talk about Lyn-Z...

i don’t usually like to get involved in these things, but there are several thoughts on my mind that i want to write on here. i want to talk about cancel culture and Lyn-Z Way.

i think the whole scandal surrounding Lyn-Z is ridiculous. i’ve never listened to MSI, nor have i ever supported Lyn-Z, and will do neither. it doesn’t matter whether you love or hate Lyn-Z, really. she objectively has done things that are downright unacceptable. it’s a whole list. you are a google search away from finding out things you may have not known about her.

honestly, a lot of the things doesn’t sit right with me at all, and that’s why i wanted to talk about it. she’s getting by nearly unscathed when a lot of people would have burned down and disappeared from the face of the internet by now.

i’m not here to parse what the hell she’s done wrong, because there’s already a blog for that, which i think gathers sufficient data with proof for all of us to draw a (our own) conclusion.

but cancel culture? that shit is funky too.

i don’t hate Lyn-Z, i just think she’s done shitty stuff that she should own up to, and apologize to the people who deserve an apology. i truly believe people can change for the best and move past their fuckups with a valuable lesson and show that they are capable of not reproducing the same mistakes. she hasn’t done any of the above, and i think that’s what makes people upset.

these people live in the spotlight; they are role models, their lives are public, we have a right to comment on what we see. the “why do you even care, it’s her life,” doesn’t work. she broadcasts her life on social media, as a celebrity, so whining about receiving hate is absurd. especially when you’ve been a shitty person publicly, with proof (provided by people close to her, too) backing up the fact that you have been shitty.

speaking of role models, you just can’t use the argument that a lot of people looked up to Lyn-Z or that she saved lives etc. cool, but how is that relevant? your role model fucked up. sure, branding her as a bitch or a devil may be overstepping some sort of boundary, but hey, i’m sure Brendon was also an inspiration for a lot more people than Lyn-Z has, and yet we have all noticed that Brendon is a piece of shit.

i can understand it may be jarring for the people who have supported MSI and hadn’t known a thing about the controversy revolving around them. it’s not like you can just drop music that was a part of you for a long time. sure. but at least, don’t get so blindly defensive when the frontman had engaged in pedophilic acts, when they deliberately used racial slurs in many of their songs, and a lot more concerning Lyn-Z herself. please acknowledge these misbehaviors; it’s important.

one more thing; we should make Lyn-Z’s dream of dissociating herself from Gerard come true. this has nothing to do with Gerard. leave the poor guy alone. it really doesn’t matter whether or not they’re together, or if they’re meant to be, if it’s fair, whatever. Lyn-Z’s her own person, who has done terrible things. NOTHING to do with who she married. we know nothing about what goes on between Gerard, Lyn-Z and Bandit.

she may be an abusive mother and spiteful wife, but she may also be a caring wife and a nurturing mother. who the fuck knows. they’re still together, clearly, something works between them.

i hope this can get some attention, if only to educate people. the whole point is not to plan a witch hunt, but just to let you know that you should always leave a dubious space between you and your idol. it’s really important to correct misbehaviors of the people who have high potential of influence (big social media platform, a young fanbase, avid followers etc).

this is merely my opinion. if there’s something you want to add, or to discuss, or to rebuke, feel free to message me or leave a comment or however the hell Tumblr works. and stay civil! name calling is pointless!

take care!

#lyn-z way #gerard way #scandal #drama #my chemical romance #bandit lee way #msi #mcr #mindless self indulgence

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mirdance · 3 years

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Love Will Teach Us the Way

I wasn't sure if I'd post this to tumblr since I'm just getting started on this platform, but why not! Participating in the Mysme RBB (@mysme-rbb) has been such fun. It was a pleasure to work with Rose. The lovely Ami and the story idea all belong to her! You can see both Zen and Ami staring lovingly into each others eyes in Rose's beautiful rendition of the story. The story on A03 Check out the art to this piece here: Instagram Twitter Summary: Zen plays the part of a wandering minstrel in As You Love It. Even though he isn't playing the main role, he is busier than ever as the sole provider of music for the entire play. He hasn't been able to spend much time with his beloved, even missing out on her birthday, much to her dismay. To make up for it during rehearsal season, he wanders to Ami's favorite spot on campus to serenade her an old ballad. The song Zen sings is based off a 17th century British folk song called Love will find out the Way. Original Lyrics Tune

Zen has had to wear many a unique costume for the spotlight, varying from zentai suits to bear furs to tree branches. To gain fame in theatre, one must be willing to do the extraordinary and go beyond his comfort zone. Aka listen to the director’s whims even if he looked absolutely ridiculous. For William Stilspear’s As You Love It, the costuming was no different than most of his other comedies, save for the absurdly tight tights. Sure, most bards wore tight tights, but did they have to be this tight? Zen adjusted the band around his waist once more before buttoning up his shirt. Even the old guy playing Fairy Number Five was starting to complain, and that dude never complained about anything.

Such was the life of the beautiful and famous. Zen sighed and checked himself once more in the mirror. He’d rather not present himself to his beloved in such a way, but he barely had time to visit her before dress rehearsals. If only he were dressed as a gallant knight. Unfortunately, for the upcoming charity play, he was one of the only performers who could sing. This stuck him with the part of the wandering bard. He wasn’t trying to be ungrateful, but the pants for the bard were even tighter than the other parts. Not only that, but he’d had to practice guitar day and night. His lovely Ami understood, but…he still felt bad, nonetheless. How could a boyfriend miss his girlfriend’s birthday? He was literally the worst.

He grabbed his guitar case, slung it on his back, and left the dressing room. The show would present on Ami’s campus, and while he had initially thought it would provide them some much needed time together, he’d only had time for quick kisses before her classes. (Much to Yoosung’s disdain, as he and Ami had a few biology classes together. He’d been the reason Ami and Zen even met, but his complaints in messenger about their so-called ‘make out sessions’ were getting on Zen’s nerves.) Today he knew she would be studying on her break between the Chemistry and Biology building. The buildings were connected by a hallway that morphed into a floor to ceiling glass dome. Inside were all kinds of artistic pieces the Fine Arts Department worked together with the science departments on. There was an old piano no one touched in the back. He had Yoosung make sure it was in tune a few days prior, not that Yoosung knew anything about music. Zen had to trust the sounds he’d heard over the phone and hope for the best.

Once he arrived at the dome, he made sure to stay hidden from sight. The area seemed rather empty of students, save for a couple yawning ones on the couches. Good. Not that Zen didn’t want an audience for this, but part of him also wanted the moment to be intimate. He tip-toed around Ami’s study area. She was heavily engrossed in the textbook laid before her, and Yoosung was busy whispering questions and showing her a worksheet. Thank you, Yoosung. Zen would have to make it up to him later.

Zen made it to the back of the dome without incident. He sat at the piano and ran his fingers along the keys. The top was dusty, but everything seemed to be in working order. He pulled his case off his back and readied his scene. First, he plucked the strings of his guitar, testing the sounds of the dome and the echo. He wanted the music to fill the dome while she studied, unknown to his presence at first until she discovered something was up. He began humming along, adding a few ooos and aaahs until he broke into his song.

Over our mountains

And over our waves

Under floods that are deepest

Which Neptune obey

Over rocks which are the sharpest

Love will teach us the way

He was quiet at first, but his voice nonetheless vibrated through the air.

Where there is no home

For the fireflies to lie

Where no one can roam

Or have freedom to fly

Where the bird dares not venture

Lest herself fast decay

But If love comes, it will enter,

And will teach us the way

Papers rustled in the distance before the clopping of shoes grew louder and louder until she reached him. Perfect. He winked and stood from his seat to go over to her. She looked exhausted with her hair frizzing about her head from the recent harsh rains. She needed to take care of herself more and sleep more, but he certainly didn’t help with his late-night texts. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her aura. Though she would beg to differ, he thought she looked more radiant today than ever with her backpack slung over her shoulder and a pencil in her ear.

He circled her as he sang and played until he returned and rested his foot on the piano seat. She chuckled and crossed her arms as her cheeks slowly reddened. She was a shy gal, probably a bit embarrassed by the sudden attention, but he loved seeing her undone and flustered. He never wanted it to be too much, but today was special. He wanted to make up for everything he’d been doing wrong, for not loving her enough, for not holding her enough.

You may esteem me

A boy for his might

Or you may deem me

A coward running flight

But if she, whom Love does honor,

Be hidden from the day

Set a thousand armies upon her

Love will teach us the way

He set his guitar to the side and cracked his knuckles for prep for the main crescendo: finishing the song on piano. It wasn’t the most beautiful song, but he loved the lyrics. He had to practice it for the play, and it just resonated with him and their situation for some reason. Even though they were busy and couldn’t see each other, even though they’d been bickering, love would guide them and make them stronger. He ran his fingers across the keys.

Some try to lose me

By having me confined

Some do oppose me,

Poor thing, to be blind

But ne’er can they break me

Do the best that they may

Blind Love, if so they call it,

Will teach us the way

With no where to sit, Ami dropped her things onto the floor next to him and hoisted herself up onto the piano. Zen’s heart almost burst as she crossed her legs and leaned towards him. It was the perfect setting for a masterpiece, and he had to tear his eyes from her chiseled legs to meet her gaze. (She really did have killer calves, okay? He couldn’t help himself.) He cleared his throat and continued.

You can train a hawk

To stoop to your fist

You can train a dog

With prey coexist

The lioness, you can move her

To give her to prey

you’ll not stop the lovers,

They will find out a way.

He finished the song with his left hand and reached out with his other to caress her hand. “They will find out a way,” he whispered to her before he enclosed his hand around hers. He brought it to him and gently kissed her knuckles.

The air was quiet a moment as his breathing grew heavier. She squeezed his hand and grinned as she jumped off the piano and into his lap. He threw his arms around her, and she did the same. No words were needed. They could simply bask in each other’s presence for the moment and lean on each other.

“I’ve missed you.” Zen broke the silence and grazed his lips across her neck.

“I know. Me, too.” She leaned her forehead into his shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry for getting emotional the other day. I know we’ve got a lot going on.” He continued kissing up her ear. “No, I’m sorry. I should have put my foot down with the director.”

“You’re both very very sorry,” Yoosung’s voice cracked in the distance.

Ami laughed into Zen’s chest. Zen was pissed Yoosung had ruined the moment, but he couldn’t be too mad at the guy since he’d helped so much. Zen ran his fingers through Ami’s hair and kissed her forehead. The bells outside rang, and Zen jolted with a groan.

“I’ve gotta get back,” he said, leaning over Ami and rummaging through the pocket of his case. “I have a surprise for you, though.” He placed a velvet ring box in her lap. Her legs tensed, and Zen could hear her breath quicken. Even though he had places to be, he gave her a moment, rubbing her back in circular motions. She gingerly opened the box to find a stage ticket to his show and a note.

The missing part to this box can be found at my show

Will you say yes or no?

Let me have your answer tonight, princess~

Ami sat frozen with the paper between her fingers, and a grin painted her face. “I…I…”

Zen stood, carrying his love, and placed a deep kiss on her lips. “Now, I know how you don’t like to be placed on the spot, so I’m giving you time before you’re really placed on the spot. Midnight has struck, and this bard has to run to rehearsals.” He placed her on the ground and wrapped her into a hug. “I hope I’ll see you later,” he whispered into her hair.

With that, he threw his things together and left in a hurry, leaving a dazed Ami behind with Yoosung to clean up. Zen had other things to prepare in addition to the play itself, and he could spare no moment longer. His heart raced into his ears as he sprinted to the theatre, and his unfortunate pants only made the run more uncomfortable. He knew the director would have it out for him in front of everyone, but Zen didn’t care. It was foolish, and he was stupid and young. Yet he could only smile in anticipation for the night, and hopefully, for the ring that would grace his love’s left hand.

#mysmerbb #mystic messenger #zen mystic messenger

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

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The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64: Chapter 2

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x x

Ao3: x x x

May

Tryouts came and went with an excellent turnout, the best Katniss had seen ever. And in true Miss Trinket fashion, the assistant director had sought out the theatre and dance kids with the promise of getting to perform such an iconic story on the biggest stage they’ll ever have the privilege to perform on. Miss Trinket wanted the drama, the flair, and she didn’t have to go far to get it.

Even more surprising was that they actually showed up and were actually pretty good. Katniss had had her doubts when seeing the likes of musical star extraordinaire Finnick Odair saunter into the gym where auditions were being held, wearing that arrogant smile she always saw on him, but after seeing what he and the other theatre and dance kids could do with a flag, she admitted she was wrong and focused her energy on earning her place as captain.

Between her and Miss Trinket’s determination, Athens Ridge Marching Gladiators might have a good chance of finally beating Capitol Heights this year at PSU!

“We��re looking promising,” she told Leevy as they put together their instruments. It was the day after final rounds of auditions and she couldn’t stop thinking how at the end of today, Miss Trinket would post who was on the team and Katniss would finally know if she was made captain or not. She had done her best, she kept telling herself, and now it was out of her hands. The wait was killing her, though, and her poor bladder was taking most of the brunt, the constant need to pee every two minutes distracting her in all her classes today.

Had she proven to Miss Trinket that she was enough to be captain?

Her legs twitched closed, the need to pee returning.

“You should have seen Finnick Odair twirl a rifle,” Katniss said to distract herself. “It was insane how good he is! I always thought he was a bit full of himself, but maybe he has a right to brag. I’m pretty sure Miss Trinket’s going to use him as one of the spotlight guards.”

Leevy’s eyes widened, her thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose a bit. Her crush on the performer was not an unknown fact to Katniss. “Oh, do you think she’d have him play Romeo? I bet he’ll be Romeo. He’d make an incredible Romeo.”

Katniss snorted. “I’m sure he’d be up to the challenge.” Finnick Odair not wanting the titular role would come as more of a shock to her. Miss Trinket hadn’t revealed much about how she wanted to choreograph the show, but if last season’s Cirque du Soleil and Alice Through the Looking Glass the season before were any indications of how she envisioned next season’s show, she would be using color guard to visually tell the story of the star-crossed lovers. Miss Trinket always had “big big big plans” for them all. There was no way she’d pass up on someone talented like Finnick.

Mr. Abernathy gave the two minute warning before rehearsal started up and the girls leaned toward each other to tune their flutes. As they made adjustments, Katniss wondered who would play Finnick’s Juliet. Madge, maybe? She was a good height and her years of ballet served her well, being the lead spotlight guard two years in a row. Or Glimmer? She grimaced at the thought of Glimmer Macklemore being the lead spotlight, believing it would go straight to her head. Glimmer was by far one of the worst human beings Katniss has had the misfortune of knowing all these years, but the girl was graceful. “Like a swan on water,” Miss Trinket was known for saying about Glimmer’s talent.

I hope it’s Madge, Katniss thought, glancing slightly over at her friend who sat further down the row from her, Madge’s cheeks slightly puffed as she tuned her oboe. Yes, Madge would make an incredible Juliet.

*******

All her thoughts and worry over color guard went away during what ended up being a long and brutal rehearsal. It was hard worrying over who’d play Juliet to Finnick’s Romeo when Mr. Abernathy was out for blood. He was yelling at everyone today, not pleased that they had a concert in another week and sounded like a beginning band. What made the rehearsal even worse was much of his agitation was directed at her and the two solos she had. Over and over he made her play in front of the whole band, walking her through the notes, asking her snidely who controlled the tempo. By the time he threw up his arms in defeat, her face was a completely different shade.

“Sign up for a practice room, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy told her after her sixth attempt at a difficult run. “And maybe work on your fingerings instead of drooling over Finnick Odair, huh?” He moved his attention to his next victims and was just as merciless.

Slumping low in her seat, her throat tight with choked back tears, Katniss focused hard on her music, pretending she was just practicing when really it took all her strength not to cry. Snickers from the brass section could be heard, or maybe she was just paranoid that the whole band was laughing at her. Either way, no matter how hard she kept her attention on her music, forcing back tears from spilling over, she couldn’t hide how dark her face must look right now. Mr. Abernathy’s words played over in her head, causing her cheeks to warm even more. From embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. The man was never one to mince words and was known for his sour temper, but this was the first time he’d ever taken it out on her. And he thought her, one of his most dedicated players, as nothing more than a teenage girl drooling over boys.

She’d never hated the man more than in this moment.

“Hey,” Leevy nudged her, face sympathetic. “You okay?”

Katniss stiffly nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d break and start to cry, and that was definitely something she didn’t want to do in front of the whole band.

“He’s being an ass today,” her friend whispered in comfort, playfully bumping their knees together. “You’re his best player and he knows it. He’s probably just mad because Coin took away the pizza buffet in the cafeteria.” Katniss gave a halfhearted smile, knowing her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but Mr. Abernathy was at least right about her playing. She really did need to practice more.

“Okay, we’re calling it today,” Mr. Abernathy sighed, slamming his scorebook closed. “It’s clear no one’s practiced since yesterday and it’s wasting my time. I better hear improvement tomorrow, or I’m going to have everyone play their part and have your whole semester grade be based off that.”

“Practice, practice, practice!” Miss Trinket trilled from the back of the room, typing at the computer. “We want to be the best, don’t we?” Mr. Abernathy gave her the stink eye, like he wanted to argue her statement, but waved his hand, reminding everyone not to leave the band room until the bell rang.

“Well that was brutal,” Leevy joked halfheartedly, her eyes still looking at Katniss with pity. Katniss looked away, unable to stomach her friend’s obvious sympathies. She’d received enough of that look to last an entire lifetime.

“Can’t wait until he starts threatening laps,” Katniss mumbled, her throat still tight. She just wanted to leave. Run to a bathroom stall to collect herself, but it’d be too obvious and the likes of Cato and Marvel calling her a crybaby kept her seated.

*******

They didn’t often have so much time to lounge around, especially before a concert, but Katniss took the opportunity to catch up on homework she’d been neglecting, too stressed about tryouts to bother with algebra and chemistry. Feeling like everyone was still watching her, waiting for her to crack, she tucked herself in the back locker room, between two instrument lockers, out of sight from her classmates. The space was tight and not the most ideal of places to hide, but it blocked out a lot of the noise from out front and let her take a few deep breaths in. She couldn’t cry until she got home, but at least it didn’t feel like her tears were strangling her any more.

Taking out the beat up copy of A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, Katniss began scouring the chapters they were assigned to read (or sparknoted, in her case) for political symbolisms Mr. Heavensbee, her English teacher, was always quizzing them on during his infamous rapid fire quizzes. English had never been a strong subject for her, finding the books they read incredibly dull and full of nothing but tales about old white guys bemoaning about their manhoods, but grades was the one thing her mom actually paid attention to and hers were slipping in Heavensbee’s class due to these stupid quizzes. Her pencil circled another example, not feeling confident about it, but if her index card wasn’t pulled early on, all the obvious examples would be taken and this would be all she had to argue.

“Good book?” She jumped, her head hitting the wall behind her, pencil stabbing her in the gums. Peeta Mellark stood in front of her, looking all casual in his dark denim jeans and grey shirt, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. He smiled at her scowl. “Sorry,” he said, and to her astonishment, it sounded like he actually meant it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” she quickly informed, tucking her pencil in the book as a bookmark. “Just preparing to be publicly humiliated in English, that’s all. ”

“Heavensbee’s quizzes are brutal,” he agreed, still standing there, trying to be nonchalant, but his shoulders were way too tight to pull it off. It looked like it was taking all he had to be standing in front of her like this. Her hackles rose. Why should he look uncomfortable? He sought her out. If anything, she should be the one uncomfortable, caged in a corner like this. “I think I almost cried during one last week,” he continued, not even looking at her now but at the locker next to her head. “Marvel wouldn’t stop making fun of me after that.” That didn’t surprise her, but it felt rude to point out what a shit person she thought Marvel Baxter was to Peeta’s face.

“Yeah.” Katniss tapped her book, unsure what else to say. “Listen, I’m kind of busy trying not to fail and all, Peeta, so unless you have a question…?”

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his Converse, taking a deep breath in. It was a little unsettling seeing him like this, she realized, still confused why he was talking to her to begin with. Normally he knew exactly what to say, in any given situation she’d ever seen him in.

“Okay, seriously,” she said at last, a bit more snappish than she meant. “What do you want? I don’t have time watching you sputter like a dead fish.”

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he said in one breath. It was a totally innocent question to ask, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach, sending her back to when she was 11 years old and standing next to her mother and Prim as strangers she barely knew came up and smothered her in tight, smelly hugs. They cried over how young Sage was, still in his prime, and poor Cary, having to raise those two young girls on her own. The funeral had felt so surreal, her movements stiff and disjointed. Her voice hollow as she thanked the strangers for coming, trying not to cry in front of them as they passed. Her father’s death still hadn’t fully hit her yet and the only thing she wanted was to crawl into the casket with him and shake him awake, tell him this joke wasn’t funny any more. Ha ha. He got her. Now could he please get up so they could go home?

Katniss’ throat tightened at the sudden memory and she shoved her book in her bag, really needing to go before she did something stupid, like cry in front of Peeta Mellark.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to push past him. Peeta wasn’t only tall, but his wide frame stopped her from escaping as easily as she’d like. “Really.”

“Katniss.” He grabbed her hand to stop her, but pulled away instantly, realizing he had no right to touch her. “You looked like you were about to cry out there and then you bolted—I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I wasn’t going to cry!” she snapped, her vision red now. There were only so many punches she could take in one class period, but it seemed the universe kept wanting to come for more. “I was doing homework, Peeta, and then you waltzed in, wanting to rub it in my face that I’m a terrible player. Were you hoping I’d cry? Is Cato secretly filming this?” She looked around the small room for Golden Ass’ burley frame.

“Cato isn’t in here, Katniss,” he snapped back, then winced, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was: Abernathy is a complete asshole and he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Katniss, you’re the best player in the band and he knows it.” Any other day, hearing the sweet sentiment twice in one period would have been a real confidence booster for her, but today, it just felt like pity. Leevy felt sorry for her and now freaking Peeta Mellark felt sorry for her, too. What a blow that felt, looking into his sad blue eyes right now.

“I don’t want your pity,” she sneered, not knowing what else to say, but if he kept looking at her like that, she was definitely going to break down crying. Then he’d just look at her with that pathetic sad expression, feeling even more sorry for her. “Abernathy was right about my runs and I can handle his criticism like I do with everything else in my life: alone. So if you don’t mind.” And she tried to push past him.

In typical Peeta fashion, he blocked her only exit. “I wasn’t pitying you, Katniss.” His tone sounded as sharp and annoyed as hers now. “I was being nice. I know you don’t know what that is because you think the whole world is out to get you, but it means caring about other people and being there for them.” She looked down at her feet at the sudden weight of his accusation, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.

They were so engrossed in their argument, neither heard the familiar clap clap clap of Miss Trinket’s heels before the small woman announced herself, causing them both to jump and turn to the small woman.

“There you are!” the assistant director smiled. “Peeta, I have been calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?”

Peeta glanced down at Katniss, his eyes still hard, before looking over at his teacher. “Sorry, Miss Trinket. Katniss and I were just...talking.” Why did he say it like that? He made it sound like they weren’t talking and by the twinkle of amusement in Miss Trinket’s eyes, she suspected nothing else from two teenagers hiding in a back room.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your... talking” —Katniss’ cheeks darkened again, wondering how fast it’d take for the rumors to start going around that she and Peeta were caught making out in the instrument locker room by Miss Trinket—“but I need to speak with you for a moment, Peeta. If you don’t mind?” She motioned for him to proceed ahead.

Peeta’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Am I in trouble, ma’am?”

“No, no!” their teacher assured. “Mr. Abernathy and I need to discuss something with you about this upcoming season. Nothing scary, I promise.” He went ahead with no further comment, his hands stuffed in his front pockets, as Miss Trinket hurried ahead to unlock the band office door. He didn’t look back at her as she stood there, hand still gripping her backpack, and somehow, that felt worse than his pity.

Katniss, I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s so not fair. How are you doing?

Katniss?

Are you there, Katniss? Hey, how are you doing?

#Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games Fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #My writing #The Dance of the Color Guard Op. 64 #Marching band fic #OTP: Survival #I hope you enjoy! :)#Let me know what you think!

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retphienix · 3 years

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It's been 6 years :)

On March 30th, 2015 I decided I wanted a gaming side blog. (so we're early, but shush, it's the month for me)

I didn't know what I'd use it for exactly, but I had ideas- something I always have even if most of them only get as far as daydreamin' or writing out before closing them :P

For proof on the lack of direction the blog initially had- the March 30th date is the anniversary of my first post, an in-depth and lengthy review of Dragon Warrior Monsters for the GBC.

If you know the blog then you know "Extremely long and in-depth reviews" aren't the norm around here. As a matter of fact, that first post is the ONLY one I've done!

The closest I've come to ever repeating that would be the (word of the day) Directionless video I put out on Hades to get a grip on the concept of making videos, but that wasn't nearly as much of a 'review' as that first post is.

Tangent, definitely planning on trying my hand at videos some more for the foreseeable future. Probably not gonna use the tagline Full Impressions that I tossed as a whim for the Hades video but yeah- I'm excited to try my hand at a few videos :) tangent over.

It didn't take me long to come up with what I'd like to do for the blog though :)

A few months later I liveblogged a challenge run of FFT where I used only Ramza- a solo run. - Which maybe only happened because I tried a nuzlocke run a year prior on my main account-

(Nuzlocke | FFT challenge run)

Thanks to that haphazard liveblog experiment I started to realize a couple things which became the primary motivators behind this blog.

1) I LOVE sharing experiences. No brainer, I'm sure, but being able to share my experiences, and compare them with others' experiences, and just that mutual sharing is uplifting and feels good to do.

2) Liveblogging is an EXCEPTIONAL motivator to buckle down and play all those games I said I'd play (cue everyone laughing because I'm still way behind and have an immeasurable backlog).

But I mean that, on both respects. I have plenty of motivators toward the blog today, but if I were to be concise it's pretty much "It's easier to beat games if I liveblog them- otherwise I get distracted and play other games" and "I love sharing experiences and thoughts with people about my favorite thing- games."

Since 2015 I've tackled around 70 games as full playthroughs, and an untold ton as one offs or just to ramble about for a bit.

I've had a lot of highlights over the years, and I don't talk much about it as an overall experience so I thought for the anniversary I'd try to do just that. Not everything- I can't say I have photographic memory that would bring all of it up without prompting after all :P But whatever comes to mind as I browse some of my old stuff- as well as some thoughts on what I'd like to see in the future.

It's gonna be a bit self-centric I assume as I type this preamble to it, so let me say outright that this blog wouldn't be half of what it is without all the people who've given it the time of day over the years.

From recommending games they love or appreciate, to comparing thoughts, to offering kind words for analysis I've done over the years, to pointing out when I'm dumb and misread a situation :P- to, yes, even the people who decided "Fuck this guy's ramble" and deleted my captions before reblogging my gifs way back during Hamtaro (Of COURSE I remember that! It's amusing lol).

This is better because of others, because of the interactions and the people I've gotten the chance to chat with or befriend. It's just a liveblog more or less, my own little bit of fun I toss out for myself if for anyone- so seeing others enjoy this or that from the work I put into sharing my experiences or thoughts is always a joy in itself :)

Anyway, onto selfishly rambling about some tidbits of the past :)

Also sorry but no, opted to not shove a ton of photos in, it does have a handful of links to old posts though :P

This'll be disorganized as heck as I'll add to it over time before I feel it's worth posting (or the tumblr post editor becomes a hassle and more or less forces me to).

First~

FFT Solo Ramza Challenge: Considering it was roughly the first thing this blog has done, it's also something that's stuck in my head a lot more clearly than most of the other stuff I've done to be honest lol.

In truth, this is partially because FFT is my favorite game, bar none. But it's also because the whole experience was pretty new to me. Prior to it I had really only done one self-imposed-challenge that wasn't requested by the game in some manner and that was a nuzlocke run of Blue version.

So adding a challenge to my favorite game was a fantastic experience!

Notes I just wanted to say today about that run: If anyone enjoys FFT I honestly recommend giving it a shot for the unique story it lends itself to. I do recommend skipping the rules until after the second battle but that's up to YOU to decide.

My first post on the subject is me complaining about spending 4 hours grinding out the second fight and, despite hyperbole being my natural state, that was NOT hyperbole.

It DID take 60~ restarts to beat. It DID take 4 hours. The reason is that that 2nd battle is RNG as HECK, you HAVE to have Delita do some meaningful actions, you HAVE to have the enemies miss and make poor plays, you damn near HAVE to crit a few instances to save yourself from taking too much damage.

It's a numbers game to the extreme, so I wouldn't fault anyone for 'cheating' and skipping the 2nd fight for the ruleset lol.

The memory that stands out the most for that run is actually isolated in a post in which Ramza (Purrick in this run) talks like a total badass as just ONE DUDE running into a room full of enemies. I just think on that as a great encapsulated view of what it was like. The run started off face grindingly difficult, but because FFT is a game that offers so much freedom to the player it was extremely easy to 'break' the game into making Purrick overpowered as hell.

That's something I love about some tactical RPGs, I love having the ability to play smart so that I can play stupid later on, and breaking the game into making him one shot god is certainly a good payoff for playing smart early on :P

RetQuick: I miss RetQuick, it was primarily a short experiment I did in 2015 where I'd play a game for a short span of time (REALLY short, like 10-20 minutes) and record that for the purpose of making gifs and saying a short piece on what I thought.

It's one of those formats where the purpose was pretty shallow- but had a reason. I wanted to try making some gifs with some tools that existed online, so I made an excuse to do just that.

I also wanted to play a TON of games, usually through emulation on my sister's PSP, and this let me do that.

These two minor goals came together and so I spent a while making RetQuicks which were honestly more fun to make than they had any right to be. I mean the gifs were tedious but the playing? The thought sharing? The end product ocassionally having more appeal than just a photoset? It was fun.

I'm thinking whenever I have trouble picking a game for the blog I'll revisit the format... sorta.

I already reused it for a short stint to show clips I had no plan on expanding into a playthrough, but that died as well as it was too similar to Tidbits posts (another tag I no longer really use).

My thought is to rebrand retquick as something of a tryout for what game comes next. Play a handful of my backlog games for an hour or so each and say some thoughts before saying which one I'll continue as the main game for that period of time.

Old Tag Stuff: One of those things that only sticks to me since I made the decisions but it's always funny for me to look back on my old posts because I was apprehensive as hell toward making my posts visible. The reason my early playthroughs on the My-Tags page are variants of Ret instead of just "The name of the game so people can find this post" is because I felt like a liveblog would just spam the tag to hell-

Something I don't remotely feel bad for doing anymore.

So I avoided getting any sort of spotlight for quite a while on the blog for little reason.

Why Retphienix?: This is just a dumb thought I wanted to share and I'm sure I've said before.

It stands for retro!

Yeah!

Ain't that dumb and also not a real shorthand? lol

I think I have some sort of deer in headlights anxiety towards naming things, I mean do you think I think Full Impressions is a good summation for a video? I don't. But perhaps that's overshadowed by the other inexperiences and anxiety driven decisions that had- doesn't matter.

Retphienix is Retphienix because I sat there in 2015 and thought "Well... what do I name an alt account?"

My main is Redphienix, which yes, is ALSO a terrible name AND is misspelled. But it's that because of sentimental reasons. As a kid I misspelled Redphoenix when making my gamertag (I knew how to spell Phoenix back then as well, I was too excited about xbox live and misspelled it) and it's become something of a sentimental misspelling.

So I wanted to make a mix on that for my game blog, but I had no idea what. In the end I thought "RetroPhienix? I don't know. Retphienix is closer to Redphienix. I'll do that" and so it was done.

And just like how Redphienix is both bad and misspelled but exists because of sentimental reasons- Retphienix has acquired the same 'flavor' in my eye lol.

Aspirations for the blog: I have no immediate ramp up plans or road map or whatever, and in truth I'll be happy if the blog stays just as it is forever- up until tumblr ends- I cry over lost posts- and I reopen it on another platform.

But I do have blurry half-considered daydreams that I'd like to see happen for the blog through some hard work or shifts on my part.

One is something I'm already doing kinda, hence my embarrassing means of bringing it up a lot lately. Videos- I want those. I wanna make some looks back on series people don't talk about that I enjoy, I want to make videos sharing my thoughts on games I beat for the blog (like what full impressions kinda was, but I don't think they'll have a unified name from here on out). Maybe retrospectives, but mostly when I think of making a video tied to retphienix or me in general it's me looking at a game that said something to me, and saying it louder with my own interpretations on it.

You know the kind, videos where they talk about a video game but not the whole thing- just a singular message they really heard loud and clear from it intentionally or not. I dig those and I know I end a lot of games having plenty to say that could be directed into such a format.

We'll see.

And I'm along for the ride on that one as well- currently I'm keeping my eyes on whatever is directly next, which happens to be "I plan on playing Omori, if it clicks as something to talk about I would like to take a shot at that in a video too!"

The other is that I'd like to build a small community. Wouldn't know the first thing on doing that in a modern sense, but just a little online friend group to chat with and play games together. Something that could open up multiplayer and coop experiences being better shared on the blog and would just in general expand my gaming to what it used to be back on the 360 when I had a large group to play with.

Since the 360 era ended I've pretty much closed off- stopped playing competitive games due to lack of interest- and slowed down to playing all games either solo, with randoms (and no mic usually), or with my cousin. It's a rare instance when I play with some good people like @gamesception or another friend of mine, John.

When I diverted from playing competitive games nonstop toward other genres I didn't intend to also cut out all my online gaming buds, it just kinda happened, and I never really put any effort into rectifying that.

So more or less I'd like to one day sit down and work on a discord server, and then buck up and put the leg work in to make some gamin' buds again, but that's such a vague concept anymore.

Sounds all sad and what not but it's more ambivalent, I made decisions that

changed how gaming worked for me after the 360 and this is just where it landed for better and worse- I'd just like to see if I can make it a little better :P

General things I think when I think retphienix: Honestly? I think of how much fun I've had over the years and how thankful I am to have had an outlet that encouraged me to explore more of the medium.

I REALLY love games. I went to college for games, I've written LEAGUES about games, I've played countless games, my childhood was games, my adult life is games- games games games yada yada yada.

So when I think of retphienix I think of how without it I probably wouldn't have explored a lot of the corners of gaming that I have.

I genuinely, and I mean this, might not have sat down and beaten FF7 for myself and would have considered the amount I played as a kid to be enough.

I might not have played Chrono Trigger yet, and I KNOW I wouldn't have played Chrono Cross, and I'm happy as hell to have played both of those. CT was a mind blowing moment for me that showed me just how good an RPG can be, and CC gave me miles to think of in terms of innovating an RPG and how beholden to the narrative a sequel should be (I don't feel CC should have been chrono at all lol).

I DEFINITELY wouldn't have given New Vegas another chance. And I know I'm a sourpuss on NV, I've been that way since I maxed my achievements on the 360 for it, but replaying it really did reveal to me how exceedingly negative I was being.

My memories had become "It's brown and a boring location >:(" and "The factions all suck and it doesn't do anything with the idea of bad factions >:(" and became "It's... a little brown guys, not a big fan of the area" and "They didn't do enough with exploring the gray factions" while adding "Wait. This is pretty damn fun. And 90% of the additions are stellar. And I forgot about Dead Money, my favorite dlc in any game ever with a story that tears at my heart every time I think of it, NV good actually?"

Faxanadu would have remained a cool game I saw on SSFF and not a game I played to the end and fell in love with the aesthetic feel it has!

Also that's a game I cheated like crazy on lol, I would do it again! Save state scumming games meant to be rudely difficult is only fair :P

I probably would have never sat down to play through Windwaker which was such a positive and uplifting experience that I now get the most relaxed and warm feeling in my heart when I see those blue waves.

There's so many experiences I would have left on the table in favor of like... putting more hours into a live service title or something.

Maybe, and no offense to my cousin or anyone else playing it, but maybe I'd be no-lifing World of Warcraft nonstop just stagnating my interest toward the skinner box mechanics of an MMO?

Some offense, actually but lightheartedly lol.

But beyond the entire games I've played for the blog, when I think retphienix I picture all the time making gifs, all those games I played on the PSP for short stints, buying a retron 5 to add to what I could explore and being stoked when they shipped a freebie box of old controllers to go with it, getting angry at the retron for being a Piece Of Shit lol, crying at the end of damn near every game with an emotional story because I'm a big emotional mess of a person who finds investing and crying at a story way too easy thanks to empathy pulls, oh!-

Getting excited whenever I found that I had a "*controversial*" opinion that no one would care about lol. Like the one that comes to mind is that I thoroughly believe that Dragon Ball Z II: Gekishin Freeza!! for the NES is WAY better than the fandom recognized and appreciated sequel/remake Dragon Ball Z: Legend of the Super Saiyan!

How many people do you hear talking about either game, let alone saying the NES game that is roughly half of the SNES remake is the better one :P But I stand by that! The SNES one is a remake of DBZ1 and 2 for the NES but it loses all the charm and some of the fun of the NES ones by being a lackluster SNES game!

lol

I admitted wholeheartedly that this post would be a lit-

little directionless (gotta love the new tumblr poster making me break sentences like that), but to sum things up.

It's been 6 years. It's been an untold amount of work to be honest- liveblogging a game, at least for me, hasn't been the easiest thing. It's a lot of thinking out my thoughts (heh), it's a lot of learning tools to make the capturing process possible, it's a lot of experimenting, it's a lot of writing and editing, and, well, sometimes it's just tough.

I mean I went to school for coding, not video editing, not writing, not image processing, not this or that- but this hobby has introduced a lot of things even if only at a VERY base level (I admit fully to using online alternatives to make gifs for instance).

I learned a lot about, well, a lot of things in order to use this blog to learn more about games- and all that work has become part of why I've loved all 6 years of this blog.

6 years of gaming, work, and you all- and it's been worth the investment :) Here's to many more and all of you whether you stumble upon this post or not- literally anyone who's interacted in these 6 years, thank you, and anyone who hasn't I offer you well wishes as well.

#Retphienix #gaming #video games #gaming liveblog

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

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the way that you are is enough (don’t need makeup to cover up)

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WONDERFUL TUMBLR WIFE @bumblebeekitten!!!!!!

this is set in my moxiety!dad!au “little and broken but still good” when virgil and patton are still in college! they're seniors in this fic. title is from 'what makes you beautiful' by one direction, i will not be accepting comments or criticisms at this time

CW: mild injury (specifically bruises), brief nonspecific blood mention, sappy fluff for DAYS

wordcount: 2170

read it on ao3!

Two more paragraphs. Two more paragraphs and I’ll be halfway to the page limit, and then I can take a break. I’ll eat a snack and I’ll watch the next episode, and then I’ll throw myself back into it. Obsessing over it won’t make me work any faster. I have to take a deep breath and work at a reasonable pace.

Virgil exhales slowly, cracking his knuckles over his keyboard. He hates writing philosophy papers because there’s only so long he can waffle on about dead guys and their perceptions of the universe before he gets fed up. Luckily, this is his last philosophy core, so he only has to get through one semester and he’ll be fine.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it’s being flung open, and Virgil doesn’t even look up from his paper. “Pat, is that -”

“Virgil help me please!”

Virgil looks up, confused, because there’s rarely such a panic in Patton’s voice. The next second, he’s on his feet and crossing their tiny dorm room in three strides. His hand comes up to cup Patton’s face, tenderly sweeping a thumb across the massive bruise blooming on his left cheek.

“Who did this to you?” Virgil snarls, voice low and threatening. Patton leans into the touch for a moment before blinking at him.

“What? Virgil, honey, you’ve got the wrong -”

“Who did this to you?!”

“A spotlight,” Patton says, lifting a hand up to gently touch Virgil’s face. “Honey, I’m okay, I promise. No one hurt me. We were working backstage and one of the spotlights they were trying to hang fell. I jumped out of the way, but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid it completely and I got grazed on the cheek.”

There’s a tiny scratch on the bruise, and Virgil gently touches it again. His fingers don’t come back red, so he lets himself relax just a little. “You - you were so panicked when you came in, I - I thought . . .”

“That I was running away from someone bigger than me?” Patton says softly, tilting his head to the side. A familiar, warm smile creeps across his lips, and Virgil exhales in relief. “I’m okay, Vee. No big, bad wolves to run away from tonight.”

“And here I thought I was your big, bad wolf, little lamb.” Virgil gently kisses Patton, who squeaks in surprise and presses his whole body closer. One hand slides down to slip under Patton’s tank top, settling on his soft hips, and Virgil smiles at the little shiver Patton gives in response.

“So if you don’t need me to kick someone’s ass,” Virgil asks, pulling away from the kiss and leaning his forehead against Patton’s, “why were you so desperate for my help?”

“You’re good with makeup, aren’t you?”

“I mean, I’m no NikkieTutorials, but I’m pretty good. Why?”

“I have a presentation tomorrow, a big one. It’s worth twenty percent of my grade. If I go in there to present with my face all jacked up like this, I’m worried that my professor will dock points. Plus, I’m not exactly eager to explain this to everyone who asks . . .”

“So, what are you asking me?”

“Will you teach me how to do makeup? I don’t have to be the prettiest person in the world, but I wanna cover up this bruise.”

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” Virgil murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the admission. Patton giggles. (It’s his favorite sound.) “But I can help you, sure. Are you busy the rest of the night?”

“No, they took one look at my face and let me go early from stage crew.”

“Alright. We’re gonna ice your face for a little, and then we’re gonna go to CVS and buy you some makeup. It’ll be alright.”

It’s still a break, after all. Just not the one he was expecting.

Patton gathers his skirt in his hands as he steps out of Virgil’s car. It’s not the most recent model, but it’s reliable, and Virgil keeps it clean and maintained. Patton looks up at the glowing fluorescent lights of the CVS sign. He’s been here before, but only during the day. Now, it’s almost ten PM, and the parking lot is almost deserted. It’s eerily unsettling to be alone in a place normally bustling and teeming with people.

“You okay, Pat?” Virgil asks, coming around the car. Patton turns to him and smiles; nothing can really be that scary when Virgil is by his side. Quickly, Patton grabs his wallet from the glovebox and shuts the car door. Virgil clicks the lock button twice so the car chirps and slides his hand into Patton’s.

“I am now,” Patton says, letting a sappy smile grow across his face. Virgil blushes and kisses the tip of his nose.

“You’re gonna make a sap out of me,” he grumbles, face pink. Patton just giggles and laces their fingers. “Okay, so I’m just gonna preface this by saying that CVS is no Sephora. They don’t have, like, the world’s most expansive selection of makeup, and the makeup they do stock isn’t particularly great, but it’ll do for what you need.”

Virgil keeps talking about blending and skin tones and concealers and the benefits of powder versus liquid foundation. Patton just nods along, pretending he knows what Virgil is talking about, and lets his boyfriend lead him over to the makeup section.

“They don’t really have testers here the way that a makeup store would, but if you look hard enough you can usually find one that’s been opened and used as a tester by other people. That’s important, because makeup in the bottle doesn’t always look the same way as it does on your skin,” Virgil tells him. They crouch down next to a display, and Virgil skims over the shelves with a critical eye before plucking a bottle off the shelf. “Give me your arm?”

Patton holds his arm out, and Virgil carefully twists it so that Patton’s inner wrist is facing up. He gently squirts a little dollop of liquid makeup onto Patton’s wrist and rubs it in with his index finger. “It feels nice,” Patton offers. “It’s creamy and smooth, like moisturizer!”

“Yeah, but it’s a poor shade match,” Virgil says. “You like that formula, though?”

“I like the way it feels, yeah!”

“Okay. We’ll stick to that brand, though, let’s try . . . this one.”

It takes two or three more bottles before Virgil finds one that he deems a satisfactory match for Patton’s skin. He plucks an untouched bottle off the shelf and hands it to Patton before turning to a different rack. “Alright, so now we need concealer. You were shade four out of twenty-five for foundation, which is pretty light, so out of twelve concealers . . . let’s try shade two?”

The concealer he picks up is a stick that reminds Patton of a lipstick consistency, except it’s rounded. Virgil rubs a little dot onto the back of Patton’s hand and rubs it in, comparing it to the foundation swatch. “Hmmm . . . I think you’re a little darker than this . . .”

They find a concealer much more easily than they had a foundation, and Virgil hums in satisfaction. “Alright. All we have to grab now is setting powder and makeup remover . . .”

“Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“What about this?” Patton picks up a small white compact with a pink, slightly glittery product inside. “I like this.”

“Blush?” Virgil asks. “I mean, it’s not necessary to cover up your bruise, but if you want it I can show you how to use it.”

Patton grins. “Yay! And - um - I kinda want lipstick, too?”

“Do you want lipstick or lip gloss? They’re different.”

“They’re . . . different?”

“Yeah, they’re different. Lipstick will dry down, but lip gloss is shinier. Here, I know my mama likes this one.” Virgil reaches down and picks up a small, pale pink tube. “I can teach you how to put all this stuff on, too, if you want.”

“Yeah!”

Virgil snags an orange egg-looking sponge thing (“It’s a beauty blender, Pat, not an egg sponge”), a container of powder (“It doesn’t matter what shade we get, because it’s translucent powder, but I like this brand best”), a small set of brushes, and a container of face wipes. Patton manages to convince him to tack on a bag of Milano cookies and a pack of lavender sheet masks before they finally leave the store.

“Self care night this weekend?” Patton asks, leaning his head on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Oh, God, please.”

“Fair warning, this might sting,” Virgil says, twisting the concealer stick up from its base. “I’m gonna have to press on your cheek to get the pigment off, and I’m gonna have to rub it into your skin to make sure it conceals properly. Same with the foundation.”

Patton nods, even though his hands curl into resolute fists. “I’m ready.”

Virgil carefully begins to rub the concealer along Patton’s face. He does his best not to press too hard against the tender skin, but Patton still winces. “Sorry, Pat . . .”

“Don’t apologize, sweetpea,” Patton says. “I knew it was gonna hurt when I asked you to help me, it’s okay.”

“Yeah, but still, I love you. I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I know you do. You’re such a sweetheart, despite your protests. You care so much, and that’s one of the many, many things that I love about you.” Patton gently pushes the concealer stick out of the way and reaches up off the bed to tangle his fingers in Virgil’s wild hair and tug him down for a kiss. Virgil lets himself be pulled, sliding their mouths together easily.

He remembers what it was like, when they first started dating. How he was so worried that he would hurt Patton with everything he did, how unusual it was to have a bright and bubbly warmth constantly around him. Being with Patton felt like - feels like - having a star follow you around. Patton makes everything better just by existing; he exudes positivity and joy and warmth and light and life and love, and Virgil doesn’t know where he’d be without Patton.

He remembers their first kiss, all awkward nose bumping and warm breath on each other’s lips and the graze of Patton’s teeth across his lower lip and the taste of green apples and caramel on Patton’s tongue and the warmth of Patton’s hands looped around his neck. It took them quite a while to figure out the rhythm that works for them, but now they know each other with their eyes closed.

Patton sighs softly into his mouth, warm and wonderful and loving, and Virgil leans into him for a moment more before gently pulling back. “I love you,” he says softly. “I know you’re anxious to conceal your shiner, but I promise that no matter what you look like I’ll love you. I don’t love you for your looks. I love you for your personality, your laugh, your warmth and your smile and your you. I love everything about you.”

Patton’s cheeks color pink. “I love you too, Virgil,” he says softly. “You’re beautiful, always, and that’s not the only reason I love you but I - I just think you should know that I think you’re really, really pretty, Vee. Like, really pretty.”

Virgil sputters and leans in to kiss Patton’s forehead before picking up the concealer stick again. “Alright, Pat, I gotta teach you how to do this. I won’t be able to do your makeup for you before your presentation, so you’ll have to pick this up pretty quick.”

He shows Patton how to apply the concealer, how to rub it in with his fingers so that the edges blend soft against his skin. He shows Patton how to wet the beauty blender, how to squirt the foundation onto the back of his hand and dab it onto his face. He shows Patton how to gather the setting powder onto his brush and sweep it onto his face, how to smile wide and lightly dust blush on the apples of his cheeks, how to saturate the applicator tip with lip gloss and sweep it across his lower lip before carefully tracing his Cupid’s bow.

“Wow,” Virgil breathes, closing the lip gloss tube and admiring his work. “Pat, you - you look - you look incredible. I mean, I always think you look incredible, but this, I - I -”

“Can you see my bruise?” Patton asks worriedly.

“No, I can’t, but that might just be because I’m blinded by your beauty,” Virgil teases.

“Virgil!” Patton laughs, swatting at his hands and pushing past him to peer into the mirror. He stares at himself for almost a minute before whirling around and showering Virgil in kisses.

(By the time Virgil looks at himself in the mirror, almost thirty minutes later, his face is covered in shiny pale pink kiss-prints. He can’t bring himself to be upset at all; he’ll wear the marks of Patton’s love proudly any day of the week.)

taglist below!

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#starshinewrites #little and broken but still good #moxiety!dad!au #birthday gift for bee!!!#wife squad!#bee tag!

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quinnybee-writes · 4 years

Text

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 4/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 4 Summary: Purposefully misconstrued dating advice leads to a deal being struck between the villain and the vigilante.

Part 1 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on AO3

Three days later and Aizawa had yet to make contact. Hizashi frowned to himself, watching the dark subway walls speed past the train’s window. He kept having to remind himself to not pick at the cork stoppering the bottle of wine in his lap but his hands grew fiddly and nervous when his mind wandered too far back towards the vigilante’s radio silence. What was the reason behind it? Was he trying to force Hizashi into contacting him instead as some kind of lazy entrapment attempt? Hizashi couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Aizawa was a lot of things but half-assed wasn’t one of them. If he wanted to get to Hizashi he would make sure he did so in the middle of something he could use to nail Hizashi to the wall. If he followed that thought to the logical end, however, Aizawa protecting him made even less sense; it would have been the perfect opportunity to drag Hizashi to the cops by the collar like a self-satisfied house cat bringing its owner a dead pigeon. Why would someone so careful in everything otherwise make such a glaring error and then spend three silent days failing to do anything about it? Aizawa was a mystery of motivation; every time Hizashi thought he’d gotten a handle on the type of person he was, something new came along to prove him wrong. Hizashi grimaced and shook himself mentally as the train slowed at his stop, tugging his thumbnail out of the rut he had carved into the top of the cork. He’d been chasing himself in circles all week, and now wasn’t the time to throw himself back into the spiral.

Standing in front of the apartment door, Hizashi took a minute to center himself with a deep breath and fixed his expression into a relaxed-ish smile before knocking. The chatter of conversation on the other side quieted as footsteps approached. There was a short pause, then the door swung wide to reveal his mother’s elated face.

“Hizashi!” she exclaimed. Before he could return the greeting, her expression fell into one of shocked concern. “Oh my god, what happened to you?”

“Mm? Oh, this,” Hizashi said with a forced chuckle. He cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant about his half-healed double black eye and two-inch headwound as he rattled off the cover story he’d been practicing for this moment. “I, uh, tripped over a couple of trash bags behind the studio, ended up clocking myself on a dumpster,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Real graceful, huh?”

“Heavens,” his mother said as she ushered him inside. “You went to the ER and got checked out, right? Head injuries like that can turn nasty out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, Ma, I took care of it,” Hizashi said, giving her an appreciative kiss on the cheek. “Didn’t really have a choice, actually, the night delivery guy found me out cold in the alley and called an ambulance. I think I might have traumatized the poor guy.”

“With a face like that how could you not?” Haru teased as Hizashi came into the kitchen to set down the wine. She took the bottle from him before giving him a quick, tight hug. “Good to see you, Zash.”

“You’re heartless but I love you anyway,” Hizashi replied, squeezing her back.

“Whatever, we both know I’m the cute one,” Haru said. She pulled back and gently prodded him in the chest with her ladle. “Now go mingle, I’ve got a curry to keep from burning.”

“Yes’m,” Hizashi said with a salute.

“If it isn’t everyone’s favorite problem child back from the dead!” Hizashi’s sibling Hoshi said in mock surprise as Hizashi dropped into one of the empty living room chairs. “It’s lucky you showed up, Zash, Hitoshi and I were about to ro-sham-bo for who gets your cat.”

Hizashi turned a grin on his nephew, who was perched on the arm of the sofa next to his mothers. “If you can get Ai-chan to leave the apartment with all your limbs intact, you’re welcome to her, Shortstack,” he said.

“Don’t you even think about it, Hitoshi Shinsou,” his mother Mara said, nudging her son in the leg to reclaim his attention from the video he was watching on his phone. “If I wanted a pet chainsaw, I’d live in a hardware store.”

Hitoshi snorted. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’d rather step on a beartrap than make that cat do anything. Baji can have her,” he replied, punctuating with a “have at it” gesture to Hoshi.

“Yes!” Hoshi said, pumping their fist in the air. “Dibs on the attack gremlin maintained!”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that I’m not actually dead, or…?” Hizashi asked, crossing his arms and trying not to smile as he arched an eyebrow at his sibling.

“I mean, at this point we kind of have to,” his sister Hinako said from the other side of her wife. “Mara and I claimed your TV and that fancy toaster oven Mom and Dad got you for Christmas last year, Haruko gets your new laptop and router, and Hiro beat everyone else out in the tournament for your apartment lease. Ai-chan was the last thing we had to divvy up.”

“You guys are the absolute worst,” Hizashi said, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he said it. “I take time out of my busy schedule of being attacked by trash bags and getting bullied by my cat and this is the thanks I get?”

“Truly, we aren’t worthy,” Haru said from behind him, ruffling his hair. “Time to set the table, busy boy, Mom said Dad’s almost home.”

Dinner with his family was like finally being allowed to exhale after months of holding his breath. Deep down he’d known having to isolate himself from them to prevent them from getting wrapped up in things had weighed on him, but the full extent of it didn’t hit him until here and now. It took less time than Hizashi had expected to get back into the flow of the family conversation, a chaotic blend of speech, signing, and the kind of sweeping gestures that came from being raised by an opera singer and a very emphatic law professor. The constant sting of edginess that kept him from ever really relaxing melted away to nothing, no match for the rapid-fire retellings of weird life moments and accompanying bouts of breathless laughter from around the table.

“Speaking of tired,” his father said, bouncing off the tail end of a story Hiro had told about a toddler at his daycare center who had somehow gifted three other children and one of his coworkers with a combination of chicken pox and flu, “you’re looking a little wilted, Shortstack. High school applications getting to you?”

“Actually, Hitoshi has some news about that he was going to share tonight,” Hinako said. She beamed over at her son, giving him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. Hitoshi cleared his throat, the look of someone who had hoped they weren’t going to have to talk in front of people written plain on his face. Hizashi gave a sympathetic wince; growing up as an introvert in a family full of dramatic hams and public speakers had to be a lot to handle when the spotlight was suddenly on you.

“I decided to take the UA High entrance exam,” Hitoshi said, managing a small smile in spite of himself.

Despite his sympathy a moment earlier, Hizashi couldn’t help joining in the excited uproar from around the table that followed Hitoshi’s announcement. “Hell yeah, dude!” he crowed. “Carrying on the family tradition!”

“Does it really count as a tradition if only one of us made it in?” Hiro asked. He seemed to realize how the question had sounded a moment later as Hoshi elbowed him in the side. A strained flicker of sideways glances at HIzashi followed. Hizashi just grinned despite the sudden jolt the words had sent through the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Hiro,” Hizashi said, shaking his head. “If people are allowed to call things ‘first annual’ then Haru has every right to be a family tradition all by herself.”

“Aww, thanks, Zash,” Haru said, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek. Hizashi swatted her hand away with a snort.

“You went to UA, Aunt Haru?” Hitoshi asked, sounding surprised. Haru preened.

“Sure did! Three years strong in the A-class Hero Course, graduated seventh in my class. Not high enough to get snapped up by one of the famous agencies, but good enough for some solid sidekick gigs,” Haru said.

“That’s right, you’ve been doing temporary assignments at a bunch of agencies, haven’t you? How’s that going?” their mother asked quickly. Everyone seemed eager to sidestep the pit of discomfort Hiro had accidentally opened up, especially Hiro. As everyone’s attention turned to Haru’s newest temp assignment at Loud Cloud’s agency Hiro caught Hizashi’s eye and mouthed “dude, sorry”, grimacing at himself. Hizashi shook his head and signed “no worries” back. The words still burned in his gut, but Hizashi did his best to ignore it and listen to Haru’s story.

Too soon for his liking, Hizashi hit his soft out time, his middle out time, and finally his hard out before the trains stopped running and he’d have to take an overpriced cab home. He said his goodbyes, promising without much hope that it wouldn’t be this long before he saw them all again. As he was putting on his shoes, Haru threw her coat over her shoulders and offered to walk him to the station to make sure he got there okay. Not about to turn down a lingering moment of normalcy before he had to go back to being himself in the morning, he accepted.

“Hey. You okay?” Haru said as they headed up the sidewalk.

“Mm? Yeah, why?” Hizashi said. Haru gave him a Look and Hizashi relented. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong,” he said grudgingly.

“Being right isn’t the same as not being a dick,” Haru pointed out. Hizashi waved a hand as if wafting away the accusation.

“Honestly, Haru, it’s not a big deal. Some of us grow up to be heroes--” Hizashi said, gesturing to Haru-- “and some of us have to make do being the family disappointment,” he finished, gesturing back at himself. “It’s the circle of life.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Haru snapped, surprising him with the sternness in her voice. “You aren’t a disappointment to anyone. Especially me. All right?”

Hizashi smiled at her, shoulders relaxing back out of the sarcastic hunch they had started to reflexively tighten into. “Yeah. Thanks, Haru.”

Haru nodded authoritatively. “So. On to other things, namely this dashing, courageous night delivery guy you mentioned,” she went on, a sly smile creeping over her face. Hizashi tried to ignore the way his face immediately heated up at the implication in her tone.

“What about him?” he asked, amused in spite of himself at the word “dashing” being used for the scruffy, monotone Aizawa.

“I mean, he was gallant enough to come swooping in to your rescue to save you from your own klutziness,” Haru said. “Seems like something you’d want to repay with some kind of favor, don’tcha think? Like one that starts with ‘thank you’ and ends with ‘drinks after work, my treat’?”

Hizashi scoffed, about to blurt out that under no circumstances whatsoever was something like that going to be on the table, but the word “favor” sparked off a half-formed idea in his head. Repaying favors with favors was practically his side business, after all. There might be something in that, though far from the path Haru’s mind seemed to be going down. “You might be on to something there,” he conceded. “I’ll let you know if it works.”

“Make me your best man at the wedding and we’ll call it even,” Haru teased, holding the station door open for him. “Text me when you get back to your place, okay? There’s some bad shit going around right now.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Haru.”

“Just doing my job.” Haru gave him another quick hug-and-hair-ruffling before bidding him goodnight.

Hizashi lay in bed with a very disgruntled Ai-chan snoozing on his chest, burning his eyes with the light from his phone screen. The more he considered what Haru had said, the more the idea appealed to him. The only roadblock now was Aizawa and his apparent determination to freeze Hizashi out. Still, there was more than one way to catch a delivery man, Hizashi thought as he double-checked the station’s equipment budget for this quarter and opened their online supplier in a new browser tab.

It seemed like in aside from “multi-platinum criminal mastermind” and “epicenter of most of the trouble in his life right now”, Shouta could add “compulsive online shopper” to the list of traits Hizashi Yamada was using to intrude on his day-to-day life.

Shouta had done his best to put the confused night he’d helped Yamada avoid arrest out of his mind, ignoring the paper bag of Yamada’s belongings where he’d stuffed it into the back of his closet and getting back to his life. At first Shouta had thought Yamada had either been doing the same, or at the very least avoiding stirring things up while the dust was still settling. Yamada hadn’t made any kind of contact and was keeping quiet about his misadventures in his public life as far as Shouta could tell from the bits and pieces of Yamada’s show he’d caught while on patrol. Instead, however, Yamada appeared to have been just saving up energy for the marathon of attention-seeking he had planned. Nearly every day Asahi Radio was one of his scheduled stops with some new item listed as needing delivered to HIzashi Yamada, signature required. Shouta managed to very calmly beg a few of his coworkers to switch routes with him for the day, making sure to ask the ones with longer routes who would be more than willing to switch him for a shorter day for the same pay. After several days of running unfamiliar routes and going through every willing coworker he had, however, he found himself railroaded back into taking his route back by a politely-worded “friendly reminder” from his supervisor about making sure to get his own work done. Shouta checked his delivery manifest, saying a short, silent prayer to not see what he knew he was going to see down at the bottom: Asahi Radio, three kilogram package for Hizashi Yamada, signature required on delivery. He gritted his teeth, throwing himself into the front seat of his truck and slamming the door behind him. Today was going to be a very long week.

As soon as Chiyaki saw Shouta shuffling through the front door with the box tucked under his arm, they were already hitting Yamada’s extension on their phone. “You got another one, boss,” they said, waving Shouta inside.

“On my way,” Yamada’s voice replied. Shouta was darkly pleased to hear that he sounded almost defeated when he said it, like the week of not getting what he wanted was starting to grate on him as much as his pestering was grating on Shouta. Yamada came slouching out from the back room of the studio. He didn’t look much better than the last time Shouta had seen him; the bruising around his eyes had faded from midnight purple to a sickly pond scum grey-yellow-green and the gash on his forehead seemed to be healing well, but he held neck and upper body stiffly like he was trying very hard not to move too quickly and risk wrenching something. Despite this, his whole posture straightened as he saw that it was Shouta making the delivery today. Shouta sighed internally as Yamada swaggered up to him with a suspiciously cheerful grin.

“Haven’t seen too much of you around here lately,” Yamada said, the barest note of challenge to his tone. Shouta gave him the flattest, most disinterested look he could manage in return.

“We’ve been moving people around,” he said, handing Yamada the clipboard. “Sign here, please.”

“Right, right,” Yamada said. He stamped the bottom of the delivery slip and made to claim is carbon copy. As he started pulling the perforation, he paused as if he’d just thought of something. “Are you allowed to pick up something since you’re already here, or do I have to call in for that?” Yamada asked.

“I can take it for processing if it’s properly addressed, but they’ll charge your account after the fact for the delivery costs. And since it’s Friday it probably won’t get delivered until Monday,” Shouta said. It was technically against policy do it things that way, but a little bit of policy finagling was worth cutting this conversation as short as he could.

“Oh, that’s fine, it’s nothing urgent. Just something I owe a colleague of mine,” Yamada said. “It should still be in the outbox, Chii,” he added, turning to Chiyaki and pointing to a pair of mail trays behind their desk. Shouta collected the envelope from Chiyaki and tucked it under his arm, reclaiming the clipboard from Yamada as well.

“Thanks for your patronage,” Shouta said, already turning and heading towards the door. He tossed the envelope into an empty bin in the back of his truck and was mostly successful in putting it out of his mind.

“Aizawa!”

Shouta halted on the threshold of the employee entrance at the sound of a voice behind him. He sighed, wondering what new impediment was about to be added to his day. When he turned around, however, he was surprised to find Takeshiro, one of the night crew in package processing, approaching him with an envelope clipped to a clipboard.

“Something I can help you with?” Aizawa asked warily. Takeshiro held the clipboard out to him.

“Found somethin’ for you in one of the bins,” Takeshiro replied. “Figured you could sign for it now. No point sendin’ someone all the way uptown for someone who works here, y’know?”

He wasn’t wrong, Shouta supposed, though it seemed strange that someone would be sending him something through the company he worked for. If they knew him well enough to send him things he would have assumed they knew to just use the postal service and save themselves the handling fees.. He set his bag down, having to dig through a few different pockets before he found his spare stamp. Takeshiro watched him with disinterest bordering on impatience. Shouta signed for the envelope and barely had time to tear off his copy of the form before Takeshiro reclaimed the clipboard and bid him a perfunctory good night. Shouta watched him go, eyebrow raised, then shrugged. He would have considered himself a man of few words, but Takeshiro was about as talkative as a tree stump.

Turning back to the envelope, Shouta was somewhat unsurprised to recognize it; the envelope Yamada had gotten him to take for processing earlier that day. Shouta grimaced at the thought that Yamada considered him in any way a “colleague”. The envelope itself was heavier than he would have expected for its size and rattled when he turned it over in his hands. The noise was not encouraging. Shouta slid the envelope into his bag, careful not to jostle it too much as he made his way back to his apartment.

Once there, Shouta dug a filtration mask, a pair of thick leather gloves, and a long-handled pair of chemistry tongs out of the jumble of spare parts and unused equipment in his linen cabinet. It would be somewhat out of character for Yamada to resort to some kind of long-distance assassination via courier package but Shouta wasn’t in the business of being careless around villains. He knelt on his entryway floor, envelope in front of him. Using the tongs he grasped the tab of the envelope and pulled it open. Nothing happened, which was equal parts a relief and suspicious. He took the bottom corner of the envelope between two fingers and pulled the edge of the opening wider with the tongs, sliding the contents of the envelope out onto the floor.

A zip-top sandwich bag full of cash clattered out, landing with a metallic splat. Holding the envelope at arms’s length Shouta peeked inside and saw something square and yellow stuck to the inside; pulling it out revealed a pair of yellow sticky notes stapled together at the top corner that appeared to have been shaken off of the sandwich bag in transit. The note on top read “they took a stupid route and overcharged you”. Dumping out the sandwich bag, Shouta found it contained five thousand, one hundred sixty-nine yen in small bills and change; rounded up, the fare from the hospital to Yamada’s apartment building. A roundabout way of deciding to repay him, Shouta thought, but it showed more discretion that he’d honestly expected out of Yamada. Flipping to the second note, he saw it was an address and a small but detailed hand-drawn map from his apartment to the destination and a meeting time of 8:30pm, signed off with Yamada’s stylized M signature. One step forward, two steps back, Shouta thought as he pulled the respirator mask off with a sigh. The invitation wasn’t a binding agreement, but Yamada had already proved he was willing to go utterly over the top to force Shouta into an interaction. Either Shouta bit the bullet and went now, or he had at least another week of near-constant deliveries to look forward to. At least this way he could return Yamada’s things and not have to look at the accusatory paper bag every time he went to get dressed in the morning. One look at the clock told him he was already destined to be late, but Shouta didn’t bother rushing as he collected the bag and kicked on his shoes to head out again. Whether Yamada waited to see if he was coming or stood him up was the other man’s prerogative.

The address was for a small bistro-style cafe with a rooftop veranda that overlooked the sidewalk. Yamada was hovering beside the door with his phone in his hand, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on the screen but keeping a sharp eye on passersby. He looked like he had come straight from work, still dressed in the same clothes Shouta had seen him in earlier with a leather laptop bag over one shoulder. The smile he gave Shouta as he approached was as close to genuinely friendly as Shouta had ever seen from him.

“I already got us a table,” Yamada said, nodding to one of the tables on the veranda. He motioned for Shouta to follow him into the restaurant and up a claustrophobically narrow set of stairs next to the door to the kitchen. The two of them sat across from one another at the table, a tension settling between them as soon as they did. Shouta ordered a black coffee without looking at the menu and Yamada requested the server come back in a few minutes to give him time to look things over.

“I’ve never actually been here before,” Yamada admitted when the server left. “I saw it when I was walking home the other day and it struck me as a good place to get some privacy, you know?”

“Hn,” Shouta replied. The veranda was abandoned other than the two of them, with only the tiny staircase or vaulting the safety rail as viable exits. A quiet laugh from Yamada interrupted Shouta’s train of thought. He looked over to see Yamada trying to hide a smirk behind his hand.

“You do that too?” Yamada asked.

“Do what?”

“Tally up every escape route the second you get into a place,” Yamada said. “Hopping the railing wouldn’t be my first choice, but you seemed to be staring at it pretty hard. Bored with me already?”

Shouta scowled at him, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks at being called out. Instead of answering, he grabbed the paper bag and set it on the table in front of Yamada. Yamada looked at it, then up at Shouta with his head cocked to the side. “I would have returned it sooner, but things came up,” Shouta said, only lying slightly. Things had come up, they were just mostly intangible things like the unmistakable feeling that he didn’t want to see Yamada. Bemused by the roundabout explanation, Yamada unrolled the top of the bag and looked inside. He paused, seeming taken aback when he saw what the bag held.

“So you’re the one who made off with all of this,” Yamada said, not quite managing to keep the surprise out of his voice. He pawed through the bag’s contents and pulled out the tangle of wires and audio parts Shouta had yanked from around his neck.

“I...may have broken that,” Shouta admitted grudgingly. “Sorry. There wasn’t a lot of time.”

Yamada looked it over, running it through his fingers like a jeweler inspecting a string of pearls, then shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it. I worked some break points into it when I built it, like those elastic loops they put in cat collars so they don’t strangle themselves.” He shrugged. “Might be time for an upgrade anyway.” He seemed to catch himself lapsing into thought and shook out of it, holding the handful of assorted technology up like Shouta was supposed to have any idea what he was looking at. “It’s a vocal directional focus,” Yamada explained. “Depending on the combination of switches I use, it activates the speakers to give me a little boost in sending my voice where I want it to go. The only downside is smaller parts burn out twice as fast, and that’s if you’re using them for what they’re meant to do. You can only fight obsolescence for so long.” He shrugged again, setting the gear aside to continue poking through the bag.

Yamada picked up his mask, making a face at the jagged crack across the brow, then his jacket. He inspected the jacket even more closely than he’d looked at his gear, clicking his tongue in annoyance and running his thumb over some deep scuffs on the lapels and sleeves. “A little polish and she’ll be good as new,” he muttered, more to himself than Shouta. As he moved it to the side, something fell out of the pocket and clattered onto the table. Yamada picked it up. “Is this yours?” Yamada asked, holding up a small matte black USB drive between finger and thumb.

“No,” Shouta said, shaking his head. He had quite a few storage drives, but he kept them in a secure pocket elsewhere in his bag from where he’d stowed Yamada’s things.

“Huh.” Yamada looked it over, but from what Shouta could see there didn’t seem to be any kind of label on it. “Do you mind?” Yamada asked, pulling his laptop case up onto the table. Shouta shrugged. Personally he thought the mystery flash drive could wait until Yamada was done with whatever he had called him here for, but Yamada had already packed away his other belonging and was halfway into booting up his computer heedless of Shouta’s waning patience. Yamada’s eyebrows furrowed closer and closer together and he scrolled through the drive’s contents, occasionally making small “hmm”s or “huh”s.

After one especially scathing noise of curiosity, Shouta lost the last of his composure and half-snapped, “Something interesting?”

Yamada blinked, seeming to come back to himself but not looking away from the computer screen. “Possibly,” he said, sounding like he was more thinking out loud than anything. “Looks like the two you chased off were trying to do a little bit of revisionist evidence-planting. Some of these transcripts are mine, but some of them are definitely not. They are very interesting, though. If the night had gone a little differently those two would’ve had a nice feather in their cap.” Saying that seemed to jog him fully back to the present. “Anyway,” he said, pulling the drive out of his laptop and stowing both back in the case. “That actually brings me to what I actually wanted to talk to you about.”

“Which is?” Shouta asked. He couldn’t help feeling relieved that they had finally gotten to the point of this tiresome meeting.

“I wanted to thank you,” Yamada said. His expression was as close to serious as Shouta had seen from him and his voice lacked any of the attention-seeking cheeriness or slick smarm he usually used. “You stuck your neck out for me when you didn’t have to, and things would have broken pretty bad for me if you hadn’t been there.”

“Er. You’re welcome,” Shouta said. The words felt very awkward in his mouth. The corner of Yamada’s mouth flickered up into an almost-smile but it was gone again a moment later.

“That’s only half of why I asked you to meet me, if I’m honest,” Yamada continued. Shouta frowned, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. Of course there was a catch, he thought irritably. When he didn’t respond, Yamada went on without him. “Since I owe you for saving my skin, I want to offer you a deal. It’s something I think will solve this stalemate we keep finding ourselves in,” Yamada said. He was back in his element, posture too languid and his voice picking up a calculating breeziness. The return to status quo wasn’t completely unexpected but was completely unwelcome.

Shouta waited for Yamada to keep talking, but Yamada seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move. Gritting his teeth, Shouta asked, “What kind of deal?”

Yamada’s renewed grin widened at the acquiescence. “It’s nothing too complicated,” he said. He held up a hand, long fingers spread. “The deal is ‘first to five wins.’ Each of us gets to ask the other five favors, no strings attached, no questions asked. The first one to use up all five has to willingly turn themself over to the authorities and never breathe a word about what they know about the other.”

Shouta stared at him, taken aback. He’d expected something sneaky that would keep the scales tipped in Yamada’s favor, but turning the situation into some inane rivalry game was a twist he hadn’t seen coming. As far as he could tell, Yamada was completely serious about the suggestion; he seemed proud of both the idea and the reaction it had gotten out of Shouta.

“You said no questions asked. You mean, no matter what the favor is, we’re required to do it because we agreed to the deal?” Shouta asked. Yamada nodded. “So what’s stopping one of us from saying, ‘do me a favor and go turn yourself at the nearest police station and pretend you never met me’?”

Yamada frowned. “Nothing, I guess, other than a sense of fair play,” he said coolly. “Deals like this require a certain level of trust to work.”

Shouta snorted. “What makes you think I trust you?”

“There has to be some reason for a guy like you to lie to the police and withhold evidence, then let the only other person who knows the truth walk away from you,” Yamada said, shrugging one shoulder.

He had a point, much to Shouta’s annoyance. His choice to let Yamada go that night and then do everything he could to not see him until now was more one of exhaustion mixed with avoidance, but not once in the midst of it had it occurred to him that he might have to worry about Yamada turning him in to the police. He must have been silent long enough that Yamada could sense him coming around to the idea, as Yamada’s grin returned in all its toothy, rankling glory.

“So, is that a yes?” Five strikes for each of us. Well,” he corrected himself, “five and four. I’m guessing I’ve probably already burned one free pass at your good will.”

Shouta shook his head. “No,” he said. “If this is to level the playing field, it’s going to be level. Five for each of us, like you said. What happened before was a...lapse in judgement,” he finished, scowling at himself. His moment of ill-advised altruism had officially overstayed its welcome.

“To lapses in judgement,” Yamada said, extending a hand across the table. Shouta shook hands with him, hating the finality of it. With the rules as they were set out, all Shouta had to do to win this ridiculous bet was hold off on asking Yamada for anything other than some peace and quiet and wait for Yamada to burn himself out. It was too simple of a solution for Yamada to have not thought of it before he offered the deal, and Shouta had a sneaking suspicion that they would end up clashing at the finish line anyway. For right now, though, it seemed like playing along might be his best option.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #villain!mic #vigilante!aizawa #shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada #Erasermic #bnha #mha #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

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had-me-at-saranghae · 5 years

Text

I See Y’all...and I Wanna Say...

I have been meaning to write this but since I have to move back to school soon and my house falling apart, I don’t have a moment to do this.

But those are weakass excuses and I need to express this.

I just am so proud and astonished by what is growing of these amazing authors. As someone who went to AO3 to try and find something to suit my guilty pleasure instead of tumblr bc of the lack of works, I cannot believe how flipped the scenario is...lol there is a lack of works on AO3 and plentiful on tumblr.

I started writing because I wanted a fic and I got tired of waiting. I grew interest in continuing to write, amazed how people believed that I had a “knack for it.” I still don’t think so. I still believe I have a lot of work to do, and there is more to my craft that I am slowly unveiling.

But I want to acknowledge these authors, I want to express gratitude because you inspire me to keep going. There were times I try to plan my WIPs so I can disappear off the face of Earth and never write again. But, there are writers who have requests and followers who they try their best to provide and cater without losing themselves...KUDOS to those writers. Just because I don’t get requests and I write on my own accord, doesn’t mean I am above or below anyone... it just means that there is an audience to every star, and every star have different outlets of talent that deserves their unique spotlight.

Lol I blab too much. But I admire you guys, and I just wanted to express my gratitude to your craftmanship. Especially those who are mutuals with me and chatted with me... thanks for making me happy to receive a message :’)

PS I ain’t leaving anytime soon whoops this went all sad and that wasn’t my intention...

Also, haters can hate but they are the ones wasting their time and space spreading their negative energy. Don’t let them dull your glistening sunshine.

PPS..

I’m just a 20 year old black chick living life to her clumsy fullest lol. I go by UnicornHolographicTears on AO3. I only reblog my work from AO3 to tumblr. LOL I thought about posting here but my works are too long for all that.

@vantaestummy, @snifflyhobi, @bttwenty-whump, @bleucheeks, @sickiebangtan, @sickjoonie, @moonjoonlanding, @pukeybangtan, @queasy-bts2, @jooniebugggg, @heave-hyung, @poor-baby-bangtan, @sicky-hobi, @sick-bay, @uhohyoongi

#sickfic #btssickfic #bts sickfic #bts emeto #bts snz #bts fic #bts #bangtan sickfic #jungkook #jimin #v #taehyung #hoseok #jhope #suga #yoongi #namjoon #rm #jin #seokjin

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msmimundo · 4 years

Note

The character rating thing... Gromit, Slip, Shaun, Timmy annnnnd Lexi >:3

I KNEW some of you guys would make me choose between the lovable babies. This is gonna be hard (at least you dont make me choose between Shaun and Bitzer ‘cause i kid you not they both mean the same to me ToT)

i’ll play fair on this and that means Slip is not my daughter for five minutes im sorry baby

Gromit: design- cute almost white fur, bunny floppy brown ears, stumpy brown tail, eyes that show more emotion than most real life humans i met. Perfection.

personality- sweet soft caring boy, husband material Fluffles you lucky dog

character- interesting and loyal i love him

has he ever done something wrong?- no

would i like to friend him irl?- i would marry him

personal attachment?- i love seeing him on screen like i get excited 10/10

Slip:

design- cute baby dont let the others let you down we stan wrinkles and fucked up teeth

personality- a literal angel would love to see more of heR PLEASE @ AARDMAN PLASE IM BEGGING YOU BRING HER BACK

character- we didnt get to know much about her. She was really friendly and smart as she knew the streets and understoof and helped with Shaun’s scape plan even if he didnt asked so i would love if she came back at least for an episode??

has she ever done something wrong?- no

would i like to friend her irl?- yess

personal attachment?- daughter but not much bc background character sorry baby ;-;

6/10

Shaun:

design- i really love his design, poor thing looks so baby yet he hot stuff, his design was something that always called my attention idk

personality- i think his personality is funny and interesting like people expect sheep to do nothing and he said fuck that and did his own thing, also loyal friend would protec flock and boyfriend at all costs, bf material Bitzer you lucky dog

character- he stands out a lot in the flock and even if i would love to see the others have development, him having the spotlight isnt something that bothers me tbh

has he ever done something wrong?- yes BUT he always tries to fix it, i dont think there was a moment i was annoyed by how jerk he was??

would i like to friend him irl?- yas be the Phineas to my Ferb

personal attachment?- been watching sts since i was smol so yeah :’) in this point Shaun wins Gromit

10/10

Timmy:

design- smollll and round 10/10 would hug him

personality- honestly i cant really tell about his personality?? sometimes he is baby and sometimes he knows whats up idk

character- i think its an important character that gives interesting points of view and cute scenes to the show so yeah perfect character

has he ever done something wrong?- he is a kid so everything bad was mostly playing, nothing cruel

would i like to friend him irl?- of course!! baby

personal attachment?- ok some people gonna kill me but as much as i love him as a character i never got as attached to him as with other character?? idk theres people that really love him and as much as i do i never got to their levels

6/10

Lexi:

design- its a good design, it screams her personality a lot, but im still dissapointed afghan hound isnt a broom :(

personality- bitch

character- i think is an interesting dog enemy that could help give a lot of good episodes, not like the pigs or Pidsley were bad enemies but she has a different villain vibe

has he ever done something wrong?- yes thats like her entire point

would i like to friend him irl?- i feel like she would laugh at my face

personal attachment?- she’s new and still not much development so not much

4/10

final opinion:

i did a drawing for this but tumblr wont let me post it :’(

1-Shaun! he was a dear childhood character to me so yeah

2-Gromit! pretty close to Shaun bc he has a beautiful personality

3- couldn’t decide between Slip and Timmy so they both win

4-Lexi. Sorry.

thanks for the ask it was fun :’)

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lunawings · 5 years

Text

King of Prism SSS Episode 9 commentary (Alexander)

FINALLY!!!!! Finally I can talk about a few big things from this series I have been dying to talk about....

...............What did I sign myself up for.

A quick rundown of what it says here: More and more people are becoming interested in the street-style and choosing to be street-style stars since the Prism King Cup. In the graph, the gold portion is academy-style and the silver is street-style, before -> after the Prism King Cup. Below it points out that Kazuki and Hiro’s “sparking” scores from the Prism King Cup (the Prism Watch data) were equal and suggests Schwartz Rose needs to step up their game in the street category.

Every time I laugh at this.

Every time I feel kinda bad afterwards.

But

So Ace was entered as an official participant. It says “reserve”, but still. I guess that may have helped to make Joji’s score possible and not break the system.

(In between writing my episode 5 commentary post and now, I got to read the interview with the director in spoon2Di where he confirmed that Joji’s high score was only because Ace joined in what was supposed to be a solo show.)

Flashy, huh. We’re going with flashy this time for “charachara”.... Okay. (Better than gaudy I guess.)

I love this so much. Kakeru coming outside just to watch Taiga exercise and get all sweaty and all that. I wonder how long he stood there. Or rather I wonder how long he watched with binoculars after heading back inside.

I’m such a dumbass. After episode 3 aired someone pointed out that this is Taiga’s mom vs. Alec’s mom, and my excuse for not noticing then was that it’s in the background and such. (Can’t pause the movie in the theater and didn’t think to check it afterwards.) But here the camera actually pans over them slowly, so yeah I have no excuse.

But regardless. Amazing!!

Another thing I didn’t catch in the theater. But I have never had a reason to know the Japanese word for asthma before. I’m glad that gave him an actual reason for being sickly instead of just.... sickly child syndrome.

As long as you’re happy, Victoria.

But really though, their relationship is pretty damn interesting.

I wonder if she knows he borrowed her clothes.

No I don’t know why these grown-ass men have nothing better to do than pick on an actual seven year old child...............

So uh. This line confused me for the longest time. The way he says it, I really thought he was giving “Daikokuno” as another last name and I thought it was some kind of DJ KOO reference I didn’t get or something.

But thanks to Crunchyroll I finally realized.... ITS A PLACE. He’s just saying where he’s from, and that’s how Alexander is able to find him. GOOD LORD IM SUCH A DUMBASS.......... Another point for Crunchyroll.

HE BIKED ALL THE WAY FROM YOKOSUKA TO YOKOHAMA

Okay so now that I have the luxury to pause this, as soon as I did I opened up Google Maps in another window, zoomed in and....

WELL THEN

At least I finally know where it is

BUT DAAAAAMN

Fuck asthma am I right

It wouldn’t give me the cycling time, but yeah, you can imagine.

They only have this one image of Rei doing a jump and gosh darn they are gonna use it to the fullest.

So during this scene and the next people cheer for Rei in the theater, but nobody really knows what color he is. There was a whole lot of variation at the beginning before people (in Nagoya at least) finally settled on red. (For the flames maybe? I don’t know if it’s official.....)

Alexander actually had a flashback to this moment on Prism Rush during the Road to SSS 9 event. I reblogged it recently on my @prism-rush blog trying to disguise it as part of my Alexander birthday spam. (It wasn’t.)

YEAHHHHHHHHHHH BOY

So if you have no idea where the heck this egg came from and what it is..... Rainbow Live.

But anyway.

I can finally FINALLY talk about this!!! Even though I knew it would probably be all over Twitter, I really wanted to protect this spoiler on Tumblr if I could. It was such a big deal to me when I saw it in the theater and I really wanted you guys to have the opportunity to be as blown away as I was. I could not possibly think of anything to say about it that wouldn’t be a hint, so all I could say all this time was just that Alexander’s episode has “a surprise” in it.... SURPRISE!!!

But yeah, when I saw this for the first time I thought it just came out of NOWHERE. Total shock! I thought this was not predictable at all!

But then it hit me. All of a sudden I remembered something. Something important.

Again, in Road to SSS event 9....

So, for folks who follow my @prism-rush blog, remember that one Alexander PR where he was looking into a box? And nobody knew what was in the box? But there was something weird following him? I even mentioned it and my confusion over it in my summary of that event. WELL GUESS WHAT.

We finally know what was in the box don’t we.

I asked a friend to see the card story to fill in the blanks and see if there were any obvious hints to what was going on at the time, and it’s just mentioned as a strange animal he picked up. Alexander struggles with what to do and not really wanting to take care of it, but then he asks himself what Rei would do..... (Whether he could see Momo at that time, I do not know ahah....)

So in the beginning after seeing Part 1 in theaters I said on Tumblr that the Road to SSS events from Prism Rush didn’t have much to do with the SSS anime, and most of them didn’t and still don’t. All of course except for Road to SSS 9, just that one, which ended up being way more important than I would have ever imagined. And this isn’t even the only reason either, there is also--

SO UH anyway Road to SSS 9 took place in June, so this flashback is taking place in June DURING Road to SSS 9. A very roundabout way to dating the episode, but really cool. I like how Road to SSS was significant after all.

And another surprise for me. In the theatrical version he’s not glowing here. They wanted to emphasize that he’s powering up I suppose eheh. I was really freaking out about this in the stream chat. SO COOL.

To the right of his little dragon house you’ll see some “dorayaki” because.....

Although they never actually mention it in the anime, his name is Dorachi. (Confirmed on Twitter.)

(Note: Dorayaki is also the favorite food of classic Japanese character Doraemon.)

Even though Dorachi doesn’t talk in this episode, in the theatrical special video for Alexander he talks A LOT. An UNFAIR amount. So much I do not remember most of what he said since I only saw it once and it went by so fast.

But his real name is very long (like the manager names from PriPara) and he talks about spreading the prism sparkle. I’m sorry, that’s honestly all I remember right now.

Will he show up again in the main anime before the end?

(Okay yes.)

And at least they gave you guys was a bit of original(??) art of him in the new ending.

WHATEVER THEY MAKE OF THIS CHARACTER I WILL BUY IT

Okay moving on.......

Urrgh..... okay so.............. When I first was watching this with you guys in the stream I was like UGH because I don’t think “flashy” fits here at all. I really wished they had stuck with “playboy” since it would work better with this scene.

But then when I watched it again, I realized they already used “flashy” once in this episode to describe Kazuki’s sweater, and it did kinda work there.

If we go back to my episode 3 commentary, my main complaint with Crunchyroll’s translation of “charachara” was actually less about the words they used, and more about how it just wasn’t consistent.

This episode..... is consistent.

..................

................................

Another point for Crunchyroll.

I officially cannot complain about the subs in this episode.

Another little thing in SSS I have spent way too much time thinking over is how Joji got here.

In every episode up until now, it’s always been Louis seen walking beside Jin like his pet. But in this episode. JUST THIS EPISODE.... it’s Joji instead.

I think the reason is because Louis is performing next, so he has to rest (since he’s not exactly in the condition he once was.....) So Joji scooped up the opportunity.

Whatever the reason, I find it really interesting.

HERE IT IS

My all time favorite Alexander face

In a weird way I actually think he’s cuter here than in the Prism King Cup

This song.... was not quite what I was expecting for Alec, but I love it. No part of me anticipated he’d just launch into a ballad but WOW. I just love how they picked something that really shows off his beautiful voice like this. Alexander is in my top three singing voices in King of Prism (1: Hiro, 2: Taiga, 3: Alexander) so I loved hearing him belting this out.

Now time for my like.... 4th(?) embarrassing confession in this post.... I had no idea this song was a cover until like AN HOUR before this episode aired. You guys were playing TRF songs in the stream, the original came on, and while y’all were like “what should we watch next” I was sitting there like “!!!!!!!!FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

Well, it’s a new song to me. And I think it’s perfect for him.

Poor Joji and his inconveniently timed fruit.

He finally gets to spend time with Jin, and he just can’t get a break.

I love the generation gap here. Kazuki’s existence has been so big to Taiga he can only think of Kazuki. But Kazuki and Hijiri are able notice the subtle differences that make this an OG Rei move.

I could certainly spend a whole lot of text speculating why Alexander did not change into his battle suit, but I won’t waste your time and just admit I have no idea. I’m glad he doesn’t, since it keeps the spotlight on Alexander since HE CAN’T PERFORM ONE GODDAMN SHOW WITHOUT TAIGA BARGING IN ON HIM BUT MMMRGGHGHG

TAIGA YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER

Yeah I was SO MAD about this when I first saw it at the midnight showing.

A lot of people change to green when Taiga comes out, but I do not. This is the only battle where I cheer for Alexander the whole time.

Not only was I mad at Taiga for being so dumb, but just mad at the whole concept of Taiga barging into Alexander’s one show to do basically the same jumps we saw in Pride the Hero again.....

But.....

Nowadays I forgive my idiot son. And I hope you do too.

This wasn’t the moment I forgave him. No, that’s coming later. I was mad at him for an entire month. But yeah.

He’s just so confident and everyone believes in him................................

So Alexander breaks the street-style curse and gets a damn good score. Higher than Taiga’s original score.

But just like Joji’s score was due to Ace, I can’t help but think Alexander’s score was a good deal due to Taiga.........

I had a feeling this would happen.

I knew long before Part 3.

Even back when I had only just seen Part 1.... I just knew the tables would turn in this episode.

Maybe it would be difficult to guess by watching week-to-week, but for me having Alexander’s episode as the last episode of the theatrical Part 3 just seemed like it would be WAAAAAY too much of a coincidence otherwise. So I had a strong feeling Schwarz would come out ahead at the end of this one. (I didn’t guess the reason would be because Taiga would get a penalty, but yeah.) And especially because the performances are kind of out of order to make this work? Up until now I thought all of the Schwarz Rose boys performed first, but Yu was up before Alec? And Louis is up next. Maybe it wasn’t a guaranteed thing that the Schwarz Boys always go first, but I noticed it.

So up until now score has not mattered much as Edel Rose has just sailed on though. But now it does. It matters a lot.

So this is the second surprise of this episode, and why I was saying it’s the beginning of the chain of events that lead to the end.

But about score mattering now, one of the reasons I have been questioning Taiga’s score the whole time is because I knew this was going to happen. So I just.... I just hope Taiga’s score wasn’t lower to begin with on purpose for mathematical reasons so they could get their desired progression of the overall score or something. IDK.

I don’t blame Rei for not figuring it out right away. Even though I KNOW this is Alexander, I still have trouble connecting his younger and older selves. I mean, getting muscular doesn’t make your eye shape completely change does it....?

Poor Kazuki. He doesn’t care.

So if I interpreted this episode correctly....

This was Alexander’s official transition from an antagonist to a protagonist. (Or just to a normal rival at least.)

During the first two movies and for a good long time of Prism Rush, he always played the part of the villain. But once Road to SSS started that began to change. We saw him reminiscing about Rei, making awkward conversation with Louis, struggling over forming a duo with Joji, etc. So I had a strong feeling they were taking his character in this direction, but this right here was the official turning point I believe.

No more destroying stadiums. From now on he’ll be spreading the prism sparkle with Dorachi.

And still trying to beat Kazuki but you know.

So I don’t have a source handy (if someone challenges me to find one I’ll dig it up) but I remember I read one time that Alexander was actually originally a character that was only created for the first movie. But then they realized they had to keep him on when he was just so popular.

So if you have ever supported Alexander, this episode was for you. Fans make King of Prism possible.

So.... one more thing I guess. Something I learned from the Minato episode was that even if I ignore controversy and specifically state I don’t want to talk about it, it still finds its way into my inbox anyhow. So I might as well get this over with I guess.

After Young of Prism Alexander was revealed to have light skin, someone told me a theory that mixed race children are sometimes born with lighter skin which darkens as they grow older. So up until her design was revealed, I had always imagined Alexander’s mother as a black woman.

So yeah. I don’t know the reason for his darker skin color now.

But I’d like to point out that in this episode being pale was associated with being weak and unhealthy, while darker skin was associated with being healthy and strong and just leave it at that.

And thus ends Part 3.

Next week begins.................. what I have been dreading for a long time............

So...................

So up until now I have been pretty tight-lipped about spoilers. But once episode 10 airs, the floodgates will pretty much be open. Episode 10 and episode 11 are so connected it’s really hard to talk about one without the other. I mean, once you know about episode 10, I seriously might as well. So after episode 10 airs, at the bottom of my commentary post and after a warning I plan to share some episode 11 spoilers.

Because I have been through this......

And I know how it’s gonna make you guys feel......

And since I was lucky enough to get some answers right away, I’m going to give you guys those same answers for those who want them so you don’t have to just sit on episode 10 for a week. I am not that kind of a monster. I won’t put you guys through that.

So after episode 10 ends, take a deep breath, cry it out if you need to, and get some tea.

I know how you’re gonna be feeling. I know. Don’t send me a panicked anon ask right away. Give me a little time. Hold on.

#king of prism sss #kinpri #king of prism #king of prism shiny seven stars #alexander yamato

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Jumper

It’s a big day in the fandom with TWO birthdays! I couldn’t let the day go by without gifting a fic to @gingerchangeling ! I got to know her long before I was on tumblr when she started leaving me wonderful comments over on Ao3. She may not even remember them, but they meant a lot to me. Happy birthday, my dear!

And before you hate me for thinking I gave you a horrible gift, I just want to explain that I am keeping my cards very close the vest with this. I know the summary and tags are intense, just . . . yeah. That’s all I can say.

Summary: He turned his gaze on her, his eyes blinking slowly. His pretty blue eyes, shining with tears. Emma blinked. He was incredibly handsome, despite his clenched jaw and melancholy eyes. Or maybe because of them. It was one thing to consider jumping yourself. It was another to stand by and let someone else do it. So she was going to stand here and ironically convince this guy not to do the very thing she was here to do herself. Based on the song by Third Eye Blind.

Rating: M

Trigger Warnings: attempted suicide, major character death (it’s not what you think!)

Words: 4,000

Also on Ao3. Part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging my usual (hope they don’t hate me for this!) plus others I think might like it: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @jennjenn615 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @captainsjedi @welllpthisishappening @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @wellhellotragic @let-it-raines @killian-whump @sherlockianwhovian @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious

I wish that you would step back from that ledge my friend. You could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in, and if you don’t want to see me again, I would understand.

The bay bridge was eerily quiet at two am. Like any big city, this one never slept, yet the bridge still slumbered in its own way. The occasional car whipped past with a rhythmic sound, the waves quietly lapped at the pilings. Moonlight reflected off the water, and the streetlights shone like spotlights along the edge of the bridge. And illuminated by one of those spotlights was a figure, poised on the railing, one hand grasping a support pillar. Emma approached him cautiously, pushing aside her slight irritation that she couldn’t even fling herself off a bridge without an obstacle. This was her spot, damn it!

When she reached him, he didn’t even glance her way, eyes transfixed on the water below. His fingers were white where he gripped the pillar, which made Emma wonder if jumping were really his goal. Now that she was next to him, she saw that he was about her age.

“Whatcha doin?” she asked softly, casually. As if she’d walked up to a classmate flipping through a magazine at school.

He turned his gaze on her, his eyes blinking slowly. His pretty blue eyes, shining with tears. Emma blinked. He was incredibly handsome, despite his clenched jaw and melancholy eyes. Or maybe because of them.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He gazed back out at the water, his thick dark hair falling across his eyes. His hair was messy and a little long, curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears.

Emma kept her gaze focused on his profile. “It looks like you’re about to jump. Any way I can change your mind about that?” It was one thing to consider jumping yourself. It was another to stand by and let someone else do it. So she was going to stand here and ironically convince this guy not to do the very thing she was here to do herself.

“I doubt it,” he replied bitterly.

“You look about my age. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Me too. Seems awfully young to die.”

He gazed at her again. “And yet here you are to do the very same thing.”

Emma swallowed. “You’re not from here,” she pointed out, changing the subject.

“Perceptive,” he said wryly, “and how did you gather that?”

“Not many people in Portland, Maine with a British accent.”

“Ah, I see.”

Emma climbed up on the railing herself, wrapping her arms around the pillar on the other side of her new friend, if that’s what she could call him. “Is that why you want to jump? Because you’re so far from home?”

He looked at her again with those profound blue eyes. “No, because I’ve lost my home.” He stared down at the water again, and when he finally spoke, his voice was choked with emotion. “I just feel so lost. I can’t . . . I just can’t do this anymore.”

“I get that. Tired of everything? Tired of the hunger? Tired of the loneliness? Tired of the fear?”

He nodded once, and their eyes held for a long moment. Finally, Emma let go of the pillar and reached out her hand.

“Jump together?”

His lips quirked halfway up in a hesitant smile, and Emma imagined that if he really, truly, smiled, it would light her up inside. Smiles that would soon be cut off by the slip of a foot. Sadness crashed over her at this realization, and somehow that emotion messed with her balance. Both feet slipped into empty air, and as her heart leapt to her throat, she realized with sudden clarity: she didn’t really want to die.

Then a calloused hand grasped her forearm. She was jerked back up on the bridge, crashing into the boy’s chest. He was anchored to the pillar where his arm was wrapped around it, and he now had his other arm firmly around her waist. She had guessed he was hungry because of his slender build, but she now realized that his chest was solid, his shoulders knotted with muscle. Small for his age, perhaps, but not weak. He wasn’t much taller than her, and when she looked up, her gaze was zeroed in on his lips. She darted her eyes up to his instead, which were bright blue from the streetlight overhead. They were also wide with shock.

“I couldn’t let you do it,” he said.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

He somehow eased off the railing without letting her go, collapsing onto the solid asphalt. They both shook, clinging to one another, sobs wracking their bodies.

**********************************************************

“Not that one, Swan,” Killian argued.

“Why not?” she protested indignantly, adjusting the dark rimmed glasses perched on her nose. “There’s no one around.”

“The color, that’s why. Yellow attracts way too much attention.”

Emma gnawed on her lower lip as she contemplated the yellow Bug at the end of the alley. Killian playfully tugged on her ponytail.

“You really like it, don’t you?” He grinned at her. “I’ll get it for you if it’s what you really want.”

He said that all the time. The first time had been that night on the bridge. Once her tears were spent, she felt a little too raw, and much too exposed. She was also appalled to see the tears and snot that were smeared over the front of his t-shirt, so she had whispered against his neck, “I’d really like a grilled cheese right now.”

Killian had gotten her one, too. Hot, and not from the garbage can either. He simply charmed one out of a waitress at a diner on Ocean Street. Killian could charm his way into (and out of) a lot. He had a face for it. Yet the only one who could charm Killian was Emma. Or at least she liked to think so.

“No,” Emma told him now with a shake of her head, “you’re right, it’s too visible. See another mark?”

“Over beside that convenience store,” Killian said, pointing, “it’s been there all day.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “It looks like a toaster. Will it even run?”

“It can after you tinker with it,” Killian told her confidently, “and since it isn’t much to look at, the person may even thank us for stealing it.”

He winked at her, and she couldn’t stop the warmth that spread across her cheeks. Killian Jones seemed to think she could do anything, and frequently called her “bloody brilliant” in his adorable accent. So she followed him to the rusted out Chevy, leaving the yellow Bug behind in the alley.

********************************************************

Killian had a “code” about stealing. She teasingly called him “Robin Hood,” because stealing from the rich to give to the poor pretty much summed him up. Of course, the “poor” was just the two of them.

According to this “code,” they could shoplift from nice stores, but when they went to the Goodwill down the street from where they were crashing, they needed to pay. Which wasn’t difficult considering a pair of pants cost fifty cents. All they had to do was pick a few pockets, swipe a few purses, and they could afford a pretty nice wardrobe.

It was getting cold, so today’s agenda was to find coats, hats, and gloves. Yet Emma found herself drawn to another part of the store.

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure Killian was preoccupied trying on jackets. Then her hand reached out to touch the red satin, her finger and thumb running along the lacy trim. She shuddered thinking of slipping into bed next to Killian, wearing nothing but this tiny negligee. They had found a place to stay at a run-down motel around the corner, another result of Killian’s charms. The manager there had lost a son who had run away from home, a son who Killian apparently reminded her of. If someone had shown him kindness, she said, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up dead in a gutter. She asked no questions, simply slipped a key behind the ice machine to whatever room was vacant that night. All she asked was that they leave the room tidy when they left each morning. Sometimes she’d leave food for them in the room, too.

Sometimes the room had one queen size bed, sometimes two double beds. Either way, they usually ended up sleeping next to each other. And each night, things between them escalated more and more physically. They still hadn’t gone all the way, but that morning they had woken up half naked, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Emma slid the negligee off the hanger, her mind wandering.

“Emma?”

She jumped and whirled around to face Killian, balling the tiny bit of thin fabric up in her hand so Killian couldn’t see it.

“Uh, yeah?” she muttered, brushing hair out of her face.

Killian arched a brow at her. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be getting a coat.”

“I will,” she said, swallowing hard. Her face was burning.

Killian swiped at his lower lip with his tongue. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

He grinned wickedly, grabbing at her clenched fist. She spun away from him “Show me, Swan!”

“No,” Emma giggled as he grabbed her around the waist, trying to pry her fingers open, but she yanked them just out of his reach.

“Come on, please?” he gave her his best pout, which usually worked. On everyone, including Emma, but this time she shook her head.

“A girl’s got to have some secrets.”

His eyes sparkled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Is the surprise for me? Because I like surprises.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, the lingerie still hidden in her tight grip. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

He kissed her in the middle of Goodwill, tugging on her ponytail. She decided right then and there; she was definitely buying that red negligee. She’d go without gloves all winter if she had to. He was worth it.

*****************************************************

When she came out of the bathroom that night in the red lingerie, the look on Killian’s face was priceless. Like he was in awe of her or something. She grinned nervously as she slipped under the sheets next to him. When he gathered her in his arms, she trembled all over in anticipation, his kisses making her core heat with want.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped when he seemed to hesitate.

“Are you sure?”

“I need you, Killian. Please.”

“I’ve . . . I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

She cupped his face, searching his intense gaze. “Neither have I.”

He smiled tenderly at her then, kissing her with something akin to reverence. It was honestly a little awkward, mostly because Killian was so worried about hurting her, but it was wonderful, too. Afterwards, Killian fell deeply asleep, his arm wrapped around her waist, just like that early morning on the bridge.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, brushing a kiss to his cheek. Then she curled up against his chest and fell into a contented slumber.

Stealing condoms wasn’t easy, but Emma knew they couldn’t keep falling into bed every night like this without protection. It had been foolish from the start, but Emma had been too turned on by that stupid negligee in Goodwill. Okay, not stupid. She and Killian were going on day four of this new phase of their relationship, and Emma couldn’t seem to get enough. So no, not stupid. Irresponsible, maybe, but not stupid. The problem was, every drug store had condoms under lock and key for some strange reason. Emma finally found a broken condom dispenser in the bathroom at the gas station, and she breathed easier knowing they were taking precautions.

Little did she know it was already too late.

*****************************************************

It was raining and the windshield wipers on the Chevy made a squeaking sound as they slid across the glass. Emma was slumped down in her seat, the belt across her lap pinching. She fiddled with the ends of her hair. Killian kneaded the steering wheel with his hands, his jaw clenching. He was brooding, and Emma wondered if it was because he had picked up on her own mood. He glanced her way, and his eyes widened when he found her staring. She dropped her hair.

“We need to talk,” they said simultaneously.

They chuckled nervously.

“Emma, I need to tell you something.”

“Please,” she stopped him, sitting up fully, “let me go first.”

He licked at his dry lips. “Okay.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, then just blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

His jaw dropped, and he blinked rapidly, and stammered, “Wh-what?” It was pretty much the reaction she had been expecting. They were only seventeen, after all. She would be eighteen by the time the baby came, but still.

She told him as much, fingers going to fiddle with her hair again. “I don’t know how old you’ll be. You’ve never told me your birthday. Because if you’re wondering, I’m not getting rid of it. I mean, I’m not saying I’ll keep it and be a mom, I haven’t figured that part out yet, but I’m having it. And I can’t make you stick around, I know that -”

“What?”

His eyes flashed, and Emma gulped. Was he mad? She should have considered that he would be mad.

“I’m pregnant.”

“No, I heard that. I’m talking about the last thing you said.”

Emma choked out a tiny nervous laugh. “I was sort of rambling, so I’m not sure.”

His voice was low. “You said I didn’t have to stick around. Do you really think I would just leave you like that?”

Tears pricked at her eyes at the intense look on his face. She scooted up in her seat. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest. This is a lot to take in.”

HIs face softened, and her heart stopped its ping pong motion in her chest. He reached out and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Expect me to always, always be by your side. I love you, Emma.”

She let out a small gasp, and now her heart was fluttering like a thousand butterflies had invaded her chest. “I love you too.”

Emma was never quite sure what happened next. A bright light blinded them. Glass shattered, tires squealed, and someone was screaming. Maybe it was her? There was pain, and blood, and . . . where was Killian? She tried to reach for him, but she couldn’t move. Then she was spinning and falling, and then there was nothing.

She woke up to a beeping sound, and a sterile smell, and the fuzzy outline of someone next to the bed. When her vision cleared, she was surprised at the smiling face bending over her.

“Sarah?”

The woman reached out and laid a cool hand to Emma’s forehead, brushing tendrils of hair back. Though part of her wanted to hold onto the reasons that she had run away from her foster mother three years ago, another part of her relished her motherly touch.

“You had no identification, sweetheart, but they found a slip of paper in your pocket with my number on it. So they called me.”

Emma managed a nod, realizing suddenly how much she hurt all over. She always felt silly for keeping that phone number, but she had never been able to bring herself to throw it out. If she were completely honest, she was relieved that Sarah was here.

“Can I see Killian?”

“The boy driving the car?”

Emma frowned. Sarah’s hand had stilled, and her voice had a strange edge to it.

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend. Can I see him? Is he okay?”

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry. He . . . he didn’t make it.”

“No!” Emma cried, struggling to sit up. She had stitches in several places that pulled, a cast on her leg and an IV in her arm, but the pain of moving was nothing compared to the knife in her heart. “That can’t be right! I . . . I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it until you let me see him!”

“Sweetheart, please calm down,” Sarah soothed, pressing gently on her shoulders.

Emma shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Take me to see him. I want to . . . “ she choked out the next words, “say goodbye.” And prove to herself that he was really gone, because it just didn’t make sense. He couldn’t be, not after they had saved each other on the bridge. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I’m so, so sorry, Emma. You can’t -”

‘What do you mean I can’t?” she was getting frantic now.

Sarah’s face was tortured. “He was pinned behind the steering wheel, and they were having a hard time getting him out . . . there was an explosion. There . . . there’s nothing left. I’m sorry.”

The sob that tore out of Emma then threatened to break her heart in two.

Well he’s on the table and he’s gone to code and I do not think anyone knows what they’re doing here. And your friends have left you, you’ve been dismissed. I never thought it would come to this, and I, I want you to know, everyone’s got to face down the demons. Maybe you could put the past away.

Sarah approached the bed on soft steps, but Emma stayed curled up on the bed, her back to her foster mother. The woman eased onto the bed, then reached out with a gentle hand to Emma’s shoulder blade.

“Sweetheart, you need to try and eat something.”

Emma wiped at the ever-present tears of grief leaking from her eyes. “I’m not hungry. I told you, I’m sick.”

“I know you aren’t sick, Emma,” Sarah told her gently.

Emma bit her lower lip. Sarah couldn’t possibly know. Emma had aged out of the system by now; Sarah had taken her in out of the goodness of her heart, but she wasn’t her legal guardian. The hospital had taken a pregnancy test, but they couldn’t give those results to anyone but Emma.

“Sick, depressed, whatever,” Emma mumbled, “just go away and leave me alone.”

Sarah stroked her hair. “I can make an appointment with a clinic, honey, if you want me to.”

Emma rolled over then, anger rising to the surface. “I’m keeping it!” she snapped.

Sarah nodded calmly. “Okay. Well, when the time comes, I can help you call some agencies -”

“I mean,” Emma clarified through clenched teeth, “I’m keeping it. As in, forever.”

Sarah cupped her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Emma laid a protective hand over her womb. “He’s all I have of him. No one’s taking that away from me.”

She knew the baby was a boy from the very beginning, and she prayed he would look just like his father. When she looked into those familiar blue eyes and ran a hand over his jet-black baby fuzz, she wept with joy. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she named him Henry. It just felt right.

********************************************************

Emma toed her heels off the minute she came through the door. She couldn’t wait to get this honey-trap dress off. Especially since the asshole had spilled wine all over the front of it. She frowned at the quiet and darkness that greeted her in the apartment. She was just about to call out, when -

“Surprise!”

Emma shook her head and laughed as Henry and Sarah popped out from behind the kitchen island. Sarah had a plate with a cupcake on it, a birthday candle flickering in the middle of the pink icing.

“Did we surprise you, Mom?” Henry asked with a toothy grin.

“You sure did,” she assured him, tousling his messy dark hair. Killian’s eyes stared back at her in a face that was a perfect mixture of each of Henry’s parents. It still made her heart constrict to see the resemblance, though the pain had eased over the years. But no matter how many years passed, she knew no one would ever love her the way Killian had.

“Make a wish, sweetie,” Sarah said.

Emma made a big show of resting her chin on the kitchen island and quirking her brow as she thought of a good wish. Then she closed her eyes and blew out the candle. Sarah and Henry cheered. Little did they know she hadn’t wished for anything. The only thing she needed was right here in this room, and the only thing she wanted was gone and could never come home again.

They settled down at the table with their cupcakes, and Emma realized that Sarah seemed nervous for some reason. She fiddled with her cupcake, not even taking a bite, even though double chocolate fudge was her favorite.

“Emma,” she finally said slowly, “this is a very special birthday.”

Emma licked icing off her finger. “Oh no, don’t start in on the whole pushing thirty thing.”

“No,” Sarah said with a slightly awkward laugh, “it’s . . . meaningful, and well, there’s something I need to tell you. And I guess the best way to start is, Once Upon a Time . . . “

*******************************************************

The tale that Sarah wove was a difficult one to believe, to say the least, and it was only the dedication and support her foster mother had given her all those years of raising Henry that made her get in the car and head for a little quirky town called Storybrooke, Maine. That and Henry’s enthusiasm and whole hearted belief. She hadn’t been to Maine since the accident, and going back wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t easy accepting these people - David and Mary Margaret? Prince Charming and Snow White? - as her parents, either. Neither was it easy wrapping her mind around a town filled with fairy tale characters. And how in the world was she supposed to break a curse? True love’s kiss? Her whole world was wrapped up in her son, and . . .

Oh.

Her son was in a hospital room, coding, and then the next minute a rainbow was rippling across town. “I knew you could do it, Mom!” he beamed, like he hadn’t just died on her.

Then there was a purple cloud of freakin’ magic, and wraiths of all things, then she was falling through a damn portal. This woman, a woman her own age, was trying to mother her, and she was camping out with Mulan and Sleeping Beauty, and what even had become of her life? She didn’t think things could get any weirder.

Then there were piles of corpses with holes in their chests, and a hand reaching out, and Aurora yelling about someone being alive in there. And the man squinted, and looked up, and his eyes were blue like forget-me-nots and of a profound melancholy.

“Killian?” she breathed.

The color seemed to drain from his face, a face that was so much older, and full of so much more pain. Much like hers, she imagined.

She’d know that face anywhere, regardless of time.

“Emma?” he exclaimed, the tiniest of smiles lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You know this man?” her mother asked.

“Yes. He’s Henry’s father.”

The angry boy a bit too insane icing over a secret pain. You know you don’t belong. You’re the first to fight. You’re way too loud. You’re the flash of light on a burial shroud. I know something’s wrong. Well everyone I know has got a reason to say “put the past away.”

#cs ff #angst #tragedy #attempted suicide #fandom birthday playlist #for gingerchangeling #on her birthday #trust me?#jumper #third eye blind

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jennygirl2014 · 5 years

Text

“Red Is Your Color”-requested fic- Part 1

(A/N:- Here it is, the first part of the request. I hope it finds the nonnie who requested it but nothing I post gets seen anymore so this will probably get lost in tumblr space too. And if it pops up on your dash I hope you enjoy. Oh and I struggle with the whole “Y/N” thing so I just put it in the first person. Sorry.)

Warnings: language, angsty feels.

Come out and party with us, they said. It will be fun, they said. I didn’t know what the hell was so fun about an overcrowded room and terrible music blaring. It was hot, almost to the point of being sticky. The smell of booze and cheap cologne and perfume was everywhere, and it lingered when a couple walked by, to the point where I could almost taste it. Maybe I outgrew this sort of thing, maybe I got it out of my system years ago. Maybe I had changed. I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve been with someone who didn’t like going out and partying, you end up deciding to stay in with them and cuddle on the couch, or cook a good meal, or play a game of cards. Sex with that one person seems infinitely better than going out and trying to recreate the same feelings with a stranger. I guess what’s what maturity looks like. Maturity also means moving on. So why was I at some stupid party with the hopes of seeing her, the new woman? Being glutton for punishment never got me anywhere good.

“Don’t you want a drink?” my friend asked me, leaning in to speak over the booming. She was trying to dance, bless her heart. Her lipstick was smeared above her lip, evidence of meeting someone in the bathroom earlier. I didn’t want a drink, I wanted to see this new woman and then get the hell out of there. Why was I even invited to that stupid party when everyone knew my ex would be there? It was no secret that we had broken up, after two long, happy years. I heard the rumors, that he had moved on rather fast, found himself somebody new. Everyone expected me to do that, to find someone the week after I had kicked him out of my apartment after a heated fight. I denied the rumors, saying that wasn’t like him. But people change. I thought maybe I had, maybe he did too.

“No,” I finally thought to answer. I was far too consumed in my own little world to pay attention to anything else. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“There’s a line,” my friend stated, “Best use the one upstairs to the right.”

“Thanks.” I thanked her for the advice and made my way through the crowd. Unfamiliar bodies bumped into me, making me grit my teeth. The place was disgusting, and I didn’t even know who it belonged to. The stairs magically appeared in front of me, finally, and I climbed them with haste. “To the right.” I spoke to myself, keeping on task. There was a door, blue with chipped paint and a silly fake anchor on it. It had to be the bathroom. I knocked, I thought I heard something. I knocked again.

“Just a second, jeez!” a woman’s voice called out from inside. The door flung open rather quickly, and there stood a woman with disheveled hair and a flushed face. Her stony cold eyes met mine with a shocked expression, as if accusing me of rushing her out of whatever predicament had her so flushed and out of breath. I didn’t care about her personal business, at least I thought I didn’t. Not until I saw him.

There stood my ex, he was against the wall next to the toilet, with a face that said he was as shocked to see me as I was him. His face was a nice shade of pink, his lips parted, as if he was ready to speak but didn’t know what to say. His hair was a mess, his grey Henley shirt was twisted in a way that had me knowing I had just interrupted something. I interrupted him. With his new woman. Wearing the shirt I bought for him last year. It would have been less awkward to see him sitting on that toilet than standing next to it, behind closed doors with her. I peeled my eyes off of him and turned back to see the woman, a pretty little petite piece of angel food cake if I ever saw one. She quickly yanked the skirt of her dress lower. And I swear I saw a hickey on her neck.

Fuck. I wanted proof, but I didn’t want it like this, literally staring me in the face. So it was true. And then I felt it all at once, rage, humiliation, sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, all of it slapped me in the face. More than that, it slapped me in the face with a brick, punched me in the gut, and then stole all of my candy before running me over with its bike. Whatever it was. The truth. It was the truth. It was the consequences of my actions. It was knowing that I had made a mistake going to that party, looking for proof of that rumor, dumping him and then pretending like everything was fine.

I had to say something. “Hey Steve.” I was happy to have found words without puking, or crying. Or both.

“Hey…” he said it back. He sounded slightly embarrassed. Or maybe it was just me hoping that he was. My eyes fell to the floor, not daring to show any signs of the extreme distress I was feeling.

“Are you gonna stand there, or are you gonna move?” she fussed at me. I cut my eye at her, but stepped to the side without starting a fight. She stormed out, huffing and offended. Next came Steve, and I kept my head down, not wanting to look at him. He walked past me, only pausing momentarily. I don’t know if he looked at me as he left the bathroom, I didn’t want to know, but I watched as his feet marched down the hallway.

I stepped inside, closed the bathroom door and locked it. I didn’t even have to pee anymore, I just needed to be alone. I took a few steps closer to the toilet and looked around the tiny bathroom, taking in the space that he had just been in, with another woman. Hell I could still smell his damn cologne in there. Why didn’t I just stay home? I sat my pathetic ass down on the edge of the tub and looked at the hideous blue and white tiled floor, wishing it would swallow me whole. How was I going to make my way down the stairs, collect my tipsy friend and get out of there without seeing him again? I didn’t want to. I didn’t think I could take it. But I knew I deserved it, I knew I had no right to be upset. I dumped him, he didn’t dump me, it wasn’t even mutual. I had no right to be upset. Right?

“I don’t understand what I did wrong!” Steve raised his voice at me. I ignored him and kept tossing his clothes in a suitcase. No rhyme or reason, no folding, just grabbing armfuls and chucking. “Will you just answer me?” he shouted from behind me. I spun around with an icy glare, surely he had to have some knowledge and common sense.

“Have you been listening to me at all?” I thought up a better response, “Oh wait a second, no you haven’t, because you’re never fucking around!” I turned back to my task, getting him and his shit out of my apartment and out of my life. He rushed to my side and tried to pull those clothes out of the suitcase, but I didn’t let him. I slammed the top of the suitcase shut, catching his fingers and causing him to curse under his breath.

“Stop it! I’ve already told you! I have to work! I can’t just quit!” he argued with me.

“Quit, no, nobody expects that of you. But forgive me, as your girlfriend I was expecting you to make time for me! To show me I mattered even a little bit! Instead you just keep showing me you don’t give a shit!” I angrily clasped his suitcase closed and stared him dead in the eyes. He already looked defeated.

“I’m trying. I’m trying my best. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“So, you really aren’t listening then!” I shouted angrily. Flames were nipping at my skin, I knew my face was red with anger, and yet I could feel tears starting to well. The thought of him seeing tears at that moment was scary, this was not a moment of weakness.

“So, what’s the plan?” his tone suddenly changed. “You kick me to the curb and find someone with a boring desk job? Someone who you can push around with that piss poor attitude of yours? Make sure they’re home every night by six, that they’re paying the electric bill…” he trailed off as he stood up straight and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Shut the fuck up.” The command came out of my mouth without even thinking it through.

“You’ll get bored of the next guy. Then what?”

“I said shut the fuck up!” I screamed and grabbed hold of the suitcase. The weight of it caught me off guard once it left the bed, and it dragged me down. I had to grip the handle with both hands and drag it down the hallway. He followed me in hot pursuit, taunting me.

“I’m sorry I’m not around to text or chat every second of every day but let’s be clear, one of the things you like about me is how exciting my job is. You like the looks you get while going out on my arm. The recognition my job gets me.”

“Fuck you!” the words puffed out while my body knocked against the hallway walls and the cumbersome suitcase. It banged on my ankles enough to hurt. The sliding door to the balcony was only a couple steps away. I would show him how serious I was.

“What? It’s true! You like being in the spotlight! But how can you stay in the spotlight if I don’t work?” he made his point clear. It was clear, but I didn’t care. I slid the glass door open and stepped out into the nighttime air, hearing the bustling of city life below us.

“This isn’t about that and you know it!” my gaze fell back onto him once again as he stood in the apartment. “This is about me needing you in my life and you not bothering to try!” I paused as I drew in a deep breath, trying to compose my shaking voice. “When we moved in together, we agreed, we would have more time for us. That’s why we did it. I stopped working late nights at the bar and gave up good tip money to make sure I had time to be with you. All I’m getting in return is an empty side of the bed.”

“You didn’t need that tip money anymore because I made sure the bills were paid.” Steve brought out the dagger. “Are you really going to kick me out of an apartment that I pay most of the rent for?”

Fuck him.

“I got this apartment myself!”

“Yeah when you were working two jobs! You gonna go out and find yourself another job?” That was all it took. The weight of his suitcase didn’t seem to bother me as I lifted it onto the balcony railing, and I watched his face change. He knew what was coming. “Don’t you dare.” He warned me. With a smirk on my pursed lips I released the damn thing, letting it fall down four stories in the air. There came the most despicable sound as it hit the sidewalk, the impact causing it to burst open and his clothes littered the ground down below. His face turned a deep shade of red, and I calmly walked back into the apartment and slammed the sliding door shut. The sound of car horns rang from below, along with a few people cheering and laughing obnoxiously at this poor man’s expense.

“Have you lost your damn mind?!” he barked at me. I shrugged a shoulder and gave a partially sarcastic smile. Partially only because I was rather proud of myself for my deed.

“Get out.” The words cut through the air like a knife. “It’s over.”

“You know what…” he started, panting with anger. He pointed a stern finger at me, about to go off, I was sure of it. “You’re crazy. You are absolutely out of your mind.” His voice was low, warning me. Daring me to cross him again. And I had never seen his eyes that shade in my life. I wondered if that was what his enemies saw, right before he broke them in half. Still I stood there, plucky and unamused.

“Goodbye.” I repeated myself.

“Fine!” he caved. He was like a flash or boiling rage storming through that small space, through the kitchen, up to the door that he almost ripped off of the wall. My feet gently padded in his hot trail, following him to the door to shut it behind him, but he still lingered.

He stood in the hallway just beyond the door, his back still to me, but I could see his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breath. I could see the skin on the back of his neck, just under his hairline, where the collar of his jacket didn’t cover. His skin was a hot shade of pink, sweltering with emotion. The emotion must have changed somewhere in his travel out of the apartment, because when he turned and I saw his face, I saw what he was really feeling. His face was flushed, his jawline had softened, his eyes were brimmed red and glassy. It was a face of hurt and loss. At that moment, I thought I broke him. But there was no turning back after that. I feared that if I stared at his face too long, I might have changed my mind. Seeing him in that state would easily break me down too, but I couldn’t let it.

Just don’t speak.

“I loved you.” He said it so soft and so gentle, it was like warmth caressing me.

Don’t fall for it.

“Goodbye Steve.” I gulped down any other words that might have made their way out, and with that, I closed the door.

There was a pounding on the door that shook me from my memories. I jumped and gripped onto the porcelain tub. “Are you almost done in there?” someone’s voice called out. My cheeks were wet. Were those tears? My pride was stronger than any other force known to mankind, so I knew I had to hide those tears. I wiped my face quickly and then leaned forward to flush the toilet, pretending that I had actually gone in there for some reason. Hadn’t I? I couldn’t remember. I pinched my cheeks, making them rouge and puff a little. A deep cleansing breath, and I could act my way out of it. Upon opening the door and seeing the stranger standing there, I placed a hand on my stomach and hunched over a bit.

“Don’t drink too much of the punch.” I told a little tale of lies all in that single sentence. The man looked at me only briefly before walking into the bathroom and closing the door. After that, I stood up straight, pulled back my shoulders and made my way back downstairs. This night had run its course, time to find my drunken friend and get the hell out of there. I saw everything I needed to see.

“Hey!” my inebriated friend was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me. “You’ve been gone forever, where did you go?” she raised her voice over the noise.

“Let’s go.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her out the front door with me, not even bothering to look around or ask if she felt like going. She didn’t put up a fight, she didn’t even resist, she just followed. Thank God.

I guess it was true. He really did change.

Second part here.

#steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #requested fic

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