#I’ll make them a proper ref sometime | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years ago

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Really depressing personal stories time! Sometimes I do that on this blog, just use it as a journal to sort shit out. I actually think I won’t leave this one up for long, I’ll delete it after a bit because it’s even more specific and personal than usual. But I can’t sleep and I feel like writing this down will help, and just the act of sharing it can be helpful too.

So there’s this guy. In previous long personal stories I’ve told on here, I’ve sometimes given people I know the names of British comedians, generally a comedian who reminds me of that person in some way. I don’t think I should do that for this guy, because while there are some comedians I don’t like, I don’t want to make light of this genuinely terrible person by comparing him a comedian I don’t like. So I’m going to call him Ryan. Genuinely for no particular reason, it’s just a generic English name, and this guy’s real name is a generic English name, but it’s not Ryan.

Edit: After I wrote this whole post with that name, I remembered that I recently wrote a post in which I was critical of Katherine Ryan, so I feel the need to say it is definitely not a reference to that. It is not a reference to anything. It’s just the most boring name I could think of.

Ryan coaches another team in my city, in the same sport as mine. When I was in high school, I’d have said that his club and mine were rivals, though his was much smaller. Since then, mine has gotten bigger and his has gotten smaller by enough so I can barely call us rivals anymore. He’s just a guy who coaches some athletes.

Ryan is a terrifying person. It took me years to unravel how deep it goes. He preys on young athletes and controls their entire lives. He forces them to cut huge amounts of weight, even when they’re too young, when they’re pre-teens or teenagers. And not just for one tournament and go back up. He weighs them every day, makes them stay on strict diets of almost nothing all year round. Multiple athletes have come out of his program with severe physical and mental effects of eating disorders.

He doesn’t let them have girlfriends or boyfriends, and he obsessively inserts himself into their lives to keep tabs on this. He makes them tell on each other if anyone has been breaking those rules. He doesn’t let them have any life outside of school and this sport. He tells them when and where they’ll train and compete, and they’re not allowed to have a say.

He verbally bullies his athletes, calling teenage girls and boys fat if their BMI goes above medically anorexic, calling them sluts if they’re caught doing normal high school things like dating, calling them worthless if they lose a match. But it goes deeper than surface insults and into serious psychological abuse. He does this to young and vulnerable people, he does it every day for years, until they internalize it. He encourages them to turn on each other, to gang up on their teammates for stepping out of line.

He tends to prey on athletes who don’t have strong connections outside his team, who have problems at home and may not have proper parental figures at all, who rely on him. He becomes like a father to them.

There’s a lot I can’t say here without giving away too many personal details, but he’s taken it father than I’ve described so far. He has shown a terrifying amount of control over young people’s lives. Putting their entire futures in jeopardy as retaliation for them not being exactly what he wanted. Messing with every aspect of them. He is the worst person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of bad people.

He's creepy with girls and women, and he encourages the teenage boys he coaches to be the same way. Years ago, a woman who was like an older sister to me in the sport filed a detailed sexual harassment complaint against him. It showed how he’d said inappropriate things to her, around his teenage athletes. How he’d used his position as head referee to stop her from getting reffing jobs for reasons related to the above. He did that for years, knowing she was one of the few high-level female refs in the country, and one of the most qualified. I won’t say all the details here but I’ll say there was a lot to it, and was well substantiated with witnesses. I was a witness to a fair bit of it.

It's a long story, but her complaint got thrown out by the provincial board. Her hearing included the board members asking her whether she’d slept with another ref, suggesting that if that were true then she couldn’t blame Ryan for saying the things he said about her. In the end, the executive director of the all-male board said he “Didn’t know who to believe” and dismissed it.

While the hearing was occurring, Ryan used horrifying tactics against my friend to try to make her drop her complaint. He went after her outside the sport, making his athletes sign false claims against her and trying to get her to lose her job. He scared her so much that after the board threw her complaint out, she quit the sport altogether. She was one of the few high-level female coaches and refs in the country, especially back then (there are more now, still not many but more than there were 12-ish years ago when this took place), and this drove her out.

Ryan holds a spot on that provincial board. He’s held it for ages, he sort of picked it up when no one was paying attention. It’s a regional rep spot, meaning he’s supposed to be in charge of development programs within our region. He didn’t do his job well for most of those years, he mostly just held the title for the sake of it. But every couple of years there’s this big tournament in which all regions compete against each other, and his spot meant he was in charge of our regional team. This tournament gets talked about all year as a big deal, and our kids get excited about it. Every time, my co-coaches and I had to make a decision: do we send them there, in care of this monster? Or do we become the unreasonably controlling coaches who tell a 14-year-old athlete that they can’t attend a tournament they really want to attend? It was never easy. We hated confronting that thorny issue every two years. We generally took an approach of talking to the parents beforehand, warning them about what Ryan’s like, making sure they get in and compete for the two days and then get out, with minimal interactions with the guy in charge and their parents keeping a close eye on the situation. Most of the time it was fine – Ryan’s damage came from years of calculated terrorizing, and he couldn’t do that much in one weekend. But sometimes they’d come back with stories of something awful he’d said to them, and we’d say we’re not doing this again next time, until it’s two years later and our athletes really want to go and in the end it’s not my decision.

A few years ago, I decided I could change this. That board position is supposed to be up for election every two years. I was only my mid-twenties, I’d only been in a major coaching role for a few years, I hadn’t delved into politics yet. But I decided to try it anyway. I read the provincial board’s bylaws and constitution several times over, to make sure I was clear on all the rules. Then I sent out some emails to say I wanted an election called in November, as I was entitled to request by official regulations, and I would put myself forward to run for Ryan’s board spot.

I really thought it was going to work. Looking back now, I can barely bring back the memory of how it felt to believe that. I thought it was obvious. Ryan isn’t just an asshole, he’s bad at his job. He never actually ran stuff. He just did the team at that one tournament every two years. I emailed all our regional coaches a list of things I wanted to do, ideas for implanting cross-team development programs, requests to hear any ideas they had. Why would they not want that over this asshole?

I did do some campaigning. I think at the time, it felt like I was doing a lot. I worked out what coaches had votes, and I went to them at tournaments to talk about the situation. They were receptive and generally polite, and I took that as them being onside. I didn’t talk shit about Ryan, I didn’t bring up his history of abuse or anything. People already know that, the way he treats people is common knowledge in our community. But it’s also common knowledge that if you talk about it publicly, he will ruin your fucking life like he did to my friend. So I didn’t go down that route, I figured people already knew and had already formed opinions about that. I just said it would be cool to have that spot filled by someone who actually wants to run programming, not just do the job once every two years. I used a few connections. People on my own team who used to be from other teams and still had friends there – we reached out to everyone we knew. I thought that would be enough.

I now know that this whole time, Ryan was orchestrating a massive campaign against me, telling different people different lies about me, using the fact that he was much older than me and much more experienced than me and had far deeper connections than I did. Looking back, it’s ludicrous that I thought this would work. We all went into a little room before a tournament in November, and all the coaches wrote on pieces of paper and put them in a bowl, and a guy who was deemed neutral counted them. The guy had the decency to find me in a quiet moment, not in front of everyone, to shake my hand and say, “[Ryan’s real name] won the vote.”

I can still remember feeling like the sky fell down around me when he said it. It wasn’t just that I wouldn’t have the spot or that Ryan would still have it. It was that this was my region. I wasn’t best friends with all those people, but I knew them. I worked with them, I coached alongside them, we had a certain camaraderie from taking on the bigger cities together. Kids on my team were friends with kids on their teams. We were friendly at tournaments and other events. And all of them – it’s not just that they didn’t like me. It’s that they picked an abusive monster over me. Meaning they hated me a lot and/or were cool with an abusive monster, and this was the community to which I dedicated my life.

I’ve mentioned this happened in November, right? Did I mention it was November 2016? It was a week after Donald Trump got elected. If I’d won that spot, I’d have become the first woman ever to be elected to our provincial board. And I lost to this fucking guy. And had the nerve to be surprised, even after what I’d watched. Even after we’d just seen the American election results and learned that it turns out there are way more awful people within the random crowds around us than we’d initially thought.

For the rest of that season, I moved on, and coached my own team to some of the best competitive results we’d ever had. The next year, a few big things happened that shook up our entire sport – not just the little community of my region, but across the country. The biggest thing was a major coach getting arrested for sexually assaulting teenage girls on his team. It turned out he’d been doing it for over two decades, a lot of people knew, and it just kept getting covered up. It started a huge conversation.

It made me feel so many things. I read the court documents of what he’d allegedly done, and by the time I finished reading it I had tears on my face that I couldn’t even feel because I’d gone numb, and then I threw up in my garbage can. I have past experiences with sexual assault, but I’m relatively lucky in that I can usually hear stories about that sort of thing without them triggering me. Sometimes weird specific things will trigger me, but stories about sexual assault usually don’t. This one, though – this court document detailing what the guy did to those girls, it made me feel for the first time what it’s like to be hit full force by a trigger. I had nightmares for weeks.

The guy who got arrested, I didn’t know him well. But I knew who he was. I said hi to him at tournaments. I knew a bunch of people who’d once been on his team, competed for him. I liked him. He was friendly and he ran events well. He produced a lot of very good athletes. He was a central figure in the community. And all this time, I didn’t know. And all this time, other central people did know. People I worked with regularly, people I knew and liked, were friends with this guy. They’d known for years that he did stuff like this, and they’d looked away.

I felt so much guilt and so much anger and so much more than I can explain here, and I wanted to do something. So I read a lot more rules and a lot of precedents, I made a plan, and I contacted the president of the board about it. He agreed that This Is A Big Problem and Something Must Be Done, and he worked with me to implement my plan of creating an entirely new board spot to be basically Head of Women. In charge of Making Things Better For Women In The Sport.

We put this forward at the next AGM, and everyone agreed to create the spot, because they fucking had to, because you can’t vote against that after all that had happened. And then I got voted into that spot basically because I was the one who’d created it and no one else had time to prepare anything for it. Also I was only one of three women in the entire meeting of forty-ish people – there weren’t a lot of other options.

The year after that, the regulations said we could try again for regional elections. That inter-regional tournament was coming up, and it would be great if we could have someone in charge of our team who wasn’t a terrifying monster. Also, as #MeToo was rising and the arrest of that other guy sparked some conversations and I’d gotten this weird Director of Women position, I thought maybe it’s time to do something about the fact that there are multiple awful predatory men on the actual board. Maybe getting this one guy out of that one spot is a change we can make.

I was smarter this time. I knew so much more about how Ryan operated. I’d spent so much more time dealing with politics, and I knew what I was up against. I’d learned from my previous mistakes. I’d realized how many coaches went way back socially with Ryan, how deep the old boys club ran, how that would override a lot of other stuff. I was prepared to deal with that.

I asked around the region to see if anyone wanted to run against him, and no one really did. But then, an assistant coach from my own team said he’d be willing to do it. He was perfect. A nice guy, inoffensive. He wasn’t divisive and opinionated like me. He was older, he’d been around the sport for many years, but never in a major role, so he knew everyone but he’d never made any enemies. He was friendly. He wasn’t really tight with most of the other older coaches, but he was at least peripherally in the old boys’ club. I was sure he could win.

So I pretty much did what I’d done in 2016, but for someone else this time. That role came so much easier to me – I’ve always made a better campaign manager than candidate. I’m not meant to be the face of things, I’m meant to plan stuff. I did a lot of math. I calculated how many votes we needed to win, I made spreadsheets. I’d made more connections in the previous two years, so it was easier than it had been before for me to reach out to the rest of the region and ask if they’d consider voting for my friend, the nice inoffensive assistant coach. He’ll show up to the meetings and he’ll do his job and he won’t call your athletes pussies at youth tournaments! What more could you want?

Aside from the campaigning, I had a lot of work to do just to make the election happen. Ryan insisted that it should happen the following year, after the big tournament that I didn’t want him coaching, after he’d have time to move things around. I said no, it needs to happen in the fall. Regulations say it should happen every two years, and it happened in November two years ago, so if I request another one this November, they have to run one. I produced screenshots of bylaws in mass emails. I was always prepared.

The dispute went to the provincial board, and while I was on that board, of course I recused myself due to a conflict, so I wasn’t privy to their discussions. But during that time, an in-person board meeting happened. The meeting was mainly about much bigger things, but the issue of when to hold an election in our region was one of the agenda items. Honestly, I don’t know why Ryan and I were allowed to stay in the room, as we both had massive conflicts of interest. We should have been banished to the hallway to stand awkwardly together until they were done talking about us behind our backs. But no one kicked us out, and Ryan didn’t leave, so I didn’t either.

Ryan insisted that our region had never held an election in the fall before, so we couldn’t just set the precedent by doing that. I said that was ridiculous, they'd been held at many different times. He said no, they’d only been held at specific times, and not in the fall. I pointed out that the most recent election was in November, just two years ago. And he said no it wasn’t, there was no election at any time in 2016.

I think of this moment every time I hear the term “gaslighting”, as the moment I learned how deeply that can fuck you up. It’s not just the direct consequences of someone saying something untrue. It’s the cognitive dissonance of… wait, what level of reality are we operating on? The way gears struggle to grind in your brain while processing the sharp divergence from reality.

To be honest, when I think of it now, I guess this may be a case of not technically gaslighting. I think gaslighting is supposed to involve a more prolonged approach than just saying one thing in a meeting. Though to be fair, it was prolonged. He’d been talking shit in emails for a while before that, saying the same stuff about there being no precedent for a fall election. That meeting was just the first time I’d heard him say it in person, and hearing it in person hits so much harder.

I’ve been re-watching Last Week Tonight lately, and there’s this episode when they show a Tweet in which Donald Trump said he’d been invited on that show many times and had turned it down. John Oliver told us that, even though he knew Trump was a pathological liar, even though he was used to the lies, it was still shocking to read something that so directly contradicted reality as he knew it. He said that when he read that Tweet, he actually checked with his staff just to make sure they hadn’t invited Trump on and then somehow forgotten about it. Because there’s this sense that if someone confidently states an objective fact that’s so clearly untrue, maybe you have the facts wrong? Maybe the world is flat? John described reading that Tweet as genuinely disorienting, seeing someone describe a reality he personally knew did not exist. Because he was sure they’d never invited Trump on their show.

That’s how it felt to sit in a board meeting, across from a guy I ran against in an election two years previously, and hear him tell me that didn’t happen. I was shocked. I don’t know why I was so shocked because I know Ryan lies all the time, but I don’t usually hear it so directly and in person. I didn’t even know how to answer. Of course the election happened! People were there at the time! I was there, Ryan was there, about twenty other coaches were there. There’s a trail of emails that set the whole thing up. I shouldn’t need to say this. It happened! You can’t just erase reality and tell me that an entire event didn’t happen! It's not fair, it's cheating! I prepare so hard by reading all the rules and knowing all the facts, and then it all just gets thrown out!

As soon as I did that, I’d lost the argument. Everyone else in the room (a room consisting of me and one other woman about fourteen men, most of them twenty or so years older than me) started shaking their heads, and several people said this is clearly just an issue of intra-regional squabbling, and they shouldn’t get involved in our pretty drama. They declared that we can’t use them as a platform to work out stuff our little differences, and the election will be in the spring, as determined by our regional rep.

That’s when I made a mistake, and looking back, I realize that was all he wanted. I’d spent so many years learning how to deal with Ryan. How he runs cold, you’ll never see him give away too much at a time, so if you get emotional in response to him then you look like the hysterical one. In that board meeting, at the beginning of the argument, I’d been very very careful to remain measured and calm, so he wouldn’t be able to use anything against me. But when he said there was no election in the year that there clearly fucking was one, I dropped the composure and exclaimed, “Of course there was, I ran against you in it! You’re not allowed to just make stuff up!”

I went home, re-evaluated, and started planning again. Okay, it wasn’t ideal, but I still had the perfect candidate on my side. A few months went by, and my co-coaches and I did a lot of talking to people and using our connections. We had genuine friends in the region now, much more so than two years earlier. We knew how powerful an opponent we were facing, so we made sure to overprepare, to go after every vote, to assume every dicey possibility would go wrong, and to make sure we’d win anyway. By the time the election rolled around, we’d worked it all out. We did things with numbers over and over, and every way we looked at it, we couldn’t lose. If a few “maybes” went our way, we’d win comfortably. But even if all the “maybes” went against us, we’d still win by one vote.

This time, the vote took place by email, the day before the provincial championships. The next morning, my best friend and I were packing our bags to make the six-hour drive with our team to compete for the weekend. I checked my email just before we left, and saw a message that said “[Ryan’s real name] won the vote.”

The sky fell down again but I had to pull it together, because the road trip to the provincial championships is an important bonding time for our team. We piled into the truck and picked up teenagers and played music and had conversations and I held off from falling apart for hours. Once we got there, we had to get all our athletes accounted for and registered and I bit my tongue through the chaos. Finally, there was a moment of peace. My best friend and I escaped to the hallway outside the registration room, to try to figure out what had gone wrong. I remember standing there, counting on my fingers, trying to see a way it could have gone against us.

We did manage to find the answer, since we were at a gathering of all the people from our sport in the province, so of course we were able to find and talk to them. When we found the answer, it was a level of fucked up that we hadn’t even considered. A coach from another team was in the hospital following a suicide attempt, which we’d known about beforehand so we’d written his team off and said they had bigger fucking things going on and would abstain from the vote. It never, in a million years, would have occurred to me to try to talk politics with anyone from that team, as they were dealing with such a scary situation.

The night before the vote, Ryan reached out to that guy’s brother, who was an assistant coach on the team, was trying to hold things together in his brother’s absence, and didn’t know anything about the election because he wasn’t usually deeply involved. Ryan told the guy some lies about what was happening, gave him the right email address, and said, “Please send a message here saying you support me to stay in this position.” And the guy did, because he was busy getting ready to take his brother’s team to provincials while not knowing if said brother would pull through (he did survive, by the way), and did not have time to look into the situation further. That gave Ryan one extra vote that we’d counted on as an abstention, which meant we’d tied in the overall vote count. And regulations said that in the event of a tie, the incumbent stays in. It’s UFC rules – to be the champ you have to beat the champ.

I gave up on it after that. In the couple of years that followed, I was asked a few times why I’d stopped trying to get Ryan out of that spot, and I’d replied, “He beat me. He’s better at politics than I am. He’s unbeatable and I can’t even try to keep up.” I just can’t. About a month after that second election, I resigned from my own position on the board as well. I resigned due to a bunch of other issues, to realizing that I wasn’t making a difference there, and my presence was just being used as a shield to say, “See, we’re making positive changes, we have this woman.”

I remember that being such an emotional time. I’d fought so hard on so many fronts, far beyond what I’ve written about in this post. I’d wanted to win so badly. I’d really felt like I could make a difference, and things would get better. I cared so deeply about all the athletes who were affected by this, about all the people who’ve been hurt by this in the past and all the people who could have something better in the future.

COVID hit a year or so after that, and things shut down. I was very emotional at the beginning, devastated to lose this thing I loved. But over time, I started to shut down too. My Facebook feed filled up with racist conspiracy theories. The news showed me new depths that people could reach of not giving a shit about fellow humans. One of my friends died. I disconnected from my friend group, as they were pulled in another direction than I was. I watched a lot of British comedy.

Today, I resigned from another board. This is a much smaller one, the board of directors that deals with the administration of my own team. I’d been planning it for a while. I first thought of it in months ago, when it became clear that my values and vision don’t align anymore with what used to be my home. This team trained and competed without me for the whole 2021-2022 season, while I stayed home because I thought it wasn’t right to do this with the COVID risks. The people running it were my closest friends, and I intentionally disconnected from them to avoid building up more resentment than I already had, about how strongly I disagreed with the choices they were making.

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized just how much being involved at the board level is making me feel more negatively about it all. I’m trying to get the love of the game and the team and the community back, trying to get back the enjoyment of doing this with friends rather than it all being formal and stressful. I’m trying to make it feel like home again, and I need to step away from the parts that depress me. So I’ve resigned from a board, again.

A few days ago, all the coaches in my region got an email from the provincial board’s vice-president to say that Ryan has stepped down from his board spot, and I felt nothing. Everything I used to want so badly fell in my lap out of nowhere, and I felt absolutely nothing. I tried to make myself feel something. I tried to make myself remember how important that used to seem, before the world ended. I couldn’t. I still feel nothing. We need to elect someone to take his place, and if I offered to take the spot right now, I bet no one would run against me. But I am absolutely not going to do that.

Maybe someday, I’ll be back to caring, and that tournament with regional teams will come around, and I’ll realize we can send athletes without subjecting them to that monster, and then I’ll feel something. I’ll feel happy about this thing I learned about this week. But right now, in the light of everything else going on, I can’t get myself to feel like it matters. It used to matter so fucking much, I wrote this whole post to remember how much it used to matter. But now I just think there are so many more people like him, and the world is still on fire. Who cares?

Not to sound like a protagonist in a terrible cliched film noir or anything, but it turns out that switching off the parts of you that care about things can be easier than switching them back on.

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

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I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

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Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #if Alice was a real person her picture would be on Hermann's dartboard #it probably is anyway #Anonymous

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writing-refs-junkpile · 3 years ago

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Writer tips: custom shorthand for the win

Normally, I share grammar tips and writing resources on this blog - it is, after all, my Writing Refs Junkpile - but today, I’m stepping outside my literary box. Today, I’m sharing some of my custom shorthand and some advice for creating your own.

Put simply, I developed these symbols (and many others) to make writing notes and scheduling writing sessions faster, easier on my arthritic hands, and a little less obvious to anyone who might find my notes and snoop.

Behold, my scribbles:

Yep, it’s messy. I scanned these from sketch paper. The mess doesn’t matter. If you’ve given that a good look over, you’ll notice that these symbols have a few things in common.

All but two base symbols are written with two strokes or fewer; that’s two times you have to lift your pen from your paper as opposed to however many it takes to form the letters.

Each of these symbols is visually similar to certain mainstream letters, characters, symbols, or objects; this makes it easier to mentally associate symbol with meaning, which makes it easier to scribble them out as easily as writing.

These symbols can be written with several different writing instruments, whether you use a brush-tip, felt-tip, ballpoint, or rollerball pen, or a pencil. (Felt-tip pens, however, seem to win the race when it comes to ease and speed vs legibility.)

Without further ado, I’ll explain each of the various symbols you just saw.

Analyze Stats. Sometimes when I’ve got writer’s block, it can help to do a word, page, and character count and dates of a chapter. If I’m struggling with an unfinished chapter, checking what I have so far can be encouraging. If I’m still staring at a blank page with nothing more than a title, checking the previous chapter can be a nice kick in the pants. As for dates, those are mostly a way of mentally shaming myself into writing.

And etc. This single-stroke symbol is less complicated than it looks – a cursive + trailing into an e. It’s a quick, convenient way of saying “and whatever [said topic or plan] entails/includes” without writing it all out, and an easy way to leave wiggle-room in my plot notes.

Build notes. Single-stroke, based on musical notes and arrows. This tells me I haven’t yet translated the plot events into notes for the next (or current) chapter, and I need to do so before I can sit down and write them out.

Edit From (____ paragraphs/pages) back. This one looks like a doozy, but the first symbol is the only one that really matters. It’s a two-stroke - one, if you bring the bottom up to cross - and it’s based around an attached cursive ef; following are a symbol for and, (optional. I tend to skip it.) a number, and symbols for paragraphs or pages. Put simply, this says go back (chosen number of paragraphs/pages) and edit to end of written portion. Editing forward can be a great way of getting into the zone when you’ve stopped in the middle of a chapter or scene.

Etc, Etc, Etc. Four-stroke, built around three connected cursive e’s with periods underneath to remind me it’s short for etc. Basically, this symbol is a way of sassing myself from my notes, a reminder to not sweat the small details until I’m in front of the computer, and sometimes, it’s a way of connecting two pieces of a scene or dialogue together without writing out all the little nitpicky stuff between.

Find grammar. Two-stroke, built with the top of a ? and a g for the bottom half. Put simply, this means find proper grammar, spelling, punctuation, or terminology for the noted sentence or phrase. Had a brainfart while writing notes? Scribble this guy with what you think is correct, then you have a reminder to look it up and (if necessary) correct it later.

Flourish / Polish. Two single-stroke symbols, one loosely based on a stylized cursive f, and the other a cursive p which trails into a tail like a piece of scrollwork; both are needlessly fancy to further hint at their meaning. The first – flourish – means the noted section is as bland as oatmeal and reads like a vacuum cleaner manual; jazz it up with details, action, and color. The second – polish – means the noted chapter is complete; read through to see if it needs anything before editing. And speaking of editing…

Check spelling, grammar, punctuation, and edit. This single-stroke stands for a lot of words, but the appearance is simple: a checkmark that trails into an s.

Go from notes. Single-stroke, based around a g which trails into an arrow; since scanning this page, I realized that I wrote these up slightly wrong, so I have provided a badly-drawn correction to the left. (MS Paint. Gotta love it.) This symbol tells me I’ve already written up an outline for the next scene or chapter, I need to start writing from that outline, and I need to stop whining about it. As for when I don’t have notes…

Maybe start with ____________. Four-stroke, and one of the simplest: an ellipsis followed by a simple arrow pointing to the right. This is for when I don’t have an outline to work from, when I don’t have a solid (or even halfway solid) plan for the next writing session, and planning research sessions. What follows this symbol is an idea of what to try starting with...for instance, the first symbol. Analyzing my previous chapter stats is a good way to bully myself into getting the rough draft started.

Paragraphs/Pages. I’ll admit, I don’t use the first one very often. The first -paragraphs - is two-stroke, built like a combination of the mainstream symbol ¶ and a capital P; pages is a single-stroke combination of capital P and lowercase s. Lastly…

Research. Single-stroke, and a combination of an arrow (like a cursor) with a wrapping tail like an @. This means I need to do some manner of research for the next bit of writing, and is often followed by the topic I need to research.

To sum all that up:

Booyah. So much said, and so little written!

This custom shorthand has helped with my note-taking already, and I’m still designing new symbols to cut even more words down to quick wrist-wiggles. Now, you have everything you need to create your own, for whatever purposes you may have. Just remember the basics - be stingy with your strokes, choose lines, curves, and angles you find easy and comfortable to write, and use visual similarity to remind yourself of each symbol’s meaning when you see it.

Good luck, and remember to share the love with your writer and student friends!

#writing advice #studying #writing #shorthand #writers on tumblr #this stuff works

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angelicalchaoticabyss · 3 years ago

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Heaven, Hell, and Fallen angel cats.

(Sexes)

Males: Angels, these sweet boys reside in Heaven and are typically light, white, or pastel colors. Their wing size range from small and light to big and fluffy. They're normally very friendly and it's rare for them to be aggressive. It's also rare, but still possible for a Heaven cat to be dark colors, or a mixture of dark and light colors.

Females: Devils, these lovely ladies reside Hell and are typically dark, murky, or monochrome colors. Wing size range from small and thin, to large and thick. They're normally aggressive, rude, sassy, and unkind and it's very rare for them to act in any positive way but not unheard of. A hell cat can very much feel love or form bonds but their way of showing it is not in the typical way (I.E normally show it subtly or Tsundere like.) It's also very rare but very possible for a Hell cat to have light, pastel, and monochrome colors.

Non-binary and other: Fallen Angels, these beings of other gender identity (or multiple pronouns such as They/them and She/her) can live anywhere really. Hell, Heaven, Earth, they typically do not care as long as they find the environment comfortable enough. They're a mixture of both, having feathered demon wings and no restriction on color shade. They have both halos and horns as well. Fallen angel cats body can actually change and shift based on gender identity (Example: Non-binary would have no sex organs and reproduce through recycling genetic material)

_______________________

Breeding/The Mating Frenzy: Heaven, Hell, and Fallen angel cats reach sexual maturity at 100 years of age and their breeding season starts in June and ends at the beginning of August. The kits are born in October and depending on the gender, they will grow up in either Heaven or Hell. If they come out as the Fallen angel the parents will actually stay on Earth together to raise them. After kits are born, the partners will normally leave each other, but even though it's rare it's still possible for the partners to stay together some just get along that well if none of the kits are Fallen angels. The females are the stronger and bigger of the species and they attract males with their fluffy tails that get exceptionally fluffier during breeding. Here's where the mating frenzy comes in, during the season Hell cats and sometimes the Fallen angel cats are VERY irritable from sexual frustration and need to reproduce (asexuals are exempt from this), If a male comes and they don't think he matches the cat's standards they will attack until either the Heaven cat leaves...or dies.

_______________________

Sexual dimorphism:

Hell cats: Females of the species have arm and leg fur that resemble formal gloves and thigh high stockings, they also belly fur that wraps around the back that resemble a corset. Their tales are typically large and fluffy but can be thin or sleek. They have large venomous fangs and can even spit this venom at others. Hell cats can choose to not inject venom if they just want to give a warning bite. They typically stand to 6'6 ft tall but the tallest recorded stood at 7'6 ft tall.

Heaven cats: Males have arm and leg fur that resemble simple men's gloves and boots, they have belly fur that wrap around to give the appearance of a formal vest. Their tales are often thin and sleek but some have longer fur. They have a heal kiss that can repair small or minor injuries and some rumor that their tears can revive the newly deceased. Typically males stand at 5'1 ft tall and the tallest recorded stood at 5'5 ft tall.

Fallen angel cats: They're appearance actually remains rather androgynous, they have arm fur that resembles fingerless gloves and the leg fur would be different depending on the pronouns used, leg fur for non-binary would actually be different based in the cats personal style preference. Their height ranges from 5'1 ft to 6'6 ft, though the current tallest stands at 7'1 ft tall.

__________________________

Extra info: Heaven, Hell, and Fallen angel cats don't really interact with other species, especially humans though that's not always the case. Hell cats typically act aggressively if they sense danger or any other species near them. Heaven cats will either fly away or turn invisible until either the possible threat leaves or he senses no ill intentions. Fallen angel cats react really just based on the individual's personality. Heaven cat's powers include, invisibility, healing, singing that can make anything fall asleep, and teleportation. Hell cat's powers include, invisibility, teleportation, mind control, possession, super strength, and super speed. Fallen angel cats can mix of both while a shared power is shapeshifting/perception manipulation for all three.

__________________________

Monarchy: Heaven and Hell cats have a rather simple leadership system and very similar to humankind. Heaven cats are ruled by a King and or Prince, said leader is born into the position. Due to the fact that Hell cats do not live in Heaven, there has never been a reported Queen or Princess in Heaven. Hell cats are ruled by a Queen and or Princess, once again said leader is born into the position. There has never been a reported King or Prince in Hell. However, if the King of Heaven cats or Queen of Hell cats do not have an heir to their throne by the end of their lifetime (Which is rather rare), then a new heir will be born into a lower or middle Heaven or Hell cat family. The child is easily recognizable and their position is known since the moment they are born, though the parents will show some shock due to them not knowing they would bare the new heir to the throne. Fallen angel cats really have no leader and only follow the current ruler if they're in Heaven or Hell.

Heaven cat heirs: When or if a Heaven cat has to be born outside the royal family, then they tend to look very different from their normal Heaven cat counterparts. When the heirs are born in a normal family then they will always be a combination of purple, yellow, and blue (including shades of said colors). They will also have two halos instead of one. Said halos will float around their ears. Next, the heir with have four wings instead of two, these wings are very large and tend to droop on the ground are golden with a colored tip. In VERY rare cases, the heir will have six wings and a third halo floating around their tail.

Hell cat heirs: When or if a Hell cat has to be born outside the royal family, they will look different from their fellow Hell cat counterparts. When the heirs are born into a normal family, they will always be a combination of warm sunset colors, mainly orange, red, and blue, However, raspberry, yellow, and yellow-green are also possible, along with the occasional purple. The young princess will also have large fluffy bat-like ears and a very large fluffy tail. Gradients are very common with these heirs. Their wings are are rather boney and they also have boney plating here and there around their body like a type of armor. In very rare cases, the heir will have a second set of horns on the sides of their head.

Birthright age: The heirs of course do not get the throne until they reach a certain age, but the age is still rather young because of their species. Heaven cat heirs can assume the throne when they are 90 years old. Hell cat heirs assume the throne when they are 85 years. A council of five rules until the heirs have reached the proper age.

_________________________

Health and life expectancy: Heaven Hell, and Fallen angel cats are near immortal beings and can live for a very long time. However this can change due to how healthy they are, this range is different for the males and females.

Males low health/below average: 9000-10,000 years

Males normal health/average: 100,000-200,000 years

Males very healthy/above average: 500,000-900,000 years

Females low health/below average: 9000-10,000 years

Females normal health/average: 700,000-820,000 years

Females very healthy/above average: 1,000,000-1,800,000 years

Fallen: Age averages for Fallen angel cats are generally in between both Heaven and Hell cats, though sometimes they can live a bit longer than an above average Hell cat.

Heaven, Hell, and Fallen angel cats rarely reach a point of low health due to their abilities and special endurance, they also have a powerful immune system. Hell cats also eat a healthy diet of souls, magma, and meat. But, they can eat other things liked baked goods from time to time. Heaven cats eat a healthy diet of veggies, fruits, and positive feelings, they don't like meat but adore baked goods. Fallen angel cats eat just about anything they want with no strict diet restriction but healthier food is still recommended or constant unhealthy food.

___________________________

Classes: The Heaven and Hell cat species have a variety of classes, some roles only going to certain classes. These will be listed now. (Fallen angel cats typically have no classes, they're either on Earth with no strict society or just found their place in the classes of Heaven or Hell)

Heaven commoner: Any class

Heaven merchant: Middle or high class

Heaven orphan: Low or middle class

Heaven outlaw: Low class

Heaven mage: High class

Heaven shop keepers(varies): Middle or high class

Heaven council: High class

Heaven royalty: Ultimate authority

Hell commoner: Any class

Hell merchant: Middle class

Hell orphan: Low or middle class

Hell outlaw: High class

Hell mage: High class

Hell shop keepers(Varies): Low or middle class

Hell council: High class

Hell royalty: Ultimate authority

___________________________

Religious stand points: Depends on the individual and views on religion.

___________________________

Conclusion: This use to be a closed species of mine but now this is a species and lore ref for me to use. Though if anyone wants me to make them a Heaven, Hell, or Fallen angel cat let me know and I'll think about it. ----- Random oc facts: Ireland: My sona and the mascot for Hell cats. Lory’s most trusted. Rogue: Bad bitch, Ireland’s friend. Takashi: Better than my real brother. Queen Lory: Wings and bones are made of gold, dominatrix that’ll step on you and make you like it but secretly has low self-esteem. King Arkus: Golden feathers and markings, scared of Lory.

#hell cat #heaven cat #fallen angel cat #oc #fc #feline #anthro #demon #angel #fallen angel #open species #I guess?#idk anymore #I just love my kitties #no human medicine cat heal a Hell cat's venom #only the kiss of a heaven cat or healing venom of a fallen angel cat can heal it

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broadstflyers · 4 years ago

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The Philadelphia Flyers: A Saga, Section III: Forwards

Link to Table of Contents

Let the fun begin.

Travis Konecny, #11

Nickname(s): TK, teeks, was known last season as tiki bar curtesy of Kevin Hayes, also known as a raccoon or rat in the fanbase

Position: Right Winger

Draft class: 2015, 24th overall

I feel like this is a proper introduction to the absolute shit show (that we endearingly love and adore) that I’m going to dive deep into here. He makes up a lot of our fans’ inside jokes, so I’ll be sure to introduce them as we go.

source

This is one of them.

source

This was at the 2019 Stadium Series. TK had a ball that day with chirping the whole Penguins roster, and now whenever I see someone wearing earmuffs, I have the urge to yell this at them with no remorse.

There were also the famous comments of, “Karma’s a f*cking b*tch ay?” and “I was born at night, not last night. Come on, let’s go.” These are two other inside jokes that you may see around.

Watch him say these phrases here.

Sometimes TK gets lost on the ice.

Or falls sideways into the boards

Or leaps gracefully across the ice.

source for all three

Or turns into a mop.

source

You can’t tell me there’s a thought in this man’s head.

Someone tell this man the plural of moose is....moose.

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This rat is a fan-favorite because he isn’t afraid to mouth off to people who lay dirty hits on him or his teammates. He was born to be Flyer, honestly. Apparently, he hasn’t stopped chirping and yapping since he was a kid. I think it’s because he’s (supposedly) 5′10. Short king energy, I say as I’m barely 5′1. So to sum it up, if you see someone in a scrum or causing issues, it’s most likely TK’s fault. Or if you see an orange blur fall down in the corner of your screen, that’s also TK.

To get to know Travis more, watch mic’d up video #1, video #2, and video #3 (this one is an offseason video). You can also watch this clip of TK and the other Travis in the playoff bubble, where they share the same brain cell over a bookshelf.

Kevin Hayes, #13, Rotating Road Alternate Captain***

Nickname(s): Hayesy

Position: Center

Draft class: 2010, 24th overall

How should I even start to introduce the guy with possibly the best personality on the team?

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Well, he would tell the Bachelorette that his best friend is Gritty. So there’s that. He’s kind of the designated hype guy. He’s in charge of giving out nicknames to his teammates. He gave Carter Hart “Cahtah Haht,” and Carter didn’t like it at first, but it caught on and he had like no choice but to accept his fate.

But the #1 fact you need to know about Kevin Hayes, he used to ref. Well, not exactly, but he claims he did.

Honestly, to get to know him and his personality, you have to watch mic’d up videos. They just describe him better than I ever could.

This is a short and sweet video on some of the names Hayesy uses on the ice and some backstories. You also hear “I used to ref” in there, too. Mic’d up video #1 includes him screaming about being a ref more in depth and having a mental breakdown over sucking (me too buddy), and mic’d up video #2 includes him not knowing it’s 80′s night.

Sean Couturier, #14, Permanent Alternate Captain***

Nickname(s): Coots

Position: Center

Draft class: 2011, 8th overall

Coots is a Philadelphia legend. That’s my Selke* winner! Literally a difference maker in every single game he plays. He went down with an injury at the beginning of the season. We are so glad to have him back now. His defensive ability is just stellar, and we are so lucky to have him as one of our top guys. We can count on him to score.

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If you’re interested in Coots’ journey to the NHL, watch this video.

*The Selke Trophy is given out to a forward who demonstrates the best defensive skills. In other words, they’re a good two way forward (source).

Scott Laughton, #21

Nickname(s): Laughtsy

Position: Center

Draft class: 2012, 20th overall

Laughtsy is for sure the other chirper and instigator, so he will be one of the people in the scrums or even encouraging them to happen.

Here’s Laughtsy and TK chirping a not so great NYR player (ew) because he was harassing Hayesy (they used to play together on NYR). Scotty Laughton sticks up for his teammates without fail, even when he was hurt (broken finger). During warmies he just sails around and has fun. Good vibes.

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He also has a cat. This is very important.

To get a better sense of Laughty’s personality, watch these mic’d ups here, here, and here. You can hear him encourage his teammates and call out the other team on their bs. He’s also extremely vocal on the bench, but it’s honestly the best.

Oskar Lindblom, #23

Nickname(s): Lindy, Piano Man (within the team usually)

Position: Left Winger

Draft class: 2014, 138th overall

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I don’t even know where to start with Lindy. He’s just...amazing. Words cannot express how strong and resilient he is. A lot of people thought his cancer diagnosis was career ending. And then Oskar really said, “lol you thought” and came back a whole season early. He’s a literal human superhero. He has been through hell and back to come back to the game he loves. You can tell he doesn’t take a second out there for granted because of the long journey he had to take to come back. Every single time he scores I almost cry, because I remember those days where I wasn’t sure if he was going to come back to hockey. And then to hear that he scored the game winning goal on 3/18? Just incredible.

He’s literal sunshine and such a sweet guy. His smile is so bright. He’s such a great asset on the ice. I will always talk about his grit. When he plays on the boards and wins those puck battles, he creates great scoring chances.

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Just look at his smile.

Here’s stick taps for Oskar during the Isles playoff series, and here’s a video on his journey back. It shows the positive steps he took to get back on the ice. It’s pretty emotional. Him and his sweet girlfriend deserve the world for what they’ve been through.

James Van Riemsdyk, #25

Nickname(s): JVR

Position: Left Winger

Draft class: 2007, 2nd overall

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He’s a Power Play king. When they say he’s in his office, they mean he’s getting into the crease in position for a deflection. So far, he has seven PP goals, and the top player this season so far has eleven, and he’s tied for eighth in the league. He’s been coming in clutch for us this season in terms of Power Play production. He’s also currently sitting at 13 goals and 18 assists, so he’s more than just a special teams guy.

Claude Giroux, #28, Captain

Nickname(s): G, O Captain, my Captain!

Position: Center

Draft class: 2006, 22nd overall

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Our captain Claude! Literally the most underrated NHL player because he hasn’t won a Stanley Cup yet (hehe). Honestly, that’s not his fault. He had to survive a 5-6 year rebuild. He tries so hard to pull wins for us and for his team. He did that on 3/18 against the Islanders, he scored and led that line to being the best producing line that night. He does what he’s supposed to do, but he is slandered a lot. If he had a cup, he would be talked about more often or more respected. I will die on this hill.

I’d like to think that he’s the father of all the younger guys and he has to keep them in line and stick up for them.

Here’s a compilation of G mic’d up over the years. It’s a good way to discover his personality (at the very end, he chirps JVR because JVR was drafted with the Flyers, played for three years there, and then was traded to Toronto only to come back some odd years later).

Nicolas Aube-Kubel, #62

Nickname(s): NAK, Kubes, Ku

Position: Right Winger

Draft class: 2014, 48th overall

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We can count on him for physicality anytime of the day. Great physical fourth-liner with grit. He had a Gordie Howe hat-trick** in arguably one of the funnest games in recent Flyers seasons.

**assist, goal, and fight in one game

Connor Bunnaman, #82, common call-up

Nickname(s): Bunny

Position: Center

Draft class: 2016, 109th overall

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Bunny is usually a go-to call up from the Valley whenever a guy gets hurt. He usually ends up on the third or forth lines. So you won’t really see him unless someone sustains an injury or AV chooses to sit someone while reworking the lines. He also lost his three top teeth and some of his bottom while he was playing for the OHL.

Read more about Bunny losing his teeth here.

Joel Farabee, #86

Nickname(s): Yung Beezer, Beezer, Bee, toothless (fan given)

Position: Left Winger

Draft class: 2018, 14th overall

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Pretty much everyone loves Beezer. He steps up when we need offense, and to think he’s only 21 years old in the midst of his sophomore breakout season. So far this season, he has 12 goals and 12 assists. Last year he had just 8 goals all season.

His specialty is looking confused all the time. He also wears glasses, which everyone loves. We will not be taking criticism at this time.

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He also begged a Bruins player to let us score at Lake Tahoe. I mean, it’s worth a shot, right? They might say yes.

Is this a good time to mention that when I met him, he signed my jersey upside-down lmaooo

He is also our best speller. This gif set never fails to crack me up. Watch his Lake Tahoe mic’d up here. Patty doesn’t know how Beezer scored there, either.

Honorary mention: Morgan Frost, #48 (Injury Reserve)

Nickname(s): Frosty, “There’s a frost warning,” puns on his last name, basically

Position: Right Winger

Draft class: 2007, 7th overall

Unfortunately, Frosty is on IR because of a shoulder injury. He is a common call up, and he’s also trying to find a permanent roster spot. He will be ready for next season.

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You can watch his NHL debt here and “Behind the Glass” with both Frosty and Beezer.

***There are a maximum of three alternate captains allowed on the ice at one time, so that’s why they rotate. The purpose of alternate captains is to handle talking to the refs about penalties or any rule discrepancies if the captain is not on the ice or unable to do so.

Read more about the role of a captain here.

#travis konecny #nolan patrick #joel farabee #claude giroux #sean couturier #morgan frost #oskar lindblom

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kunoichi-ume · 3 years ago

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Planning Ahead

This picture @dingoat did for me gave me allllll the feels for these two and I had to finish this little drabble I had started for them. They might be headling wrestlers and a badass tag team but these girls have a lot going on outside the ring too, this is just a glimpse at how their next big adventure got started.

Story: Blitz Crew

Characters: Emah Keqara and Zinea

Word Count: 1270

Emah leaned over the edge of the bed to reach her game piece and moved it several spaces. “Your turn Zinny.”

Sighing, Zinea turned her gaze from the window to her friend, “you don’t have to hang out here at the hospital with me you know.”

“Got nowhere else to be,” Emah said with a shrug, “plus if I wasn't here you’d be alone sulking and that I cannot abide.”

“I am not sulking.” Emah pinned her with a stare that said she obviously felt otherwise and Zinea groaned. “Fine, maybe I am a little, but you're not the one lying in a bed waiting for the docs to surgically repair your ankle.” She gestured to her legs, the left ankle wrapped in a kolto soaked gauze and still at least a size larger than it should be. All because she fucked up.

Sometimes in the ring high risk maneuvers were the turning point of a match and the crowd always loved them. Zinea had practically made her career out of them, but she’d always known it could go wrong. Little about her attempted moonsault double foot press the night before went right. Killa Kaci had rolled out of the way, which she knew was possible, but the twilek wrestler hadn’t quite gotten out of the way enough. She’d landed awkwardly with part of her boot on the other woman’s shoulder and her ankle had just… snapped. She went down hard and it only took a moment for the ref to realize she needed medics.

But not after Kaci had pinned her.

A finger poked her hard in the cheek. “Stop that.”

Zinea knocked her friend’s hand away and glared at her, “stop what?”

“Beating yourself up, injuries happen. We won’t win every match. That’s the nature of the business.” Emah grinned, “that’s what makes winning so much fun.”

Laughing, Zinea reached over and moved a piece on the gameboard. “It is fun isn’t it? But Em? Do you ever wonder what we’ll do after?”

“After what?”

“After wrestling, I mean it’s not a profession that many last in long term and if our bodies don’t break down first.” Zinea shrugged, “i dont know but being laid up has really driven home how hard i am in my body - it won’t last forever.”

Emah leaned back in her chair, pulling a knee up to her chest in a position she often sat in. “Guess I never really thought it before, we’ve been partners basically our whole career but this is the first real injury either of us has gotten.”

Zinea laughed, “and let me tell you it’s no picnic.”

Suddenly Emah jumped to her feet, hitting the chair she was sitting in and knocking it back against the wall. “We should buy a bar!”

Throwing her arms up, Zinea knocked the game board off the table sending pieces flying throughout the room. “Of course we should buy a bar!”

Emah dropped back into her seat, “we should totally buy a bar.”

“Our bar would be awesome,” Zinea grinned, feeling the excitement going to her head but letting all her racing thoughts out in a stream of quick words and hand gestures “good drinks, good food, somewhere people can enjoy themselves. Oh oh oh! And the name of our bar - puzzles! People would be like, ‘why’s it called puzzles?’ THAT’S THE PUZZLE!”

Emah watched her partner waving chaotically as she all but yelled the end of her idea before almost grimacing. “That is… a GREAT name for a bar!”

“Right?” Zinea relaxed back on her pillows, still smiling at their crazy antics. “I don’t know if it’s the painkillers or not but this does sound like a good idea.”

“I think so,” Emah leaned forward, the over excited look on her face replaced with serious contemplation, “I mean you’re right. We can count on wrestling to keep us secure for the rest of our lives. Few wrestlers last til proper retirement, and it’s not like there is a pension program.”

“But what do we know about running a bar?” Zinea frowned, “I don’t even know how to make cocktails.”

“We’ll figure it out, we can hire a manager to help run it while we are on tour. Someone who will teach us the ropes.” Emah grinned, leaning forward, “and I’ve always wanted to take one of those bartending courses.”

“What in the world is all the commotion in here?” Both women looked up as a mirialan nurse walked into the room, the concern on her tattooed face evident.

Zinea smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, we get a bit loud when we’re excited.”

“Excited for surgery? That’s a new one.” The nurse laughed, checking the computer terminal next to Zinea’s bed.

“The sooner it’s over the sooner I can get back on my feet, so yes I am excited to get this over with.”

“Good to hear. We’re ready to move you to the operation room now.”

Emah stood and leaned over the bed, kissing Zinea on the forehead. “A kiss for luck, I’ll be here when you get out of surgery.”

- Several Hours Later -

A mechanical beeping cut through the fog clouding Zinea’s mind. Vaguely she knew the sound was a heart monitor and it was a good sign she was alive, but it was annoying as hell. Beep, beep, beep, over and over, never ending. Why hasn't someone invented a silent heart monitor yet?

“Now that sounds like a billion credit idea almost every hospital patient has already had.”

It took Zinea’s cloudy mind a long moment to recognise Emah’s voice and a moment longer to realize she must have voiced her annoyance out loud. Groaning, she forced her eyes open enough to see her friend smiling down at her.

“Good morning, beautiful. How are you feeling hun?”

Zinea took a moment to assess her body, focusing on the dull ache in her ankle. Surely she had the medication being pumped into her through the IV hanging next to her bed to thank for that. Once it was cut off she was going to be in a world of hurt. Realizing Emah was still waiting for an answer she looked back up and gave her friend what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I’m good but I had the weirdest dream.”

“Oh?” Emah grinned, flashing her sharp teeth in the dim room. “Do tell.”

“It was so silly,” Zinea shook her head and laughed. “We opened a bar! Can you imagine that? Us? Running a bar?” It was a mad idea, they had no business sense and were traveling more than not. How would they have time to run any kind of bar?

Emah cocked her head to the side, “Zinny you really don’t remember talking about that before your surgery?”

“Wait,” Zinea said, looking at the other woman in surprise. “Did we really?”

Shaking her head in amusement, she pulled out her data pad, “look I’ve been looking into stuff since you went under, I even found some business and bartending classes we could take off the holonet.”

Zinea accepted the datapad and looked over the list, “I guess I do have a lot of free time coming my way. Are we really doing this?”

“I think we are.”

As they spoke fuzzy memories of their conversion started to surface, the most clear memories being about how they couldn’t wrestle forever. The ache in her ankle was a stark reminder of the fact her time as a competitor was ticking. Decided, she set the pad down on her lap and held her hand out for Emah to grasp.

“I’m in. Let’s buy a bar.”

#swtor #I promise it is in that universe #but I decided #Space Wrestling #Needed to be a thing #OC: Emah Keqara #OC: Zinea #Blitz Crew #GWA #Galactic Wrestling Association

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tinkonka · 4 years ago

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i drew my wh oc!!

i’ve decided on the name ivory since the previous one was a trigger name for a friend of mine, gonna talk about her under the cut :D long post !

her name is ivory, and as it says, she’s a purebred! she’s around 2000 years old but still going strong. very kind personality - picture zizel and lime combined except she’s a little more awkward - and talkative. she displays more of a kind side around humans, and is always willing to discuss things such as negative ad positive emotions, how they impact others and things like that. and no she doesn’t need glasses but she likes them

she’s a bit of a teaser sort! centuries of interacting with humans has led her to be very adapt with reading faces + recognizing insecurities in other people... so yea she do got the ability to hit it where it hurts. but she only really uses this ability for lighthearted teasing, with rouge being a primary target

(i drew zizel without a ref lol) as you can see she is very tall. 6′6. and she uses this to her advantage as well - she’ll pick up zizel and put her hand on rouges head (which rouge does not like). if you’re curious here’s a height reference:

So yeah zizel only reaches her chest. tiny.

another thing to add is that she has these spicy tentacles as you can see in this drawing:

and these can be hidden at will, though she prefers to keep them out as it’s a pain to keep them secret (similarly to how demons can show a proper form in the day but it’s a nusiance). these tentacles are as a result of working as a guarding monster for a couple hundred years, defending an artifact that the demons enjoy using. as such, she’s out of practice with her human form, and if she’s careless, she’ll begin to transform, and trying to keep the monster at bay can! really hurt! because there’s always the inner desire to have said monster get free (like how demons are naturally breeded to love negativity) and trying to fight the desire isn’t something she has practice with.

and so, she’ll have these ‘outbursts’ where she’ll leak and black wounds will appear - much like noel when he’s trying to fight his transformation as well.

i haven’t written much for this character yet, but i’m planning on inserting a hater demon into ivory’s story - i think i may have talked about her before? cerise, a 13 year old hater demon who had no happiness similar to lime. since she was still young, ivory had decided to take her under her wing - not out of compassion at the time, but because she didn’t wish for cerise to fall for other demons tricks and how to obey the rules. though advancing the relationship, cerise had admitted to ivory that she makes her feel happy. “i never had any happy memories... but you give me some, even though this place is far from good.” this REALLY threw ivory off. demons causing other demons positive emotions??? what??? this was not her intent. alas, she had grown attached to the younger hater, only for the hater to.... fall for another demons tricks. she was framed for the modification of a sacred artifact, and ivory had no choice but to banish her to the other hell. ivory still wonders how she is. she doesn’t want to bring her out temporarily, however, because she knows things aren’t good. and in truth, a part of her is scared that cerise would’ve been desensitized and hardened by the deeper hell, and so she decided to try not to think about her. (though she still wanted to honour cerise, so she wears the flower crown that she made for her. (the heart locket was from susie)) im not quite sure how she and susie had gotten to form the pact but if i ever do figure that part out i’ll let you guys know about it :)

miscellaneous headcanons:

she and zizel are quite close, as they worked together for a short time before ivory had to go to another station. they’re penpals tho zizel will sit in ivorys lap and drink tea and ivory will carry zizel on her shoulders it’s always a fun time

she despises the higher class demons with a PASSION because they’re known for not giving two shits about stuff and she’ll ramble about it angrily

rouge is below her in terms of hierarchy but she doesn’t really mind being berated by the red-head. if anything, it’s funny to her

she firmly believes that showing kindness shouldn’t be strange for demons. she wishes that more demons would help eachother - mainly haters - because she thinks that they can help eachother with their pain. though she doesnt have much room to talk on the matter since she’s a purebred herself

her tentacles (she has about 4) are pointy at the ends, and they’re warm and. sludgey to the touch (like mud). they move involuntarily and tend to just grab things she subconsciously likes (zizel is a victim of this) and whack people when she’s standing next to them. she’s getting better at controlling this though

thinks lime is a tad strange but absolutely adores the cute aesthetic thing she has going on. she values charlottes opinions as well, and likes to talk with her about just anything.

she thinks claire is a bit stupid sometimes but one day she and claire spent like hours talking about feminine things like cute dresses and flower crowns and ivory wished she clda given claire a chance to try on some of the dresses she had kept from her time in the mansion.

absolutely terrified of sirius thinks he’s a tiny gremlin. one time tried to give him a hug bc he was kind and he stomped on her foot not a good time

she’s eh about wilardo. doesnt think that he’s as interesting as the others, but will respect him. he’s okay

she’s not used to like socializing so she talks too much and doesnt know how to continue a conversation and always ends up embarrassing herself

if i can think of anymore then i’ll let you guys know! feel free 2 draw her (i still need to colour her in whoops), give her theme songs... im down for anything :D

if you’ve read this far tysm hi i lov u !! thank you for reading my rambles :D

#witch's heart #tw swearing #long post

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