#Opal would throw a fit to be honest.

[melonthesprigatito]

I need to clear something up. This IS a PINK Shiny, right?

Because something happened to me a few months ago before Scarlet and Violet released and it still baffles me.

Shortly after the Pokédex and subsequently all Paldea Shiny Pokémon were leaked, I mentioned how happy I was that Pawmot's Shiny was pink.

Cue a bunch of people downvoting me and insisting that I was wrong. Shiny Pawmot wasn't pink, it was clearly (and I quote) "Iron Man red".

And I thought that can't be right. On first glance it reminded me of Hoppip or Snubbull or Luvdisc, that shade of pink. Then I realised it was practically an identical shade of pink to Shiny Virizion:

So I linked an image I made of Pawmot pasted over Virizion and, to be honest, it looked camouflaged. But that got downvoted too so I don't know what was going on?

Why were people so vehemently against Pawnot being pink that they tried to convince themselves that it wasn't and argued with people who provided evidence that it is pink?

[calpops]

engagement party | c.h.

Your engagement party with Calum goes off without a hitch and questions about the wedding get answered with grins and full hearts.

1.3k words

dates with cal masterlist

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

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Thousands of blooming flowers surround you, stems and petals and fairy lights creating a demure glow to the night. People linger all about and Calum stays at your side. The ring on your finger glimmers under a full bright moon as friends and family come up to congratulate you both and take a peek at the opal and flecks of diamond. You wear a smile that doesn’t go away and Calum matches you, eyes crinkling and hands squeezing yours. He’s dressed up but not as much he will be for the wedding, images of him in a proper tux invading your thoughts. His parents and Mali even made it to the party, Calum flying them out without a second thought after the night he consoled you and promised you he and his family were your family now.

Michael and Luke come up at the same time with their partners on their arms and genuine happiness for the both of you on their faces. Small talk ensues about the wedding before Calum clears his throat and gives them both a knowing look.

“You’ll both be in my groom’s court?” Calum asks though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have to. They’re his brothers and would never say no.

“Obviously,” Luke says and claps Calum on the back. The unasked question of one of them being the best man doesn’t phase either of them. You’re pretty sure everyone knows who that will be; there’s no envy or hard feelings about it. You’re also pretty sure they’ll all circle around to each being a best man for each other at some point.

“Couldn’t stop me even if you tried,” Michael joked, the entire group laughing but knowing the joke was quite honest. “I really didn’t know this day would ever come,” Michael continued, a teasing air to his tone. “Until the day he came back from your first date. Then I figured it would happen eventually.”

You go warm through a night breeze at Michael’s admission and look to Calum who only smiles at the told truth. The bench you sat on for your first date is just ahead of you, memories of sweaty hands and blushing cheeks, gentle small talk, a walk home and an even more gentle kiss on the cheek flood you. Calum quietly recounts that day to the group who coo at the memory. The botanical garden is the perfect place to celebrate the engagement. It had been in Calum’s plans since he decided to buy you a ring and ask you to marry him. Ashton comes through the small crowd suddenly, a glass of sparkling cider in his hands and amusement in his eyes.

“I told Calum to propose to you here,” Ashton says with a shrug. “Not that it would’ve happened that way anyway,” he says with a knowing eye. You go flush at the comment but Calum pulls you closer, fits you under his arm and shakes his head. The night of the proposal had been a bit of a disaster but a yes and the next day had made up for it tenfold.

“I wanted to save it for this… and the wedding…” Calum trails off and looks at you. “If you’d like that?”

You’re nodding before words of confirmation can form. He’s smiling. The group rings in with their approval and comments of how beautiful that will be. “I would. Can we? Is it possible?” You inquire. The engagement party being here during closing hours is one thing, but a wedding during business hours is another.

“I’ve already looked into it,” Calum confirms with a nod and dips down to kiss your cheek. “But we can look for other venues too, just to be sure.”

You shake your head. You’ve already got images of the wedding here in your mind. The crowd of close friends and family mingling with flowers and lights helps to bring the picture alive. A wedding arch where the bench you first sat would be divine with blossoming marigolds behind you, possibly even intertwined into the lattice work of the arch you can conjure up in your imagination. You don’t want to be married anywhere else.

“No, this is perfect,” you say, mind made up without needing to venture anywhere else.

The group starts to disperse so other people can congratulate you but Calum holds Ashton back.

“I gotta ask you something,” he says and makes Ashton pause and turn back around to face you both. You already know the question that will pass Calum’s lips. “Would you be the best man?”

Ashton’s grin is splitting, dazzling against the background of highlighted flowers. He nods through his words. “Of course. I’m so happy for you two,” he says and pulls you both into a hug with his drink splashing around the rim at the motion. Ashton and Calum both choke back what could be tears.

“Thanks mate, for everything,” Calum says as you realize how much Ashton has done for Calum and for your relationship with him. He was the one to fly to London with him to help pick out the ring with Mali, the one to help plan the proposal that accidentally happened twice. You have no doubt he will be the best best man.

“Anytime,” Ashton promises and steps away so Calum’s parents and Mali can take his place.

You have your own question to ask Calum’s sister. As soon as she’s in hearing distance you’re blurting it out—a lot less practiced than Calum’s question for Ashton—and she’s nodding as she wraps her arms around you, forcing Calum’s hold from you in favor of hers.

“I was wondering if you’d ask me to be the maid of honor,” she said as she pulled away from the hug.

“I told her you would,” Calum comments and throws his hands up in surrender when you give him a look for ruining the surprise. “She wouldn’t drop it. I had to tell her,” he defends and Mali corroborates for him.

“There’s no one else I’d want up there with us,” you promise much to her delight and satisfaction.

Mali and Calum’s parents wish you both well and move on for others to come through but you pull Calum aside when you want a moment alone. Crowds—even small ones with only people closest to you— have never been your favorite. You need a moment to catch your breath and calm down, Calum’s presence always helpful in those endeavors.

“Doing okay?” He questions, concern evident in gentle brown eyes.

“Yes,” you answer honestly, you are okay, you’re overwhelmed with happiness at what the future holds and all that this party means. You sigh, unsure you can put that into words. Instead you settle for, “I can’t wait to be married.”

Calum smirks. “I can’t wait for the honeymoon,” he says and pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. He’s delicate with you and his words are enough to get you to laugh. You needed this moment alone with him more than you first realized.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the side of your head in your moment of being alone with him and bliss. Your friends and family linger out in the garden while you soak up Calum’s affections and jokes.

“Will you ever tell me where this honeymoon might be?” You wonder aloud, Calum having told you he had it taken care of.

“No, that’d ruin the surprise,” he says. “Just trust me.”

“I do,” you reply and grin at the word choice you will be saying again soon enough. Calum catches it too and smiles along with you. I do isn’t so far away and you know those words will last forever.

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If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Based on the dwc prompts: “Will you be the best man?”, “I can’t wait to be married”, “I can’t wait for the honeymoon” and @outerspaceisbetterthannothing message: Engagement party in a botanical garden they had their first date (where Cal planned on asking her to marry him originally). Everything is in the lights and looks magical. Ash mocks her how he ruined a perfect proposal they spent weeks organized. His family is here (he had no doubts and flown them out), she asks Mali to be her maid of honour and says how she’s always wanted a sister. And Cal is happier than he ever though he could be.

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @superbloomirwin @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985​ @idk-harry​ @dinosaursandsocks​ @wildflower-cth​ @idontneedanyone​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @karajaynetoday​ @333-xx​ @calumshpod​ @calumsphile​ @calumrose​ @justhereforcalum​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @calumance​ @mantlereid @hemmingslftv​ 

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

OOH can we see how Kohga would react to Mipha asking for relationship advice? Since she’d see how devoted and passionate Sooga is for his Master, and not really anyone else in their group is in a relationship soooo

I’m just obsessed with him just adoring Mipha and trying his ass off to get her and Link together it’s so cute

One, thank you for recognizing the fact that Kohga playing Mipha’s wingman is possibly the best idea I’ve EVER had. Two, I am SO ready to start this absolute soft shit. Smut is fun and all, but come on, Kohga trying to hook bitches up is amazing. And third, this got waay out of hand, so enjoy some double dates here.

“So, did you get me something?”

Sooga hardly left Master Kohga’s side. Whenever he had to, be it to lend a hand elsewhere; he had TWO rules to follow; come home to him at the end of the day, and bring him something. Kohga had been sitting here, having tea with Mipha, while Sooga offered to help Sidon hunt for sneaky river snails (Sooga had a real knack for knowing where to find them). They came back with quite the haul, so the fact that he managed to get anything else was nothing to scoff at. He put the large bag of fish down on the floor, and from his pockets, produced a small cage. Inside the cage was what appeared to be a winterwing butterfly. Kohga clapped his hands together, clearly loving it.

“Ooh, I’ve been looking for one of these!”

“I know. It was why I had to stop in the middle of fishing to catch it for you. I may have let Sidon fall in the water in my haste. Maybe.”

Mipha cocked her head to the side upon seeing his reaction to the small bug.

“You like bugs?”

“Just the butterflies. I only keep them for a day or two before I let them go, I just think they’re neat.”

Kohga took a hold of Sooga’s chin, grinning from ear to ear.

“And SOMEONE seemed to remember me saying I wanted this specific one. You’re such a sap, Sooga.”

Sooga was trying (and failing) not to smile.

“I listen to EVERY word you say, master Kohga.”

“Ugh, you’re being mushy again. Get outta my face, go help shark boy with the fish.”

Kohga tried to look mean as he gently pushed his face away, but it was plainly obvious; Kohga loved him. Sooga pardoned himself, hoisted the bag over his shoulder, and walked off with Sidon. Mipha took a sip of her tea, watching as Kohga lightly shook his head. She knew it was a bad emotion to feel, but she couldn’t resist feeling a bit jealous. They were so happy with one another, and yet, her own love and affections were clearly not recognized by the one boy she loved, more than anything. Perhaps…

“Kohga? Can I ask something?”

“Whatever you want.”

Kohga stopped ogling his boyfriend for a second and gave her his attention, snacking on the cookies she made, just for him (shaped in just the cutest seashells). She squirmed a bit in her seat, unsure of how to go about it, before she finally came out with it.

“How...did you get someone to love you, the way Sooga does?”

Kohga stopped eating for a second, looking at her sullen face. This little fish was just sweeter than banana bread, and it hurt poor ol’ Kohga to see her love so much, without Goldilocks even talking about it with her. Sure they were young, and they had forever to talk about this stuff, but there was no time like the present.

“Sooga is a fucking idiot, for one, and I attract idiots. Second, you kinda just. Come out with it. We started off as friends before anything, and that’s now all relationships start. Course, your case is a BIT different from mine. You want my honest opinion? Just shoot your shot. I mean, worst he’s gonna say is no. Or nothing with his mute ass…”

Kohga mumbled that last part, helping himself to another sip of tea. Realizing it didn’t seem to be very helpful, he sighed.

“Or, you could cook him something. Call me old fashioned, but my mama always said the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I make mean salmon skin, look at the hunk I bagged.”

They both turned to look at Sooga, who was busy de shelling the fish alongside Sidon. Mipha pursed her little lips, before softly nodding.

“I...suppose that isn’t a bad idea at all. If I can find the courage in my heart to ask him.”

Just then, Kohga noticed Link walking alongside the princess. Small land, honestly. Kohga put his hands to the side of his face, crying out to Link.

“Yo Goldilocks! Mipha’s cookin’ tonight, you want in?!”

Link nodded, giving a thumbs up. Kohga shrugged.

“See? Easy. You just gotta be straightforward with boys.”

Mipha held her face in her hands, obviously embarrassed.

“But what do I do WHEN I make him something?! What do I say? What do I talk about with him?”

Kohga loved Mipha, really he did, but girl needed to stop seeing boys as a lynel, and more along the lines of wild horses. Something to tame, not to fear. He sighed.

“Tell you what. Me and Sooga will join you, sorta like a double date kinda deal. I’ll be there if the date goes bad, and we can dip when the date is going GOOD.”

Mipha looked up from the table with just the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“You...would do that, for me?”

“Course, lil red! You’re like, my favorite in the little team of goody two shoes. Plus, free eats, can’t complain-”

She suddenly got out of her seat, and nearly pounced on him for a hug. The things he did for love.

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

“He here yet?”

“Not quite, but I’m just about done!”

Kohga came back a while later, alongside Sooga. Kohga had his own men helping her in the kitchen, setting up the dining room, everything she could need, Kohga helped with. Kohga scoffed as he put his gift on the dining room table (he’d be remiss if he didn’t bring something to drink for the occasion), lightly pulling up one of her fins, and scoffing.

“Okay, let the boys finish up. Sooga, get to work on this girl, she needs to focus on being as pretty as a fresh stack of banana pancakes.”

Sooga nodded, prompting Mipha to follow him to her bedroom. Kohga was about to see just what she was cooking, before the main doors flew open. Link. Aka, Goldilocks, aka, the guy that never fucking knocked. He was wearing the classic gerudo outfit. A real tits out look, and honestly Kohga would jump on that in a heartbeat.

“Goldilocks! Bit early! How you doing? Mipha will be ready in just a second, take a seat, lemme get you a drink!”

Link nodded. Kohga chatted him up for a minute, serving him a nice glass of banana wine (it’s actually VERY good). When he caught the eyes of Sooga, he pardoned himself and dipped into the hallway. He took one gander at Mipha, and gave a whistle.

“Girl look at YOU! Lookin’ prettier than a pack of opals!”

She really did look like a beauty. Freshly touched lipstick, sharpened nails, her silver jewelry replaced with gold, and instead of her usual blue sash, Sooga somehow managed to find time to make a blue, see through looking dress for her. It fit around her body snugly, but it was a loose, comfortable material, perfect for fashion, and function. Sooga was so talented, getting that together so quickly. Kohga nodded towards Link.

“Go keep him busy, gotta give this girl a pep talk.”

Sooga nodded. Once he left, Kohga carefully put his hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me. Lookin? Okay good. You like this guy, so be you. BUT, you need to let him know you’re interested. Be flirty. Touch his hands, compliment him, fucking, feed him from your plate- make it obvious. You’re a princess. He’s a knight, it’s GONNA happen.”

She nodded firmly, shoulder’s straight as a Lynel’s. 

“I can do this!”

She peered over at Link, and immediately hid behind a wall again.

“I can’t do this! He’s wearing the voe armor!”

“For the love of…”

Kohga sighed. Why did he love all these shy bitches?

“Mipha. You’re gonna make HIM drool, not the other way around. Come on, you’ve got this. I’ll be right here, I’ll make you look good as hell. On three. One. Two. Three!”

He carefully pushed her towards the dining room, and Mipha looked ready to have a heart attack. Poor thing.

“Link! It’s so nice to have you over! I hope my invitation wasn’t sudden!”

Link shook his head. Kohga, sensing things were still awkward, jumped in. He was always the fun one at parties.

“Hey, you know what, we should totally start eating! I heard Mipha made quite the spread, Sooga why don’t you help bring the stuff out?”

Sooga nodded, heading into the kitchen. Kohga gestured for all of them to take a seat (with Mipha sitting right next to Link of course), and him just a bit away from them. Close enough to be supportive, but just far enough to beat it if he was cramping their style. Soon enough, trays of food were brought in, and even Kohga had to admit, he was starved.

“Master Kohga?”

“Yes, Sooga?”

“I’m sorry.”

He was about to ask what for, but then he saw it. Fish dish. Fish dish, not a single dish WASN’T fish. And he couldn’t just NOT eat her food, less he make Mipha’s food look awful. Kohga gulped, and Mipha seemed to catch onto his distress.

“Oh Kohga, I’m so sorry, I forgot you didn’t like fish! Please, let me make you-”

“Nope!”

Kohga could feel his ass sweating. He was really gonna sit here and eat fish, because Mipha deserved it. Link looked over at him, clearly just as confused as anyone else. Kohga forced himself to chuckle.

“I mean...I HATE clam chowder. A lot. It’s gross, it’s squishy, it smells AWFUL. Unless it’s Mipha’s. I LOVE Mipha’s clam chowder! She is just. SUCH  a good cook, I could eat a whole bowl!”

Link looked him right in his face, grabbed a bowl, and filled it completely with clam chowder. He slid the bowl over to him, and Kohga wanted to throw up. That yucky, smelly smell of fish. 

“Son of a bitch..I mean, yum! Thank you, Link.”

Mipha just had to like this blonde asshole. Sooga made a motion to grab the bowl, but Kohga halted him. He was going to do this for Mipha. He took a taste of it, and he fought every urge not to puke. Dear god, the smell and the taste was awful. But he forced himself to swallow, smiling.

“See? I l-like it! So it’s GOTTA be good! Mipha is just, so talented!”

Link seemed satisfied, helping himself to a bowl. Mipha looked at Kohga, clearly worried, but he shook his head. 

“Make it up to me by getting some, Mipha.”

He muttered underneath his breath, forcing himself to eat more. Sooga had no problems, this asshole, eating fish like it was nothing. Mipha pretended like she didn’t know anything was wrong, giving her attention towards Link.

“So, Link! You’ve been over at the Gerudo desert, I take it. Urbosa is doing well, I trust?”

Kohga didn’t pay attention to the one sided conversation, too focused on handling the thick creamy broth. His stomach churned, his head hurt, and he was just. Dying. Not even Sooga could help him. He was going to bail, but he saw it in Mipha’s eyes. She was getting more nervous, and this was JUST from watching Link eat. Oh god this was a mess. He forced himself to think past the creamy mush still left in his bowl.

“So, Link, what do you think of Mipha’s new look? Nice right?”

Link looked her up and down, before giving Mipha a thumbs up. Her cheeks exploded in color, and she looked ready to just melt. Kohga tried not to gag at the fish burp he just had.

“And Mipha, thoughts on Link’s outfit?”

Mipha hesitated, letting herself get a look at him, totally not looking at that titty (atta girl), before softly nodding.

“You had it dyed white, it looks very...nice, Link. It really goes with your golden hair.”

Distracted by her thoughts, she played with a strand of his hair, before suddenly realizing what she was doing. They both looked away, buried in blush, just two, dumb, flirty messes. Oh his girl was KILLING IT. Kohga forced himself to gulp down his bowl (somehow not choking on the chunks), nearly gasping as he finished. Oh that was a mistake. That did NOT feel right. Didn’t matter, Mipha was GETTING somewhere with this guy. He whispered to her, nudging at her side.

“Offer him some of your food.”

“But? He has the same thing in-”

“Say yours is different. Just do it, trust me. Sooga! With me, kitchen, now.”

They dipped into the kitchen, and Sooga immediately handed him a bucket. Just in time for Kohga to purge his guts. Sooga patted his back, sighing.

“No one told you to finish the bowl, Kohga.”

“I am SUPPORTIVE, dammit! She deserves-”

Yet another purge of his guts. He groaned, relying heavily on Sooga to keep him upright.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m VERY proud of you. Going through so much for the sake of her happiness. You’re a wonderful person.”

“Sooga, that’s sweet, but dear god I’m throwing up here, shut the fuck up.”

Kohga was three for three, and he was wondering if it was worth it. Then he peered into the dining room. Mipha was spoon feeding him from her bowl, going so far as to scold him for his messy face, and cleaning it with a cloth napkin. It was adorable, it was sweet, and dear god was this worth it. Sooga chuckled, peering down at Kohga.

“You’re incredible, Master Kohga, letting her have this.”

“I AM pretty great, aren’t I?”

They sat there, watching them. For a moment, for a brief, sweet moment, she wasn’t shy. She was honest with herself, she was even just a bit flirty. And Link looked as if he wasn’t clueless. It was so goddamn sweet, it was worth every second of stomach pain. Kinda.

“Oh it’s coming again- he better marry this girl, or I’m starting the war all the fuck over again.”

He was complaining, sure. But he was really, honestly proud of his little Mipha. He’d do this again and again, if it meant getting to see such a sweet, happy smile.

He just prayed he didn’t have to.

[atrainernamedradish]

Top 10 Least Favorite Pokemon

You know what’s harder than making a top favorites list? A least favorite one. I was particular about this list because I wanted my own personal opinion on the matter instead of adding to the echo chamber that can be the fandom’s. I don’t hate these Pokemon. These are the ones I care for the least. Also, the placements kept changing for this list, but I feel like I finally put everyone on here in the right order now.

10) Whismur Line

The only reason this line is the Normal typing is because Game Freak hasn’t made the Sound typing official. Hell, Electric, or even Steel, would have made more sense. But nope we got these weird fleshy sound-based things that I’m never excited to see.

9) Greedent

I take back everything I said about Diggersby (still wished it didn’t have the belching model cry though), and I’m directing that towards Greedent. It looks like your typical fat, lazy, and not particularly bright cartoon character. Almost feel like they were a bit lazy in this design. Like… they could have done something more, or less since it’s large enough. I feel like Game Freak is trying to recreate a likeness to Snorlax, since it’s the poster child for obese Pokemon, but keeps falling short by giving us the ugliest designs. We don’t need more fat normal types. We’ve got plenty.

8) Electrode

Hey guys, let’s make this Pokeball based Pokemon flip upside down, make it less pissed off and call it an evolution! Also, it’s going to be crazy fast as well explode, most likely killing anything nearby, because why the fuck not? Boring and dangerous… what a match made in hell for a design!

7) Pheromosa

It’s an almost 7 foot tall sentient cockroach with legendary stats. Nope. Just nope. *flees*

6) Grimmsnarl Line

I have been disappointed with this evolutionary line since seeing the leaks of Impidimp. I know a lot of Faerie lore and it ticks me off that they chose a Goddamn Goblin for the first Dark/Fairy type. Also, and I know not all Faeries are cute and cuddly, but why does Game Freak keep trying to sneak in ugly Fairy types? About 95% of the Fairy typing has a cute or pleasing ascetic. That’s one of its themes, that and trying to throw pink on everything, so why give us this ugly line?

The only indicator of this thing remotely being Fairy typing at a glance is that it’s pink. I would have never gotten Fairy otherwise from it. Goblins might be in Faerie Tales, but they aren’t Faeries.

The only one in this line that remotely gives off the Dark typing to me is Morgrem. The other two not so much. Putting black on a Pokemon is maybe another indicator of the Dark typing, but even then it ain’t helping…?

Overall to me this thing is goofy to ugly looking with its design and typing a complete mess. It irritates me that our first combination of Fairy and Dark is this line…

Also, using it in a playthrough and it pisses me off that I’m not getting a Fairy move until it reaches its final evolution! That’s if I don’t want to grind up watt points in the Wild Area for a Fairy TR, or beat Opal before getting said evolution!

5) Shiinotic

Fairy typing makes sense for Morelull when you realize what it’s based on. Hell, even Ghost does. But Shiinotic? I don’t care if mushrooms are a big thing in Faerie Culture. You can’t just design some ugly ass alien mushroom hybrid then slap the Fairy typing on it because of mushrooms or lore from a pre evolution! While we’re at it let’s make the Amoongus and Breloom line Fairies too!

Morelull should have been a single stage line. It would have made sense. But no. They just wanted to make an ugly Fairy type just to prove they could say: “hey fandom I know you’re sick of all the cute and pink Fairy types so here’s an ugly one to change things up!”

And don’t get me *started* on that ugly ass shiny! Game Freak: bright yellow and muddy browns are a terrible color combination! Guess why?

4) Spinda

You know how I praised Alcremie for having multiple forms because of what it was and why it made sense for it? Well I have the opposite opinion regarding Spinda.

If I didn’t believe in the golden rule of everyone having a favorite of each Pokemon then I’d very much assume this thing wasn’t liked by anyone.

Everything about its design annoys me. Why is it a panda? And before anyone tries to tell me otherwise, it’s in its American/English name. Why is it in a constant state of vertigo? I literally was trying to think of a typing it would be better off as instead of the Normal typing and none come to mind. So it’s normal because a) it’s an animal or b) because they needed to give it a typing and no other typing fit.

And out of ALL the Pokemon why does this one have an almost endless possibility of “forms”? This thing has got to be a living dex collector’s worst nightmare!

3) Archeops

This Pokemon is on here for pure personal reasons. Technically there are a few other Pokemon that I feel the same towards, but this one was the worst about it.

You know you have a stupid powerful stat as a non-psuedo legendary and legendary when you need an ability to nerf you. What’s worse is when you need a pretty bulky Pokemon to soak up the damage you reap before said ability does nerf you.

It was always Goddamn terrifying to run into this Pokemon in White 2. Not only was a good chunk of my team weak to Flying, but my Samurott couldn’t take more than one hit from it. Not to mention it didn’t do enough super effective damage to OHKO this thing. So I was never happy to run into this thing because I would only get out of the fight with a lot of collateral damage to my party!

This wasn’t the only Pokemon that was this fucking difficult to deal with in Unova. There is definitely a power imbalance in these games which made playing them a pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Black 2 & White 2, but fuck me if this wasn’t my biggest issues with those games…

(Some of y'all are probably wondering about Slaking, and Slaking is actually easier to deal with thanks to its typing and ability readily triggering.)

2) Pelipper

This Pokemon was originally going to be my least favorite Water type on my favorite and least favorite typings lists, but I think its placement on this list suits it better.

I honestly don’t mind its pre-evolution Wingull. Wingull is kinda cute. Wonder Trade had me groaning every time I saw one, but that was more the player’s fault than anything.

Pelipper is just such a poorly designed Pokemon. Like, what were they thinking when they essentially fused the beak and stomach together? How can this thing carry its front heavy, well front? I assume it can handle all of that weight being airborne since I doubt it can get around any other way with its stubby little feet.

Then they gave it the Drizzle ability and suddenly people give a shit about its ugly ass…

The only time I’ve “willingly” used one was in my Wonderlocke, which was only due to the fact that I was in dire need of a water type, and I'll tell you that right now that I didn’t want to resort to using it. I’m pretty sure it died at the very end in the Champion battle… wasn’t all that sad to lose it if I’m being honest.

This isn’t just reserved for this Pokemon, but I absolutely hate the dual typing of Water/Flying. Nothing says “throw a rock at me” more than this typing combination. 

Overall I just don’t like anything about this Pokemon.

1) Greninja

This Pokemon used to be a lot lower on this list, but as I mentioned right before the list that the order changed as I was making it. I can promise you that this Pokemon isn’t on here because of how popular it is (there are others that would be on here if that was the case). There are many other reasons I will go over as to why this one is on the list.

The first is my experience using a basic one in XY. It’s learn set of moves is terrible, and that’s because it learns a lot of physical moves despite having a much better Special Attack. When I thought about the aspects of a ninja’s special attack being higher than physical it made much more sense. It had little to no options for Dark type moves with one of the best moves for it not being available till you’ve gotten the 8th badge for Waterfall. Greninja was the weakest member of my team with my Aromatisse putting in much more work than it! If Greninja is not competitively trained as well as has any of its hidden abilities then it’s not really that useful. I kept the one from that playthrough because I don’t have the heart to release it or get rid of it…

The second is its design. I very much don’t care for it (its tongue scarf is gross!). Its middle evolution looks so much better to me, and it made me sad evolving it into this ugly thing…

The third is its typing. I’ve had some time to think about it and I’ve wondered to myself: why is Greninja a Dark type? Thinking of the history, and to some extent the mythology of ninjas, nothing screams Dark type to me. I’m also taking into account of Dark being Evil in Japan, and nothing about ninja inherently screams Evil or Dark typing. Then I found myself thinking about its other typing in Water which brought me to the conclusion that the only reason Greninja is a Water type is for two reasons: 1) It’s a starter and 2) it’s a frog.

So you’re probably thinking by this point: “well Radish if you don’t like its typings then what would you change them to?” Unfortunately, I’d keep Water since it’s not the only Pokemon to have a typing based on the animal it is (looking at you Poliwag line!). Dark typing would be replaced with Ghost since ninjas in their lore and mythology can traverse and interact with the spiritual world.

I will address the elephant in the room for my closing thoughts on this Pokemon: Greninja and the fandom. I wholeheartedly believe that if Greninja didn’t have the hidden abilities that it did that it wouldn’t be as favored as it is among the fanbase. As someone who used a basic ability one in hopes of giving it a chance I was greatly disappointed, and didn’t understand why this Pokemon was so popular. That’s why I feel as though the competitive scene is where it has gotten all of its fame from. People give Charizard so much shit for being overrated but do they for Greninja? (Not a big fan of Charizard for those who wanna accuse me as such.)

[purrincesscatitude]

angst 14

Why did I write this in present tense?? Good question. 

This probably turned too sweet for angst but whatever it happened I’m not overthinking it.

Prompt from this list. Yes, if you like this, you can still send me things! 

######################

Adam comes to the Barns after school, because he doesn’t have work for once in his life but does have a ton of calculus homework and a whole act of Hamlet to read & summarize scene-by-scene and college app deadlines looming like a swollen thunderhead. The Barns isn’t normally his most productive workspace, but it is warm and has more space for him to stretch out all his papers and textbooks, which feels like a thing he needs to do with the way everything is tangled in his head right now.

He’s been in a mood all day, can feel it festering just beneath his skin. He’s evolved over the months, now able to identify and acknowledge his bad days before they surprise him and his victim by shooting barbs from his tongue and condemnations he can’t take back. But knowing that he’s in a shit mood isn’t the same as controlling it. Growth is, as always, a slow and arduous process.

This evening, he sits at the dining room table under the kitchen’s yellow fluorescents. It’s only 6, but it’s already dark outside. Autumn winds rush over the mountains and rip through the valley, a harsh reminder that winter is only a month away.

Adam has a headache. Not a bad one, but enough that it bugs him, makes it that much harder to focus on equations and soliloquies and why he’s worthy of an Ivy-League education. Spreading the papers out hasn’t helped organized his brain like he wanted it to. Instead it just makes him more stressed, seeing all the work he has to do, all the expectations, all the time and money and thinking he needed in order to get through it all.

And then Ronan comes in.

Ronan understands why Adam does work here, encourages it, even. But that doesn’t mean Ronan finds it fair that Adam comes into his home only to completely ignore him. Some days he’s fine with it. Other days he goes and sulks elsewhere until Adam comes to him.

Today, however, Ronan wants Adam to be here and present. Wants to talk to him. Wants to sit with him, be with him, wants Adam’s undivided attention.

Currently, Adam’s cheating on him with a calculus textbook. And really? Calculus? He’d rather Adam shove his tongue down Skov’s throat.

He sits down at the table with him. Adam ignores him. Not unusual; they do this all the time. Homework-Mode Adam is a one-track mind, set to finishing whatever worksheet or essay or chapter he was working through and loath to be pushed off-course.  

Sometimes, though, Ronan likes to toe the line. Because Adam’s line, in his opinion, needs to be more fucking flexible.

Ronan starts small. Just to see where Adam’s line is today. He picks up a page of notes. Adam, scribbling through an equation, doesn’t react. Ronan scoff, drops it back on the table. Still nothing. He picks up more papers, reads them through with feigned interest and then lets them flutter back down to the table.

Adam is intentionally ignoring him now. Ronan can tell the difference.

He starts trying to build a card tower out of looseleaf papers. It’s going about as well as expected, and making plenty of noise. Opal, ever drawn to the sound of rustling, edible paper, clambers into the kitchen.

“Don’t, brat,” Ronan warns. Opal hisses at him. He rips a blank page from a notebook, crumples it into a ball, and throws it back out the door. Opal chases after it with a screech.

Adam winces. “Cut it out, Lynch.”

But he still hasn’t taken his eyes off his book, and Ronan still feels like a third wheel in his own home.

He starts drumming. Not any particular song, just a series of beats using a discarded pencil and his index finger. Adam tightens his grip on his pencil, glares at the problem sets.

“Lynch,” he grumbles. It’s a warning.

“Parrish,” Ronan replies. It’s a challenge.

Adam grinds his teeth, presses his pencil hard enough into the paper to leave imprints on the pages below it.

Ronan adds his foot to the rhythm.  

“Stop,” Adam demands, finally rips his eyes away from the page to shoot him a signature Adam Parrish witheringly frigid glare.

Ronan raises his hands in mock surrender. Adam returns to his work.

Ronan drums harder.

“Ronan.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just feeling the beat, you know?”

“There are ten other rooms in this house where you could go right now.”

“It’s my fucking house, so I’m going to stay in whatever fucking room I want.”

Adam rolls his eyes. Ronan is pretty sure he’s walking the line like a tightrope right now, and it’s dangerously close to snapping.

He lets Adam go back to work. Manages his energy quietly. Tries to not get jealous of a goddamn textbook.

He resolve lasts maybe five minutes.

He starts drumming again. On his leg. And then his leg starts jittering, and then his foot starts tapping.

And then he hits a beat too hard, slams his knee into the table, which makes Adam’s hand jolt, and the pencil catches in the paper and rips a hole in his problem sets.

“Ronan what the fuck,” he shouts, throwing his pencil on the table.

“Whoops,” Ronan says.

Adam rips the page from his notebook.

“Dude, chill. Just tape it, they won’t give a fuck.”

“That’s not the point. You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m not the one eye-fucking a damn textbook in someone else’s house.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Just keep doing your damn homework, whatever,” Ronan says.

“Are you going to stop being an asshole?” Adam spits back.

“Does keeping you company mean I’m asshole? Then yes, I’ll gladly fuck the fuck off and let you keep nerding alone.”

“Bullshit, you’re not keeping me company. You’re being selfish and immature and it’s fucking obnoxious.”

“Fine. I’ll fucking stop. Jesus,” Ronan growls.  

“You say you’ll stop but then you keep doing it! Making noise and hitting the table and, just, being a fucking brat.”

“What do you want me to say, Parrish?” Ronan snarls, throwing himself out of his chair and storming towards the door.

“Nothing! You don’t need to say a goddamn thing!” Adam snaps. “Just stop.”

They stand apart: Ronan curling and uncurling his fists by the door, Adam digging his nails into the peeling cover of his calculus textbook. A war of wills.

Adam breaks the glare first. It isn’t a surrender. He shoves his schoolwork into his bag.

“I’m going home,” he announces.

Ronan scoffs. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Adam clenches his jaw. He leaves.

He bikes back to St. Agnes in the dark, pedaling hard as the frigid November air cuts his cheeks and turns his fingers white as bone. Running his trembling hands under hot water doesn’t do much, only heightens the pins & needles pricking under his skin. He flexes his fingers over and over as he settles at his desk. He starts rewriting his calc problems. It takes him an hour to finish, when it should have been thirty minutes. Valuable time sucked down the drain. He resists the urge to throw something. 

The wind rattles the window, howls through the gaps in its ill-fitted frame. Someone is practicing the organ. They’re not very good. The low notes send vibrations through the floor. It’s almost as annoying as Ronan. Almost.

But it’s a different kind of annoying. It’s cold, and distant. Turns him inward, makes him glare and grumble and bite his nails. The sort that can’t be remedied, that can only gnaw and curdle until he accepts the inevitability of constant suffering.

Ronan’s sort of annoying is infuriating, makes his blood boil, fills him with a sort of fire that can only go outward, that demands he confront it head on, in an almost cathartic kind of way. It makes them bicker and argue and shout at each other.

But it’s familiar. And sort of warm, in a weird way. In that it’s almost comforting in how he can expect it, how Ronan always seems to know the exact right buttons to press to set him off even if he doesn’t mean to.

A Ronan Lynch who isn’t annoying as hell isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam learned to tolerate, and then like, and then like like; isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam will probably decide he loves; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who can piss Adam off one second and have him laughing with side stitches the next; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who’s impulsiveness and brashness and pigheadedness can be as frustrating as it is liberating and joyful and wild and adventurous.

It isn’t the Ronan Lynch that Adam wants.

The apartment vibrates with a horrifically discordant note. Adam digs his nails into his scalp. Scrubs his hair into a ferocious mess.

The old walls creak. The organ resumes, quieter and in a higher register.

It’s been a long time since he was at St. Agnes alone. Truly alone. He’d sequestered himself here before, told Ronan he needed time to study, needed to finish a paper, needed to focus without distraction. But there was always a hope that Ronan would stop by for half an hour– perfectly timed when Adam was at his most exhausted or frustrated, a study break calculated, Adam guessed, by the months he had spent with him in the latest and earliest hours watching him study–with food in hand and a smirk on his face that Adam would spent 20 minutes kissing off and replacing with a very different sort of grin.

There isn’t that hope tonight, which…fucking sucks, if he’s being honest. Just one more load to weigh on his shoulders.

Adam’s stressed about school, about all the essays he needs to write and the tests he has coming up, and the fact that grades are due soon and he’s sure he’s doing fine but there’s always a chance that someone’s parents are going to buy their slacker son a 4.0 and kick Adam down to Salutatorian. He’s stressed about the SAT Subject Tests he needs in order to apply for the schools he wants, not just the studying and the psychological prep work necessary to outsmart the test in the way it wants you to, but the money it’ll cost him and the weekends he’ll lose taking them means he has to stack hours at Boyd’s and the warehouse and the factory now, and even then he doesn’t know if he’ll have enough money for food after he pays for the tests. He’s stressed about having to take all these shifts to pay for the tests and the college applications, because even though he got a waiver for a few of them (it was Gansey’s idea, one that made Adam absolutely furious. The way he coincidentally mentioned it at lunch the day following Adam venting to Ronan about their discriminating pricing and Ronan ranting about how “it’s the fucking system, man. Rigged bullshit, is all it is.” And don’t even get him started on the humiliating conversation with the Aglionby college counselor that followed) he still has to pay for the supplements for a few of them because Ivies are nothing if not completely ignorant to the concerns of people making below a yearly income of 200k.

Oh, and he’s not sleeping well. None of them are, he guesses, from the bags under their eyes when they gather around the table at Nino’s. It’s only been 55 days since…all that. And when Adam can find a few spare hours untouched by work and admission essays and calculus problems and Hamlet reading notes, he shuts his eyes and finds himself choking the life out of Ronan again, or seeing Aurora’s mangled corpse in a field of rotting trees, or watching Gansey fall lifeless into Blue’s arms again and again and again…

Shit.

This is his fault, isn’t it?

He wasn’t pissed at Ronan. He was pissed about everything else and Ronan just happened to be the target in front of him when he burst. And then he’d upped and stormed off like the biggest asshole in the world.

Adam was the problem right now. Adam was the shitty one.

If that didn’t make him feel so damn guilty, he’d relish this personal growth and newfound introspection.

Instead, he was lonely and annoyed. And regretful. And cold. And these calc problems were damn near impossible. And that stupid amatuer organist was so bad did they really think this hobby was worth continuing? And…

Oh, fuck it.

Adam grabs his sweater and barely remembers to lock the door. He bikes, fast and hard, ignoring the bitter wind as it makes his eyes water and nose burn. He almost eats dirt on the side of the road when he rounds a corner too fast, but he keeps going.

The wind is still howling when he drops his bike in the gravel driveway of the Barns and bangs on the door. It take him a minute, but Ronan eventually answers.

“Parrish?” he says, pushing open the screen door.

“I’m stressed about my SAT scores,” Adam blurts out, shoulders hunched and hands squeezed in the armpits of his sweater against the whipping winds. “And about needing to take these stupid subject tests. And about picking up all these extra shifts just to pay for them, and I need to get all these college apps in soon, but I have no idea what to write about for any of these stupid essays without making myself sound pathetic or pitiful and melodramatic. And I can’t sleep anymore, after what happened with…everything. I feel like I’m running on empty all the time, which, by the way,  my car is since I’m spending all of my money to take these dumb tests and buy transcripts, and did you know that teachers who write you recommendations expect a gift? Like what bullshit is that? So now I have to get these, too. And it’s just so much, Ronan. All the fucking time. And, shit, your mother fucking died in front of you. Like, my shit is so…stupid compared to what you’re dealing with and yet I’m the one being an asshole and taking my shit out on you and I’m just…” Adam breathes. And freezes.

Ronan had led him inside. Sat him on the couch. Draped a blanket around his shoulders. And Adam hadn’t realized.

Ronan sits on the coffee table, chewing his leather bands and avoiding Adam’s gaze. Their legs fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Ditto,” Ronan says around the leather. “‘Cept not the school shit. Obviously.”

He drops his wrist, leans his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers in circles along the faded denim stretched across Adam’s knee. “I just. Today was rough. I wanted…I needed someone else. Something to focus on, other than…”

He can’t finish. Adam doesn’t need him to.

Adam sighs with relief. “I’m sorry,” he says. It feels weird to say. Weird but good. Another step forward.

“Me too,” Ronan echoes.

They sit close, legs fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Okay, seriously though,” Ronan says suddenly. “Don’t bike at night again. You never know what sort of assholes are going to take those corners too sharp and flatten your ass into a pancake.”

“If the asshole in question is waiting for me at his house, then it shouldn’t be an issue,” Adam replies with a smirk.

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Just fucking call next time, loser.”

“Good to know you’ll still chauffeur even if we’re fighting.”

Ronan snorts. “That was barely a fight. You want to fight, I’ll show you a fucking fight.”

“Oh yeah?”

Ronan tackles him into the couch. Adam cries out with laughter.

This wasn’t their last fight. There would be more disagreements, more spats, more storming off and misunderstandings and cursing and regretted words. But they’d be okay. They would always be okay.

[australianopal-us]

Replace Your Boring Charms With Elegant Gemstone Bracelets

Are you getting tired of opal bracelets? They can be really huge, noisy and annoying to wear. Not only that, but charms can be really expensive and hard to find. Are you looking for something new? Something better? Something that will complete your outfit and show how beautiful you are? Then, gemstone bracelets are definitely the thing for you. The coolest thing about gemstone bracelets is that you can find any stone that fits you. When you are trying to find a gemstone that fits you, you should find out what your birthstone is. I have listed the birthstones and their personalities for you. So, check it out. Wearing your birthstone on you is way more meaningful and elegant than a couple small annoying charms.

January- Garnet. Garnet represents decisiveness and power. People born in January are loyal, hardworking, smart and sensitive.

February- Amethyst. Amethyst represents a bold temperament and spirituality. People born in February are gentle, emotional yet strong and capable.

March- Aquamarine. Aquamarine represents cool and calm. People born in March are gentle, serene and affectionate.

April- Diamond. Diamond represents courage and dynamic tendencies. People born in April are visionary, straight-forward and strong.

May- Emerald. Emerald represents growth and motivation. People born in May are deep, imaginative and spirited.

June- Pearl. Pearl represents vision and perfection. People born in June are funny, friendly and kind.

July- Ruby. Ruby represent richness and soul. People born in July are honest, proud and caring.

August- Peridot. Peridot represents bravery and leadership. People born in August are confident, cautious and observant.

September- Sapphire. Sapphire represents diplomacy and organization. People born in September are loyal, strong-willed and quiet.

October- Opal. Opal represents conversation and color. People born in October are decisive, opinionated and clear.

November- Yellow Topaz. Topaz represents curiosity and intelligence. People born in November are determined, hard-working and trustworthy.

December- Turquoise. Turquoise represents ambition and influence. People born in December are honest, modest and active.

Don't take this too seriously. This is just a guide for the different gems. People are allowed to be different from their month, so don't hold back. Combine all sorts of stones to make the perfect combination for you. The greatest thing, is whatever you chose will really fit you and who you are and your style. It'll match with your life, your personality and your clothes. Gemstone bracelets are the best way to accessorize in a meaningful, elegant and beautiful way. Gemstone bracelets come in all sizes, shapes and styles. You can have a few gems on a bracelet or you can have many on a string.

And don't just limit yourself to bracelets! Gemstones would be perfect for necklaces, earrings, rings, clips, anything! You can wear the embroidered on clothes, you can make necklaces an earrings to match your outfit. With gemstones you really have the ability and opportunity to experiment and figure out what is best for you. Although, when comparing Gemstone Bracelets to necklaces and earrings, bracelets are the most elegant, versatile and eye-catching. So throw out those boring metal charm bracelets, and put something new, fabulous and meaningful on your wrist.

Shop Now: https://australianopaldirect.com/bracelets/

[pnrrish]

light (pynchweek 2017)

Day 2: Superhero AU

(read on AO3)

<<Medic Nine, stand by for tone.>>

The chime of an incoming text message woke him up more fully than the staticky radio ever did; even the tones a half-second later barely elicited a snort from Cheng across the room. Adam groaned and rolled over, reaching blindly for his phone and glasses--he rarely bothered with contacts once second half rolled around--and fumbled for his belt buckle. Checked the text: call information, address, chief complaint...time: three-fifty. He permitted himself one fantastical second of imagining rolling back over, falling back asleep, and waking up sometime next week more fully rested than he had ever been in his life...then he dragged himself upright and shoved his feet in the scuffed boots lying near his bedside table, where he’d kicked them off three hours ago.

This had better be goddamn important.

  <<You’re responding to ninety-five-oh-nine Anderson Road, cross is East Roehampton….>>

He cranked the truck and mapped the address while he waited for Cheng to piss, and chugged the last of his leftover gas-station coffee he’d left in the cupholder. It was cold, sickeningly sweetened, full of grounds, and absolutely disgusting. But he was awake.

  <<On scene you have an eight-year-old female, unresponsive with high fever, caller is advising her temp has been elevated since yesterday morning.>>

“Fucking finally. You know it's gonna be a twenty-minute response time, right? The house is in the exact center of Shitting Nowhere.” Cheng just tossed his head, impossibly failing to dislodge even a single strand of hair, and pulled the parking brake. Adam flicked the emergency lights, decided against putting on the siren as well, and picked up the radio so Cheng could focus on the road. Lights without sirens was technically illegal in Virginia, or at least against protocol, but who wanted to be woken up at four in the morning by the most obnoxious, attention-grabbing sound in the world?

  <<Copy, dispatch, show Medic Nine responding. Do you still have the caller on the line?>>

  <<Affirmative.>>

  <<Please advise caller to keep an eye on her for febrile seizures, not to hold her down but just keep her from hitting her head.>>

  <<Copy.>>

The house really was in the middle of nowhere: the last mailbox they passed must have been over a mile ago, and the driveway they now faced was little more than twin ruts in the grass, stretching out into the darkness beyond the headlights. Cheng let out a low whistle.

“We’ve seen worse,” Adam said, as much for his own benefit as for Cheng’s. He doubted the ruts could legally be considered a driveway. “Come on. Nice and easy.”

At least the ride was fairly smooth. The lack of potholes made Adam suspect that the owner of the house maintained the driveway in its current state on purpose.

“Oh thank God, an actual pad,” Cheng said. The headlights were focused on the young man in the front door shining a flashlight on the smooth concrete where they were clearly supposed to park. Adam thought it was wide enough to do donuts--in the bariatric unit. “If I had to drag this cot through any more gravel today I was gonna shoot an eight-year old.”

Adam almost dropped the mic from laughter.

  <<Show Medic Nine on scene.>>

  <<Copy at oh-four-thirty.>>

Once they were through the door, adrenaline jacked his heart rate through the roof. Adam breathed deliberately slowly as he gripped the cot harder to keep his hands from shaking, but he still felt tense and on-edge. Kids were never easy. And the man who was presumably the girl's father didn't look like he was going to make it any easier.

Adam didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this: a towheaded girl who looked too small to be eight, limply unconscious in the lap of someone who fit the dictionary definition of the word ‘thug’--black tank top, ratty sweatpants, bare feet, shaved head, tattoos, lip piercing. He looked up sharply when the door opened and appeared to decide he was not happy to see them, despite the cell phone on the floor close enough to be on speaker with the dispatcher. Adam wrestled with his mental checklist, wondering whether appearances deceived quite that much. The jury remained out.

“Took you assholes long enough,” the man spat, without moving. Adam chose to ignore the jab, focusing instead on ignoring both the blond on their heels and the honest-to-God raven perched on the staircase bannister.

The man didn't growl or anything when they came nearer, so Adam knelt down for the quickest assessment he could manage, stripping off one glove to lay bare skin in the girl's forehead and involuntarily hissing when he felt the heat before he touched her. Deciding he could afford to wait on vitals until they were in the truck, he made brief, meaningful eye contact with Cheng.

“What's her name?”

“Opal,” the man supplied, sounding reluctant. Adam had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It was more difficult than he expected.

“Alright, let's get going.”

The cot was easy to maneuver in the yard, even with Opal strapped down tighter than a NASCAR driver-- she’s so light, he kept thinking, she’s so light --and it was nothing at all to get settled in the back and get to work.

Hand me an op site--damn, Parrish, you got an eighteen-gauge in there? she’s so damn tiny--she needs   fluids , Cheng, and while you’re up get a bag of normal saline--lemme get the four-lead set up, hang on--wait, let’s run the whole twelve--good idea--okay, sats are good, I’ll need a blood pressure in a sec--breathe, Parrish, hospital twelve right?--yeah, routine--

“Can I ride in the back?”

The man’s soft, hesitant voice was so unexpected that Adam whirled around, freezing when he realized he’d left the cargo doors wide open and Opal’s father standing awkwardly in the grass. The emergency lights flung stained-glass shards of red and gold across his face, alternating between darkness and unearthly glow in the predawn of Henrietta.

Adam's heart thumped traitorously.

Then he stepped off the running board onto the concrete and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You can ride in the front with Cheng, who talks more than any human being has a right to and drives like a lunatic...or you can sit in that exact seat and push buttons for me. Your choice.”

The man didn't hesitate to clamber into the seat behind Opal's head. Adam rapped his knuckles twice on the cabinet behind the driver’s seat, and Cheng slammed on the gas with more ferocity than strictly necessary, clearly chattering on the radio with one hand when he should have been steering with both.

“You weren't fucking kidding about his driving,” the man muttered. Adam sighed. It was going to be a long transport.

 <<Dispatch, show Medic Nine transporting to hospital twelve, routine status, one rider on board.>>

 <<Copy Medic Nine.>>

"Ronan.”

Adam looked up from the report he’d barely started and was currently kicking himself for neglecting. After fifteen minutes of near-silence, any noise outside the steady chime of the cardiac monitor was loud enough to be startling. “Hm?”

The man shuffled nervously, hands clasped semi-politely in his lap. “I'm Ronan. I...never told you that.”

“Adam. Good to meet you. Do me a favor and hit that button by your right shoulder.”

“This one?” Ronan hovered the tip of his index finger over a button Adam did not  want him to push.

“One down.”

“Oh, this one?” Ronan indicated another wrong button, above the one he’d initially chosen.

“Other way.”

”This one?” Ronan was pointing to a third incorrect button and starting to grin like a cat that had just learned to unlock bird cages. Adam rolled his eyes, got up, leaned over, and mashed the desired button with a forceful thumb. The blood pressure cuff chugged to life. He was close enough to see Ronan's eyes glittering with satisfaction, the pale line of a scar through his eyebrow, the wrinkle on the bridge of his nose.

His treacherous heart thumped again.

He did not  have time for this.

Cheng hit a pothole, throwing Adam halfway toward the cargo doors and effectively ending whatever that had been. Only years of deliberately-honed instinct made him reach up for the ceiling rail instead of falling on the floor, breaking his face, and maybe (with some luck) accidentally unlatching the door and tumbling off into the highway. He regained his balance with some difficulty, mostly inward, and revised his mental checklist when he caught Ronan snickering.

“Sorry!” was the faint call of his absolute asshole driver from the safety of the cab, barely audible over the groaning of the diesel engine.

Ronan was still smirking. “Do I get to press more buttons now?”

Before even thinking about responding to that, Adam picked the Cheng-proof computer off the floor and opened up the report he had still hardly worked on. “No,” he said, answering Ronan’s smile with a grin of his own. “This is the part where I ask you a lot of boring questions.”

Adam learned a great deal more about Ronan during the “twenty questions” section of the PCR than he would have guessed. He learned that Opal was a foster, but the paperwork for a real adoption was in the final stages of being approved. He learned that she’d come with a lot of baggage, but with family baggage of his own and a bullheaded species of stubbornness, Ronan was determined to give her the best childhood he could. He learned Ronan distrusted cops, firefighters, paramedics, and just anyone who tended to show up with flashing multicolored strobe lights, since he was a teenager. He learned that Ronan had wrestled with that fear nonstop after becoming a father, since alongside her emotional baggage Opal had come to him with a staggeringly long medical history. He learned Ronan had a three-year sobriety chip in his pocket at all times and was going strong for the four-year. He learned Ronan had been on the edge of losing everything--his house, his brothers, everything he owned, Opal--ever since his father died, and was scared shitless of it.

Most of it was not, strictly, necessary for the report. Adam quietly remembered a great deal more than he actually wrote down.

The blood pressure cuff was set to cycle automatically. Adam glanced up every now and again to reposition the SPO2 monitor that kept falling off her finger, to run the twelve-lead again (still normal), to see if she’d regained any consciousness (still unresponsive), to check the IV fluids. But there was really nothing left to do but call in his report to the hospital, and wait for Cheng to park the truck in a semi-sane fashion.

Rappa-Hannock County Medical was not, technically, a specialty children’s hospital. Its sole advantage over anything strictly local was that it was the only hospital in a five-hundred-mile radius better-equipped than the average redneck to handle patients under 65 at any given hour. Here, Opal would be lucky to get as much as an abdominal CT and a fresh unit of saline before being shooed off to a bigger-and-better facility that had things like cafeterias and onsite pediatricians. Ronan had seemingly cottoned on to the fact that this would not be his last stop, and was currently pacing around her tiny triage room, growling into his cell phone more than talking, his words unintelligible.

Adam finished handing off the paperwork and leaned his head on the wall, trying to fight the wave of dizziness and nausea that threatened to sweep him off his feet. Cheng could handle wiping the cot down and stowing it; he always did. Opal was stable and not yet ready for another ambulance ride. He still had a report to finish, but he also had an hour’s drive back to the station. For a brief moment, his responsibilities were taken care of, with nothing immediately pressing to take their place, so he shut his eyes and let the fatigue he’d been ignoring for twenty-six hours take hold of his bones.

When he felt the hand on his left shoulder, he’d long forgotten he wasn't the only soul in the building. It took all the restraint he had not to jump six feet off the ground. Instead, he turned and saw Ronan backing up a step, his hands flying upwards in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” he was saying. The words faded in as Adam turned his head toward the sound. “Was just trying to let you know your, uh, partner was getting impatient. He said he was gonna wait in the truck.”

It took Adam a second or two to realize the meaning of the words. If Cheng was already in the truck waiting, more time had passed than he’d planned, and it was long past time for them to already be on the road. He nodded and started toward the door; Ronan reached out and gently caught him by the sleeve.

“I, um.” The harsh fluorescent lights in hospital hallways tended to make everyone under them look strange and otherworldly. Ronan looked downright  young, his face a shifting mess of vulnerability and raw emotion that Adam had only seen glimpses of until now. It made him look like a different person altogether. “Don't think I didn't notice you looking at me like you were trying to decide whether or not to have CPS waiting for me at the emergency room.”

“Whoa, what--”

“I appreciate it.”

Adam blinked. Ronan blew out a breath and shifted his feet. He wouldn't quite meet Adam’s eyes. “All that time, I was freaking out about maybe the cops showing up too ‘cause I have a history, and thinking she really was gonna get taken away, and I was pissed that I didn't have any other choice--and you took care of her. So, uh...thanks.”

He sounded like he might be starting to cry, and he looked like he might exist in the mythical overlap between “guys who look like that” and “guys who cry.” Adam was quite bewildered, thoroughly at a loss for words, and painfully exhausted; it was six o’clock in the morning and his patient's father was thanking him for his hypervigilance, something he'd nearly lost his job over the year before. So instead of answering, he lifted the curtain separating Opal’s bed from the rest of the world, and peeked inside.

Sometime during the transport, she’d gone from unresponsive (and frankly, scary) to merely unconscious with no apparent explanation. Her fever had dipped a little and she was sleeping soundly, drowning in the blanket, only a thin film of sweat on her forehead betraying the truth of the situation. Ronan peeked over his shoulder and sighed when he caught sight of her looking so peaceful. Adam felt the warmth of his breath on his neck.

Adam ducked his head impulsively. “If you're gonna keep getting all up in my personal space, I should warn you I'm deaf on my left side.”

Ronan startled and backpedaled in a way that somehow put them face-to-face. He opened his mouth to say something, and Adam braced himself for the usual-- he doesn't mean anything by it  , he thought,  they're only ever curious --but all that came out was a very soft, “oh.”

Then: “Do you wanna go out and get drinks or something?”

The gears of Adam’s mind clanged to a halt. Between the rational part of his brain listing reasons why this would be the  worst idea he's ever had , and the decidedly-less-rational part of his brain essentially doing a drunken tabletop victory dance, it was a miracle he managed to squeak, “I don't drink. ”

His traitorous heart thumped and thumped again. Ronan, inexplicably, merely grinned.

Adam remembered something else. “You don't drink!”

“Shit,” said Ronan. His grin widened. “I guess I'll have to cancel, since there's nowhere else to go.”

“Asshole,” Adam said. But he was grinning, too.

Before he could change his mind he was yanking a marker out of his pocket and scribbling his phone number between the curling tendrils tattooed on Ronan’s knuckles.

“That's my phone number,” he said, a little breathlessly, his insides squeezing pleasantly at the sight of Ronan pulling his hand back to stare at the numbers in disbelief. “My four-day starts Wednesday. We can do lunch or something.”

“I don't know what the fuck that means,” Ronan said, still staring. “I can't do Wednesday, though. Maybe, uh, text me when you get off work this weekend or whatever and I'll take you out to a twenty-four hour waffle house.”

Adam, who had never so much as set foot in a twenty-four hour waffle house in his life, laughed. “If it's all-you-can-eat, it's a date.”

The ER nurse chose that moment to trundle up with her portable monitor and clear her throat as awkwardly as possible. “Mr. Lynch?” she asked brightly. She barely cleared Ronan’s shoulder and was wearing an inordinate number of colorful barrettes. “I need to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

Now thoroughly interrupted, the moment was over, and Adam made his way to the sliding doors. He glanced back down the hall, where the nurse was interrogating him with a smile that resembled a well-polished knife. Ronan looked up, met his eyes, and smiled.

Adam smiled back.

Cheng had switched all the lights on and had his feet propped up on the dashboard, hat tipped low over his eyes. As Adam climbed into the seat and opened up his report, Cheng hit the siren with his middle finger, but he also put his feet down and knocked the hat to the floor.

For one dizzying moment, Adam didn't even see the report in front of him. He allowed himself one fantastical second to imagine a date: clocking out Monday morning, texting Ronan, sitting down to more food at once than he's ever eaten, spending hours talking about nothing and everything, kissing,  more --

He shook his head. Right now he had things to do. “Let's go,” he said to Cheng, who put the truck in gear and sped off into the morning.

[dawnkiwi-blog]

A Beautiful Mind - Tony Stark fanfiction // dawnkiwi

A Beautiful Mind - Avengers fanfiction | Iron Man / Tony Stark-centric | #1 in the Wretched Adrenaline series

Summary: Summary: 'Prodigious clarity conceived', Tony Stark is the most enlightened mind of this existence. Like an elastic band, his mind expands to encompass all knowledge he comes across. Bands snap. Featuring: Tony Stark x Pepper Potts Steve Rogers Thor Odinson

Genres: Drama/Family

Word Count: 2,500 Chapters: 01/05 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness / familial abuse and trauma / mentions of sexual activity

moodboard / gifset for this chapter can be found here

Prelude - Mad World

In the span of 40 years, Anthony Edward Stark had accomplished more than some civilisations could in the span of a hundred.

As the Merchant of Death, he carries the honours of being both a creator and a destroyer.

His true passion, however, remains entirely separate from his peace-shattering works of art.

Hidden from greedy eyes and safely sequestered more than a hundred feet below the streets of Manhattan, Tony sat hunched over a gleaming metal desk. In his hands, he twisted and tinkered with one of his numerous homemade 'toys'. A nifty little scanner he'd managed to construct from the properties of that damned sceptre.

It glowed an ominous blue when activated, and served to create a holographic interface of whatever he aimed it at.

Pepper's bitter denouncement stemmed from Tony's obsessive need to spend as much waking time as possible in his lab. Strewn across the concrete floor were bits of metal and wiring; numerous unrecognisable pieces of machinery. A reminder of the neglect Pepper faced..

His latest fixation happened to be the laws of physics, gravity, and time. Far from his usual technology, Tony had a burning need to understand the more abstract elements of science. It consumed him like a disease.

Pepper believed Tony had become jealous of Jane. Jane believed Tony was rightly curious, and perhaps justly terrified of what the universe held. Steve Rogers had given his two cents and informed Pepper than the prodigal Avenger was likely suffering from an acute case of PTSD.

He was feeling challenged. A strange sensation to a man who had rarely ever felt intellectually stumped.

Glinting like a slice of opal sky, the shard discarded upon the desk stared him in the face. It haunted him.

"What are you made of.." Tony muttered to himself. JARVIS had kindly informed him that the remains he had swiped from the shaken streets of NYC did not match any known material on earth. It seemed the strange material was entirely from another world. Even his new prized scanner could tell him nothing of value.

How fitting, he thought, for the remains of the chitauri to be completely isolated from man's known elements.

"Bring up the carcases again," he said, swivelling around to face the floating holograms behind him.

Scenes from the Chitauri attack flitted across each projected screen. They zoomed in and stilled to focused on the slain behemoths. Any and all CCTV of New York had been scrupulously downloaded and hoarded on servers hidden around the world. To Tony, while his mind functioned in near eidetic capacity, knowing what he had experienced had been seen by the rest of the world served to ground him, and keep him sane.

Forty tonnes of celestial monster lay prone and cooling aside Central Park. They were so beautiful, Tony often thought, but beautiful in the sense of untold horrors.

Tony loved his Lovecraft.

When the time had come for the monumental cleanup, Tony had done his part and donated a nine-figure sum to hush up the moaning politicians and appease the very front end of the public outrage which continued to pour, more than two years on. A part of that sum, however, included Stark Industries personally cleaning up the mess. Housed in a remote New Mexico bunker, the corpses were cryogenically frozen for Tony's personal research.

It was poetically humorous, in his opinion, for the remnants of the Chitauri to be stored in the home state of all things weird. He could have gone with Nevada, but the CIA were still impolitely hostile to him, so he hadn't bothered. It was also fairly apt, considering New Mexico seemed to be Heimdall's favourite drop-zone.

Not to mention my tower, he thought irritably.

Tony still wanted to see Asgard.

On his holographic screen, the body which splayed itself like a bludgeoned pineaaple gave him no more insight than he already had.

"Just what are your secrets, puppy-dog," he sang to himself in an ill attempt to stifle his growing irritation.

With a sigh, he stood up and stomped over to his kitchenette for more coffee.

The microwave blinked a neon 6:44 AM at him. Nearly time for breakfast. The coffee maker clicked on, it's whirring tearing apart the silence.

These past few months hadn't been kind to him. According to Pepper, rather. In Tony's mind, the last few months had been some of the most enlightening. Ignoring his reoccurring nightmares, in which beasts of incalculable size and strength dominated his mind; in which his fears of losing his precious Pepper, and in which the gaping void stared unshakably at him. He loathed it. But in many ways, Tony longed for the terrible dreams. They powered him forward like a ravenous wolf, always seeking the answers to questions previously unthought of.

He loathed it.

But in many ways, Tony longed for the terrible dreams. They powered him forward like a ravenous wolf, always seeking the answers to questions previously unthought of. It was like searching for air in the Mariana Trench.

When he had fallen from the sky, the only thing on his mind was Virginia Potts. He would never see her again. He would never be able to tell her he loved her. They would never have a family. All the unspoken words and missed moments. Gone.

Dead.

And then to wake up on the cold ground with the Hulk's giant gnashers roaring in his face... it had been the single most defining moment of his life. Afghanistan had changed him many ways. Most of them subtle. Tony couldn't be handed things; he couldn't take a bath or step into a pool. The ocean sparked a dread in him he hadn't previously known, and the desert was like a nightmare of desolation and heart-stopping agony.

But that void.

It haunted him, it taunted him; it fucking broke him in two, then moulded him back like a mended shirt, only to be torn again. It never ended.

In his dreams, the void did not move. There was no sound. There was no light. Nothing but that singular, gaping hole in the sky that served to remind humanity how insignificant they all were.

He would wake gasping for breath in a silent scream, trying his hardest to make any noise he could. But in space no one can hear you scream.

He had known this already, of course; that humanity existed akin to a pimple ready to rupture.

To be a man who makes death weapons is one thing, and carrying a legacy like the Manhattan Project is a weight that comes with the gift of money. But with a heart that only beats due to a battery he had personally engineered... even if it is a world-changing innovation.. life is very fragile, indeed. Pepper's own fragile form bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Pure horror can act as energy. Like lightening, he mused, much like Heimdall and Thor, and even Loki's abilities which defied known science. It strikes when you least expect it. It surges like a violent bolt of love; passion and frenzy. The outcome never matching love, but exceeding it, like the death of loved one.

"Your coffee is ready, sir." JARVIS broke through Tony's tormented thoughts. Absently, he had begun to grip his mug so tightly he had nearly shattered it.

Just like me.

Pouring the obsidian liquid into his mug, he stood quietly, questioning if he should emerge from his lab and eat.

Logic won him over, and he stepped into his elevator.

In the communal kitchen, Steve Rogers stood preparing a delicious breakfast. The scent made Tony's mouth water.

"Capsical," Tony proclaimed, throwing himself onto a leather stool, "What are you making me?"

Steve shot him a bemused look. "Pancakes, with bacon and eggs. How many do you want?"

Tony hummed. "Better make it three. I'm trying to preserve my figure, you know."

Steve rolled his eyes but dumped the requested number of pancakes onto a plate for him.

It had taken them a long time to get to speaking terms. In fact, they didn't do much 'speaking' outside of forced interactions, or the occasional glib remark. But every now and then, one of them would try to be nice, and it made all the difference to those around them. Even if they were patronising each other, it was a world better than the snide and often callous remarks aimed at each other. Few days went past when any of them did not find themselves lost in thought of their tense interactions near the sceptre.

Loki's legacy lived on.

Feasting upon the admittedly perfect pancakes, neither man spoke until Vision stepped into the kitchen.

Steve gave his usual polite greetings, whereas Tony had to be Tony.

"Hey, JARVIS one."

"Hello, Tony."

It bothered him. That his beloved AI technically lived on a man- was he really a man?- but had assumed total sentience. It freaked him out, if he was honest. At first, it had hurt; he had, all things considered, birthed the most advanced AI known, and once said AI had become self-aware, he had fixated on Wanda like Tony fixated on the Chitauri.

Of course, Tony didn't hold it against him. Whatever had occurred between the two, for he didn't really know, they had formed a bond. They doted on one another, Vision more so than Wanda, like Pepper longed for Tony to do. They cared for each other, and functioned as any healthy couple should.

So Tony had spent weeks holed up in his lab, refusing to leave once, and recreated JARVIS. JARVIS II technically. The new JARVIS could do everything the original had. But in his fearful mania, Tony had installed and formed new abilities. It meant that if Tony was ever mortally wounded, JARVIS could take care of him. JARVIS is his friend, his confident, his doctor, and his therapist.

Pepper hated it. She had originally broken up with him when she didn't see Tony for nearly a month.

He hadn't intended for that to happen. But when he had gone down there, the fear had taken hold of him and driven him to better what he already had. JARVIS, his bots, his suits, his cars. Everything he had at his disposal had been upgraded, reinvented, and re-engineered to answer only to him.

He would never be able to rely on another person. Despite his self-assurance that he didn't hate Vision, he still resented the abandonment which plagued him.

It was irrational and childish, but Tony couldn't rid himself of the feelings.

Tony hadn't slept for weeks. A personal record, as far as he was concerned, but a serious health issue. Soon after he began the mammoth task of rehauling his creations, the delirium had set in. The hallucinations. His code swam off the screens and danced like a puppet, refusing to do as he commanded. Every time he began to focus, the shadows of his lab had leered at him, taking the form of the Chitauri, or Loki, and even Ultron.

Naturally the only answer was to install lighting in every corner, and have the room lit up like the face of the sun.

After twenty four days, Pepper had stormed into his lab, smashed his Starkpad, and dragged him out onto the streets of Manhattan.

"Look at what you're doing to yourself," she had screamed, uncaring for the eyes which devoured this controversial argument.

He had tried to defend himself but resorted to begging and pleading.

"Pep, come on, I'm sorry. I just.. I lost track of the time. I didn't know where I was, or even who I was."

Pepper had not been placated. "Then you need help, Tony," she had spat, "I'll call Lizbeth right now. You are going to end up dead at this rate."

They had made the headlines in every major publication and gossip rag, going as far as featuring at the bottom of the NYTimes front page. It had been embarrassing, sure, and that itself had been enough to make Tony snap out of it.

"I swear to god, Tony, if you don't stop this insanity, we are over."

"Pepper!" He had been verging on shouting at this point. "That isn't fair."

She had seemed so tall and powerful in that moment. It made him want to shy away, and curl into himself. To run back to JARVIS and lock everyone out. Knowing he had been so erroneous as to leave his lab unlocked shook him to the core. Another potentially fatal mistake.

Pepper shook her head, hiding her tears behind her fringe. "We're over Tony. Go get help, and get yourself back to some level of sanity. But until then, don't contact me."

She had left him standing on the street. Tony didn't remember much after that, only that he had collapsed defeated on his couch. Another week of absence went by before he could muster the courage to step out of his lab. Only Virginia Potts could force a man like Tony Stark to do something he didn't want to.

"Are you alright, Tony?"

Steve's baritone wrenched Tony back to the present and away from the awful memories.

He placed a megawatt smile on his face and winked at Steve. "Right as rain, scouts honor."

The door slid shut behind Tony. Steve shook his head with a sigh.

"He really needs to talk to someone," he said.

Vision concurred. "Tony does appear to be in ill health. Perhaps we should contact Ms Potts?"

Steve shook his head again. "That will only drive Stark further into himself. He won't talk about whatever is bothering him. You know him and Ms Potts broke up?"

Vision did not know these. "I was under the impression they are still in a relationship."

"They are," Steve said, "But a few months ago Pepper left him. She wouldn't say much, just that Tony was too much to handle."

Vision mused over Steve's words for a few minutes, leaving the Captain to his thoughts. Steve had considered getting Sam to talk to Tony. His fellow Avenger is, after all, trained in dealing with PTSD. But regardless of whoever approached Tony, the result would only be more isolation, and likely a lingering sentiment of betrayal.

While Steve didn't care all that much for Ironman, he still believed in an ingrained sense of camaraderie.

Something had to be done for Tony, for better or for worse.

This is the first chapter of five. I'll upload the next one either tomorrow or the day after. The story is finished, so you don't have to worry about me abandoning this fic. If you enjoyed this, consider checking out my parallel story 'Fortune of A Broken Man' which is set a few months after the end of this story. Neither of these stories need to be read to understand the other.

FoABM is a James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (the Winter Soldier) centric fic, featuring Steve Rogers, my OC Lizbeth Barnes, Darcy Lewis, Dr Selvig, and Loki.

Have a nice day y'aaaaall.

[hooptrition]

Cambage brings it at home

The final game of Round 6 of the WNBL had it all today; a very healthy home crowd, a scoring blitz from one of the league’s star recruits and, most importantly for the home fans, a 77-74 victory for Melbourne over fellow contenders Adelaide. 

Whilst the focus of this contest will naturally revolve around the almost impossibly efficient 44 point, 12 rebound performance by Boomers centre Liz Cambage, what are the possible takeaways for the rest of the league? 

The very first possession of the game was a portent of what was to follow as Cambage sealed deep at the rim and finished whilst being fouled by Ruth Hamblin. 

What looked to be Adelaide’s opening strategy with Cambage appeared on her next touch with a quick double team arriving.  However, this could never be organised quickly enough throughout most of the first half and a series of catch and turn shots and drop steps kept adding to her tally. 

After a sweet shooting return from injury in Sydney the night before, Jenna O’Hea started the same way in this one, hitting three of her four attempts in the first period despite picking up her second foul early on. 

The Lightning tried some 1-3-1 zone with their three guard line-up later in the first period but O’Hea’s hypnotic ball fakes cued some slick team passing that mostly still finished with Cambage isolated inside. 

The Lightning hung tough and awaited for the storm to abate throughout the first fifteen minutes of game time, which was pretty much all they could do. 

When Cambage exited (O’Hea was already on the bench resting) with about four minutes to go to half time things looked quite settled with the Boomers leading 36-28. 

A few shaky possessions later and Coach Molloy was calling for time and the reintroduction of O’Hea as the Lightning’s press into a 2-3 zone seemed to confuse Melbourne’s mainly bench line-up. 

Cambage followed O’Hea back to the floor just before the half time interval and piled on a couple of late hoops to stretch the lead back to 42-32 at that break. 

The first 8 minutes of the third quarter are likely to make the most interesting watching for upcoming Melbourne opponents. During that stretch the Boomers had 14 possessions, 10 of which finished with neither O’Hea nor Cambage. 

The result of those 10 was 3 turnovers, 6 missed shots and just a single make from Kalani Purcell (off a Cambage assist.) 

Not surprisingly, the Lightning crept back to tie things up during this stretch with a barrage of free throw attempts and some quick cuts and finishes from Ruth Hamblin proving their major scoring sources. 

The Lightning stuck mostly with a few types of zone in the last quarter and got enough offence from Natalie Novosel  and youngsters Nicole Seekamp and Lauren Nicholson to win most games. 

The difference here was that O’Hea now shifted back to primary ball handling duties for the entire stretch run and Cambage played almost exclusively from the high post, to make fronting or double teaming more problematic for the visitors. 

Between them, the two Opals stars had the first 12 points to vault the Boomers back to a lead they would not relinquish to the finish. 

Cambage rolled out a never ending series of spins, drop steps and soft touch finishes that for good measure were iced with a few mid range swishes. In this form and with this flow of touches, things get very difficult indeed for any WNBL opponents. 

O’Hea simply did everything her team needed to do to win, scoring enough to keep the defence honest, handling on every trip and not turning it over once for the entire period. 

So what would a team need to add to the grit and defensive change-ups that the Lightning so effectively produced today? 

O’Hea and Cambage are shooting the ball at 52 and 59% respectively for the season to date, whilst the bench unit (which went 9 of 34 in this contest) is shooting at a combined 37% clip for the year (and that dips sharply if you exclude Brittany Smart’s 49% number). 

In games where Cambage hits the midrange jumper like she did today, there’s probably no real relief but mixing up defensive alignments, flashing and slashing at the rim protection (as Novosel and Hamblin briefly did to make helping a constant battle) and somehow keeping the ball out of O’Hea’s hands for stretches, are some of the clues Chris Lucas’ group provided. 

The ladder says the Boomers are third best but with Cambage doing just some of what she did today and O’Hea rolling back into full fitness and touch, it’s hard to see who else has a greater percentage chance of taking the title at this stage of the season.