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pb-dot · 1 year ago

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Writer Q&A Tag

Full disclosure, this is my second attempt at writing this tag. After I was mentioned by @mthollowell-writes I started filling in the questions with the enthusiasm I usually show for these kinds of things. Then, I actually double-checked the post and discovered I was not tagged, but rather mentioned as an inspiration. This flustered me to the point where I plain forgot to read the next line encouraging those tagged in this way to participate as well, and so, not wanting to be gauche, I deleted the post-to-be. Now I know better, and found the whole thing humorous enough to share, so good on me, I say. Q&A below the cut

1)What motivates you to write?

Writing just makes me happy. I might hem and haw about the obscure pain of trying to nail my thoughts to the page, as well as the sheer nightmare that is editing the result, but the truth of the matter is that writing lets me be a happier person. Part of it is no doubt that it allows me to unload one of the several stories I've got rolling around in my head at any given time, and part of it is that I just enjoy the process of it, forming formless thoughts into linear sentences and linear sentences into more or less coherent paragraphs,and so on.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

The description of Jake's first impressions of 13 sticks with me. I can't quite decide if I think it's good or if I just think it's good-shaped, but it'll do for this example.

There was something with the pensive look in the eyes of the strange young man that just drew out the similes. His eyes weren’t blue, they were like a perfect sky; His hair wasn’t blond and tightly cropped, it was like freshly harvested wheat; His cloak was not over-sized and ill-fitting, it was like an immaterial fog swathing his delicate form. Perhaps the young man could not be comprehended otherwise, at least Jake couldn’t.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

I am very fond of the main couple of my book, Jake and 13. There's just something about the slow but inexorable and unashamed way these two grow to rely on each other that really works for me. They both have good cause to be cynical about the world and everything in it, but despite this, there's something about how they are together that allows them to be vulnerable and gentle with each other, and that's the kind of thing that makes me smile.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

I love the drafting process. Getting words on the page in the form they're supposed to have just fills me with energy, and every time I add a detail that flourishes into a whole subplot or important worldbuilding detail I feel an incredible level of mastery that just fills me with energy. That's not an everyday occurrence, to be clear, but a couple of times per draft I'll get into the "wait, what does that bit I added on a whim imply exactly"-headspace, and often that leads to the discovery of something neat!

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Oh, now this is hard for me. Not because I don't know what to say, but because anything that might constitute bragging is just difficult for my brain to handle. That said, I think I'm really strong on structure and plot, thinking about characters and their struggles and development in terms of part of an overarching story just comes naturally to me and I enjoy working on that scale.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I honestly just love the very specific kind of commiseration writers show to each other, and Writeblr captures it perfectly. There's just something refreshing about posting something like "got distracted from writing by worldbuilding, got distracted from worldbuilding by research about Parisian sewers through history" or whatever and have people popping up like "Oh if I had a dollar every time that happened."

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I'm a Scrivener boy, and I must say a couple of features of that program help my writing a sizable amount. I enjoy how it's offline and not integrated or associated with any level of AI fuckery on any detectable level. The way it organizes your manuscript on a chapter-chapter level and the chapters on a scene-scene level has also been very useful for getting nitpicky with the structure, in addition to finally getting me to organize my writing into chapters which I had dragged my feet on for months at that point.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I just got done writing up a lengthy summary of The Coal Wars that set the stage for my setting, so while I hatelove it on the level I hatelove most of my ideas, it'll be my pick for this. In short, the city the story takes place in isn't commonly referred to by name because the name it used to have, Imil, is so closely related to the name of the empire it used to be the capital of, Imelia. Imelia was an expansionist maritime empire that maintained colonies and suzerainties all over the world until its chief colony Pelia declared independence after a series of unpopular taxes were levied against them along with the kind of draconic control that an empire might employ against its subjects. This declaration led to a spreading wildfire of requests and demands for emancipation from Imelia's other colonies.

Long story short, Imelia declared war on all of them in an act of imperial hubris. Because control of coal production was such a big deal for the Imelian empire's steampunk technology, these wars were known as The Coal Wars. These wars ended up bankrupting Imelia, and with the hereditary line of emperors cut off with the last empress' death, the whole nation was at a perilous tipping point.

What ultimately decided the fate of the empire was a bunch of the government's debtors and creditors banding together and deciding to repossess the imperial palace, which led to a scuffle between the debtors' private security and the remaining government and their loyalists that saw the last government of Imelia fall in a rather ignoble way. Not wanting to get into the mess of inheriting Imelia's many problems by claiming the throne, the debtors declared the nation of Imelia defunct and went back to their business consolidating industrial and real estate holdings while their security and private military forces maintained a sort of peace in the city.

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

If you are like me and writing in and of itself brings you joy, try to find little moments of calm or clarity to write a bit. Doesn't have to be much. Just fiddling with some sentences or correcting obvious mistakes in your text can be enough to keep your writing fresh in your mind until better days come along.

If you're less energized by the act of writing itself and it's an actual drain on you, I recommend you to not worry about it. Take a break. Rest. Maybe read or watch some fiction, go see some friends, and live whatever slice of life you can in your current state. It might not seem like it, but this is a vital part of writing as well, since you need a steady stream of impressions and thoughts and feelings to fuel your writing, in addition to needing them to live a fulfilling life of course.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

I should be way better at reading other writeblrs stuff honestly. There's some good stuff in here. That said, I do enjoy reading up on @stesierra multitude of projects and @dyrewrites' dark, wicked, and delightful Pale Blood. I also have a longer list of people I just like seeing pop up. In no particular order: @anxious-andconfused @starbuds-and-rosedust @words-after-midnight @holdmyteaplease @teacupsandstarlight @ettawritesnstudies @simonambroise @writingamongther0ses @leisoree @wrenofthewords @isabellebissonrouthier @rickie-the-storyteller @robin-writes-a-lot @scifimagpie and of course @mthollowell-writes

Everybody mentioned above can consider themselves tagged in this. I also wouldn't mind getting to know the following people a mite better: @maskedemerald @deadhunter-series @your-absent-father and @unspokenvastlywritten

#writing #writeblr #hearts in clockwork #peebs thinks #the clockwork boy

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uwingdispatch · 2 years ago

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Unwavering

Notes: Brasso/Reader, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, mild hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: chronic illness, mention of depression, sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You still remember the day that Brasso left Ferrix. How he’d come into the little café where you’d worked, and asked if he could talk to you in the back room. How you’d broken the rules to allow this, because the look in his eyes was dire and it was so early in the morning that nobody else working was awake enough to care.

“I think the way things are going to go today,” he said, “I’ll have to leave Ferrix for a while.”

Your heart sank, your unspoken feelings for this man bubbling to the surface as you tried to hold back tears. For a long time now, you’d relied on Brasso perhaps more than you should rely on a friend. You’d never considered that a moment like this would come, even with the Empire pressing its boot to Ferrix’s proverbial neck. But you wondered now how you’d never once told him how you really felt. How many times had he sat with you in the clinic during a flare up, making sure the doctor heard you when you said you were in pain? How many times had he left work early to make sure you were taking care of yourself when he knew you’d been struggling with anything from a little cold to a difficult depression or a debilitating migraine? But that was just Brasso. He was like that with so many people. Today he was taking care of Maarva Andor who had recently passed after losing her son to…you weren’t quite sure what but there were a lot of stories about Cassian.

“I need you to stay here. Or even better, go home. Tell the boss you’re having a migraine, maybe. Actually...do you think you could leave town, maybe stay with your cousin for a bit? If you need credits to get there—”

“Brasso, slow down,” you said. “I know the Imperials have been been relentless, but this is a funeral. You really think—”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

He took your hands, his palms rough from all the years of grappling in the scrap yard. From decades of being the one to take care of all the strays who ended up on Ferrix—be that tooka cat, droid or lonely neighbor. And something about his touch that day was different—an affection came through in a way you hadn’t felt it before.

“Okay.”

You took off your apron and got your jacket, told a coworker you had a family emergency and needed to leave on the next shuttle. Brasso walked you back to your apartment, your hand in his, the crisp cold air of Ferrix the only thing keeping you from combusting. When you finished packing your bags, he slipped a few credits into your coat pocket despite your insistence that you didn’t need them. And then, delicately, he touched your face.

“You are so precious to me,” he said. “Do you know that? I never…” he trailed off for a moment, closing his big hazel eyes, taking a deep breath. “I never had the courage to tell you how much I love you, but if something happens today and I never get to see you again—”

And you must have started to weep because you felt the wet of your tears on your cheeks, followed by Brasso’s calloused thumbs wiping those tears away as he begged you not to cry.

He leaned in, touched his nose to yours, and, almost in a whisper, asked, “May I?”

When you nodded, he brought his mouth to yours, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. He whispered your name, as he wrapped his big, muscular arms around you, and you reached to touch his face in a way you’d only dreamed about, let your fingers slide into the close-cropped hair at the back of his neck. You knew in just minutes you might lose him forever.

“Don’t go,” you said.

“I’m sorry, darling. I made promises. But I’ll make another promise to you.” He paused, taking a deep breath before saying, “If I make it through today, I will come home to you. I don’t know when, or how, or even where home will be. But I will find you.”

He kissed you one last time, and you tried to savor it, to etch it into your memory, knowing it might be a while before you saw him again. Having no idea that when he walked out your door that this would be the last time you saw him for ten years.

When you got the message, you thought it was a cruel joke. It had been six months since the Battle of Jakku and you’d long given up hope of ever seeing your friend again. Your friend? No. Brasso was the man you’d loved since the day he’d stopped to help you pick up a bag of groceries you’d dropped walking home from the market. When he’d introduced himself, you were charmed. But you immediately thought that he was a bit older than you and, besides, you didn’t usually go for men built like a loader droid. Certainly he wouldn’t want to waste his time with someone who came with your kind of baggage—things not as easy to deal with as caf beans and meilooruns. But there was something about Brasso, how his face had flushed that day when your hands touched, how he’d walked you the rest of the way home, carrying your bags for you despite your insistence that you could do it yourself. How he’d pegged that as a lie immediately but never teased you about it. Not that day, and not any other.

And tonight as he stands in the doorway of your little house on Gatalenta, you’re so overwhelmed that you drop the teacup in your hand, the warm liquid splashing your ankles as it hit the floor.

“You’re alive,” you say, your breath sharp in your lungs.

“Somehow, yes,” he says. “You didn’t get my message?”

“I did. I just thought…”

He’s nervous. It radiates off of him—that half-smile, his hazel eyes full of questions. You invite him in, and when he steps over the broken teacup, you let him take you into his arms, relishing the warmth of his body as it envelops you, the familiar hug from all those years ago, the softness of his sweater. He bends to kiss your forehead and you feel the tickle of his dark hair, now laced generously with silver, grown a bit shaggy and falling soft around his face.

“I thought of you every day I was gone,” he says. “And if it’s too late…that’s okay. But I made you a promise. So I’m here.”

“Brasso,” you say, “There has never been anyone I loved like I love you.”

He drops his bags on the kitchen floor and there are tears in his eyes when you step back, leading him into your home. You remember how he told you not to cry on the day that he left, how you never made it to your cousin’s house but sobbed for days in a hotel room before the smoke cleared enough for you to go back to your apartment. You never felt safe on Ferrix again, but you held tight to the rumors that Brasso had escaped the planet despite the warrants out for his arrest.

So when he kisses you, and you taste the salt of his tears, you are so overwhelmed that you can barely stand. You help him out of his jacket, and then his sweater, and now in his undershirt you see scars you know he didn’t have before the war. But also new tattoos. Among them, on his left arm: flowers native to your homeworld, where your family had lived before you came to Ferrix as a teenager with the hope of starting a new life distant from the conflict.

And as you trace the lines of the blossoms, Brasso whispers, “I always kept you with me.”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you say.

You touch his cheeks, the stubble along his jaw, and when you rake your hands through his hair he shivers.

“I’m here,” he says. “And I’ll never go anywhere as long as you’ll have me.”

His hands are at your waist and you guide them under your shirt and soon the both of you are underneath the blankets of your bed, his skin hot against yours, the scent of him intoxicating, his kisses escalating from soft and sweet to near desperation. You think that if you could only spend the rest of your life wrapped like this in Brasso’s strong arms you would never want for anything ever again.

“We can wait,” he says, “We don’t have to—”

You hush him with a kiss and tell him, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve waited long enough.”

His deft fingers slip into your undergarments as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, your sternum, your tummy and it’s both too soon and not soon enough when he ducks under the covers to taste you. With your hands in his hair you swear you can see stars, your tears finally spilling onto you cheeks, and beyond this perfect moment of pleasure you know that the home you’ve always dreamed of is finally manifesting itself in your bed, with no plans for the future other than a simple promise. And that’s enough.

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! Something came over me and I had to write Brasso, like, immediately. So I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

@writingbylee @waterpancakeao3 @zinzinina @princessxkenobi @aerynwrites @belfry-bat @phoenixhalliwell @r1-sw-lover @laserbrains @darthanakn @lovedbyth3sun @usernamesarebitches @maul-ologue @operation-spot @writeforfandoms @akgracemk @littlemousedroid @strwrs @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @galaxtic-writings @mintpurplemnm @multifandom-fic-rec-blog @againstacecilia @elasticreality @zombiedixon89 @forresway @diaryofkali @alistocats @favficss @themandadolorian @ginger-swag-rapunzel @lyuir @sith-as-heck @little-wolf-white-peacock @iamsuchanasshat @vvpoisonous

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lunahearts · 2 years ago

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Harvestella Thoughts: so what is this game, anyway?

Note: this post contains minor spoilers for the game, mostly involving overall themes and some allusions to the content of some side quests.

Well, it is definitely cute, if nothing else

Harvestella is a strange game. Or at least, I think it is a game made strange by its marketing and the genre expectations surrounding it. There’s been a lot of conversation about what genre it IS, both following the demo as well as the full release.

Is it a farm sim? An old school jrpg? Rune factory but with the balance inverted? Stardew but worse?

Yes. Kind of. Also... no.

The answer is easy enough, really. I can’t believe other people had so much trouble. Allow me to summarize the game in an easily digestible blurb for you all:

It’s a slow build 7/10 farm sim jrpg combo without the depth of most farm sims or the difficulty of most rpgs that also delivers a fantastically satisfying resource management experience and one of the best fucking stories I’ve seen all year.

Easy, right? You get it.

Emo gets it

Hmm.

See I think the thing about Harvestella is that the things that make it so good are mostly either a) significant spoilers, or b) tied to an overall experience more than individual components. It really is a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

And I don’t even want to claim that the whole will work for everyone!

If you are looking for a traditional farm sim where you can immediately dig into the systems of while progressing story at your own pace, this isn’t it. If you are looking for something that gives you access to the majority of its charming characters and hub town in the opening days of the tutorial and gives you the freedom to get right on to wooing your favorite, this isn’t it. If you are looking for intense action rpg combat, or deep, customizable strategy, this... yeah. Isn’t it.

And of course, if you aren’t interested in a particular brand of sentimentality - the ever growing compassion of the story and its messages about the importance of patience, collaboration, and the choice to hold tight to hope even amidst the very grounded struggles it presents to its characters - then its not for you.

However, if you ARE interested in that message, oh boy do I have a game for you.

And if you like a sharply written plot, layers of slowly unfolding lore, and an entire buffet of character stories AND side quests that explore questions of grief, trauma, chosen family, the slow work of technological advancement, estrangement, terminal illness, environmental preservation, redemption, generational trauma, living with unanswerable questions, identity, what identity even MEANS in the face of all of the above, and allergies... please please consider giving Harvestella a try.

Pretend that ‘hay fever’ here is a metaphor for ‘people judging Harvestella based on misguided assumptions’

And that’s not even getting into the gameplay, which itself offers a lot more depth and complexity than it appears to within the first days. It probably takes about the first third of the game for it to establish all the basic systems you will be interacting with on a daily basis while working through the story. I did call it a slow build for a reason.

I don’t think its the most engaging farm sim, or the deepest jrpg, but it is a game that, both in its story and its systems, encourages and rewards engaging with every mechanic and gameplay loop and concept it has to offer. It rewards exploration, it rewards strategy, it rewards optimization, it rewards preparation. It rewards attention. It doesn’t necessarily require those things, but trust me when I say there is a lot more there to dig into than “some crops grow in just one day” or “I can’t dodge enemy attacks.”

So what is Harvestella? Honestly... it’s just a good game. Truly, truly, a good and worthwhile game. It is rich and engaging, and has a ton to offer: beautiful art and charming characters, a FANTASTIC soundtrack, tons of gorgeous and lushly detailed areas to explore, and hours and hours of twists and turns to enjoy. It oozes care and love, and especially in some areas towards the end of the main story, a level of polish and presentation that took my breath away.

It’s its own thing. Give it a try.

Also like not to flex on Rune Factory but you can actually choose to partner with the MILF in this one

#harvestella #square enix #farm sim #jrpg #game recommendations #< im sure like no one ever looks in that broad of tags but I just want to get it out there u know

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

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The FNDM’s ableism has been getting really bad, Clyde. I mean, people are going so far as to compare James and Pietro and say that, because James’ prosthetics allow him to be more mobile, he’s there for “less handicapped”…yeah, really.

Yeah, I came across that comment a couple of days ago, did a horrified double-take, and by the time I'd pulled myself away from a OFMD fic long enough to think about commenting, the rest of the RWDE community had done it all for me.

There's just... so much there. The inherent ableism of believing there's this disability hierarchy at play and every character gets a color-coded sticker for how disabled they "really" are. The biases attached to less visible/less represented disabilities in media (the guy in the wheelchair is accepted in a way the "passing" amputee capable of covering his prosthetics with long sleeves is not). The belief that "real" disabilities are tied directly to suffering (inspiration porn). The belief that Good People (Yang) are inherently "more" disabled and worthy of compassion than Bad People (Ironwood). How all of this is tied up in the rest of Ironwood's character, including his Schrodinger's semblance that reads like a mental illness. Even lacking an acknowledgement of really basic fandom facts like how Ironwood has been written as Penny's dad in AUs because he's been a full-fledged character with a connection to her since Volume 2... whereas Pietro didn't become more than just a profile until Volume 7. Generally speaking, are there problems in fandom at large with ignoring (other) disabled characters/characters of color? Abso-fuckin-lutely. But in this particular case I'd lay that accusation at RT's feet, considering they literally put Pietro in a potentially life-threatening situation and then just forgot about him, including having his magically-turned-human daughter (read: no longer sporting a disability-metaphor body) die without once wondering whether her dad made it to safety. The fans writing fun AUs about a character with Volumes more development because the writers already do not care about Pietro? They're not the ones to go after.

As said, it's all already been covered — I'm late to the party — but honestly? It bears repeating. Not because I believe in dog-piling any one person who makes a mistake, no matter how horrible a mistake we perceive it to be, but because this narrative of, 'I as an individual made a mistake don't blame the fandom at large' is ignoring the bigger problem. The fandom is ableist. Does that mean every individual in it is ableist, either knowingly or ignorantly? Of course not, but it means there's a reason why these takes keep cropping up; why we keep ending up in this cycle of someone saying something ableist, others getting (rightfully) upset over it, and then trying to downplay it like a one-time thing until the next ableist post inevitably comes along. As someone who blocks sparingly, I see all the takes that get tons of notes before someone finally speaks up and says hey, that's not okay. The idea that these takes are the opinions of just one (1) person is nonsense. We exist on a website that literally shows you how many people agree in the form of hearts and that doesn't even begin to cover all the silent readers who agree but never engage. The fandom is ableist because the world is ableist and because the canon has a host of ableism built into it, despite (and sometimes because of) its attempts to give us disabled characters. That's the reason why comments like these turn into "drama." It's never just about you, a one-off fluke posting something bad when that's definitely never ever happened before /s. The entire point is that it keeps happening and that so many support it until the tide turns against them. Fans are up-in-arms about the most blatant ableist comment we've seen in a while because there's been years worth of more subtle, but still very ableist fandom-ing before this. People are sick of it. Ironwood fans in particular are sick of it because too often the ableism they call out is hand-waved away with 'Oh, you're just a lunatic who likes dictators,' or whatever the current insult attempt is. Of course people aren't letting this pass with a metaphorical slap on the wrist because it's not something that has passed. The ableism is alive and well in the RWBY fandom. Libraries' worth of fanart of Yang sporting her prosthetic doesn't erase that.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years ago

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you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years ago

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Shortened Lifespan: Edelgard vs Lysithea

Now, technically, I’ve already made a post like this before, but I wanted it to be it’s own thing (brought about by a mutual tagging a post of mine and me wanting to go more into depth with it lol).

It’s been very widely accepted by the fandom that Edelgard and Lysithea both go through the expectation of living a shortened life due to the blood experiments done to them, with this partly being used as part of the defense/reasoning for Edelgard going to war instead of doing something more peaceful. She thinks she’s on a timer, like Lysithea, so she hard-starts change to work around her short-lived clock. Makes sense, on the surface.

But like I’ve mentioned on here before, I personally just can’t buy it. Nothing besides the immediate connection of “Edelgard and Lysithea both went through experimentation” suggests that Edelgard has the same shortened lifespan that Lysithea is suffering through.

More under the cut

One thing that immediately stands out, to me, are the differences between their stat spreads and growths (focusing on stats on this post).

Here are Edelgard’s (note: Statues not applied - add five to the stats if you want the true max values):

They are extremely good, especially for a default armor unit. Str and especially Mag are very high, average Dex and Spd (though notably good for an armor unit), good Def, amazing Charm. Her Luck and Res are the only things that are even kinda bad - it’d more accurate to say they’re below average, tho again, 47 Res on an armor unit is fairly high. In fact, of the units that lean towards armor, Edelgard has the highest Res, and even beats out some units that aren’t armor-leaning such as Claude and Felix. Even her seemingly low HP (for an armor) is mitigated by the fact that it’s still some of the highest for a female unit overall (the fifth highest, beat out by Petra, Rhea, Manuela, and Hilda)

What are Lysithea’s, in contrast? (blacked out everyone above her for easier reading):

...Uh. Yeah. In contrast to Edelgard’s far more even spread, Lysithea’s are skewed to fuck. The best Mag in the game and the second highest Dex (losing only to Claude’s 89), and some nice Spd, sure, but everything else takes an extremely large hit. 48 HP is the lowest in the game, pitiful Str and Def, and mediocre Luck, Res, and Charm. This girl is held together by toothpicks, Elmer’s glue, and God’s mercy.

So right off the bat, there’s a huge difference between the two of them in this regard, but I decided to go even further; just how off are Lysithea’s stats, actually? Some things make sense, like low Str and Def, so how different is she compared to others in her class type (magic users).

The magic users of the following factions have the Str stat underlined. First, BE:

BL:

GD:

CoS:

From what we can see, 30 Str isn’t actually out of the norm for a female magic user. The outliers are Rhea and Manuela with their Str in the low 50′s being not just the highest of the women, but of all the main magic users period, though part of that could be contributed to their age (vs Hanneman who is both older - in terms of physical age at least - and who does not focus on physical strength like someone like Gilbert) (Rhea being an older Nabatean could also attribute to this - notice Seteth’s stat spread which also has notably high Mag for a Wyvern Rider unit and Flayn’s, who is younger and who also had only recently woken from a centuries long sleep that she fell into after nearly dying, more odd spread). Following them for the women is Annette, who as we know lugs around a giant axe (Crusher’s weight is 11, making it heavier than most swords and bows and a good few lances - fun fact, it’s heavier than Areadbhar!) which likely lends to her having above average Str for her gender and unit type combination

Now, here’s the fun part: let’s look at the same unit’s Res stats

BE:

BL:

GD:

CoS:

Here’s where an interesting pattern shows up that’s fairly consistent: if a magic unit has bad Str, they have good/great Res to compensate, and vice versa. Annette’s above average Str (remember, for what she is) coincides with her bad Res, same as Manuela’s, and all the magic units with their ass Str have at least a respectable Res to go along with it. The only ones who break this rule are Rhea, due to her Str and Mag being fairly even with a lean towards magic (and also not being playable lol)... and Lysithea. Who has both a shit Str and shit Res stat. Even amongst her magical peers, Lysithea still stands out as particularly fragile and physically weak.

HOWEVER

Do note, for all of the above in terms of going over stats, that they aren’t necessarily the best indicator of anything in particular when it comes to a character; there is no version of me in the multiverse that will ever believe Manuela is stronger than Rhea or that Lorenz has the same amount of stamina as Dimitri, for example. But it is something to note when looking at Edelgard and Lysithea, due to them going through the same experiments and yet one is very clearly doing better in terms of damn near everything and the other very clearly lagging behind in damn near everything

Moving on, we have their Banes and Boons. Edelgard’s Boons are Axes, Swords, Heavy Armor, and Authority, with Banes in Faith and Bows. Of note, Edelgard will say in a Study Request that she believes it is her specifically having two Crests that allows her to be able to shrug on armor like it’s nothing, and her defaulting to an armor class with an axe as her default weapon makes her the literal heaviest she could theoretically be. On top of that, her Banes point to nothing about her physical health hindering her ability to do physically laborious feats.

Lysithea, on the other hand, has Boons in Faith, Reason, and Authority, with Banes in Swords, Lances, Axes, Heavy Armor, as well as Clearing Rubble as a Group Task activity. She has a budding talent in Swords - the lightest of the weapons she’s bad at and some of the lightest weapons in the game - that gives her access to a Combat Art that lets her use something other than Str to give Mt to her sword-based attack. Lysithea, in terms of Banes and Boons when compared to Edelgard (or anyone, really), is very clearly unable to do physically demanding things very well - it’s something she’s actively bad at doing and is a consistent fact about her that crops up in not just her stats and Banes and Boons, but also her supports. Edelgard’s situation is the same.

Edelgard has her supports with Ferdinand, as well as Ferdinand’s supports with Byleth, that showcase her being exceptionally good at combat in terms of physical fighting (as in, no magic, and having a talent in doing feats that would require a good amount of stamina). She beats Ferdinand in combat with one strike, and she is able to take on a Demonic Beast by herself while still fresh in the academy. There are no mentions of her being winded or tired from fighting, and she is more than once praised for her battle prowess.

Lysithea, meanwhile, has at least three supports (Byleth, Lorenz, Cyril) that indicate less than stellar stamina, health, and strength (she straight up faints in Byleth’s supports). While characters looking out for her health can maybe be somewhat attributed to her being one of the youngest students in the cast, the difference between and, say, Cyril, who’s even younger than her, is that she genuinely shows signs of ill health when she pushes herself too far, vs Cyril who is fine even with how much he works. When talking about her prowess in battle it is only ever in regards to her magical capabilities, not anything else, and she is seen constantly working on those capabilities.

And then lastly, there are their endings.

Edelgard has no endings that mention needing to be rid of her Crests - save one, which will be looked at in a bit. In particular, she has an ending with Hubert that indicates she lives on to her “later years,” which is usually attributed to a fairly old age. It is not, in this case, referring to Edelgard’s specific later years (for example, a person who lives to 30 can say their mid-twenties was the later years of their life), because it specifically says that she and Hubert live to their later years, which more likely points towards a longer life.

Lysithea in contrast has multiple endings that either has her and/or her lover actively looking for means to get rid of Lysithea’s Crests, or explicitly say that she dies young. There’s... not much more to add to that lmao

But! There is one ending with Edelgard that mentions her getting rid of her Crests, and it even says they restore her lost time! That’s proof positive, isn’t it?

Well, funnily enough, this is her ending with Lysithea that mentions this, and it... appears to be straight up incorrectly translated. As has been pointed out by others, the JPN ending doesn’t specifically mention restoring their lifespans, it simply says Edelgard and Lysithea “discovered a way to exchange the crest’s power for the restoration of a lost lifespan.” While, if we look at the surface level “Edelgard and Lysithea both had Crests implanted into them” similarity, it makes sense to attribute this restoration to the both of them, looking at everything else leans towards this statement mostly being for Lysithea. Which, given that this is the only ending - or really, the only place period - Edelgard has that even mentions her wanting to be rid of her Crest, let alone actively working towards it, it makes sense that this isn’t for her.

Now, all of the above isn’t directly pointing towards anything - it’s a lot of speculation, since nothing about Edelgard herself having a short life is ever explicitly said in the game. But when looking at all of the differences between Lysithea and Edelgard, when looking at how badly Lysithea stacks against everyone else vs how amazing Edelgard stacks, at how often dying young is mentioned with Lysithea vs Edelgard, at how much Lysithea focuses on her lifespan vs Edelgard, I personally just can’t believe that they’re similarly afflicted with a shortened life.

There’s almost nothing in the game to suggest that other than the one thing they have in common, which is the experiments themselves - if they do, then Edelgard simply doesn’t care as much about it as Lysithea, and/or it isn’t nearly to the extent of Lysithea, to the point where she feels no need to mention it anywhere. And this is the same character that brings up her ten dead siblings in the first support with the player character, so something as big as “oh yeah and I’m going to die relatively soon and young” feels like something she would similarly mention as something one should know about her, which she doesn’t. This seems, to me, to be just a popular fan theory that isn’t really all that supported in the game itself.

#Lysithea #Lysithea (fire emblem)#Edelgard #Edelgard (Fire Emblem)#exqueuese me princess #can this be considered meta?#to be 100% clear: this is my opinion based on what's in the game #all good if you don't agree!

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blackwoolncrown · 3 years ago

Note

a question about AC... i read the article you posted and now have a better understanding of the harmful effects of AC on not only the environment but individuals as well. as someone who rents and also lives in georgia with hot, humid summers - how would you suggest cutting down on AC use? like a gradual decline? or cold turkey and just running fans? i think youve mentioned you live in florida, so since we have similar summers, i’d like to know how you keep relatively cool because i definitely want to get away from AC use! i am on several medications that decrease my heat tolerance, and of course i dont want to hurt myself, but with this new information, i’d like to do something to “do my part”

Gradual decline. Cold turkey never ever is a good method for anything. The brain does not do well to sudden and abrupt changes, it's not nice.

First off, you mention being on meds so like statement: I'm aactually not encouraging you to do this, I'm not a doctor, and I make these suggestions for abled bodies- anyone with a disability/chronic illness is excused bc they are the exact people who should be getting exceptions and or the people the energy use is FOR instead of ppl who don't literally need it.

Secondly, the 'do my part' thing... I want to be clear that I don't talk about this in the sense that I think individuals are responsible for climate change-- but it is harm reduction AND MOST IMPORTANTLY I think that, for reasons specific to the individual's experience on this earth it is useful to see what one can do to live a life in line with their values and as divested as possible from energies and institutions they do not align with.

So for instance I won't buy any new clothes made of non-natural materials, I keep my AC minimal, I don't buy from Amazon. I don't think these things specifically do much at all about climate change, but I also have cut my reliance on things foisted on this culture bu toxic institutions and that matters.

With that being said, yes, it's a gradual thing. We are in more or less the same climate. What I do is this: Spring and Fall I turn my AC off w whenever I can- generally the rule is that as long as leaving it off doesn't accumulate heat or humidity inside which of course is Not Good, I leave it off during these seasons. In practice it jusst means there are certain days where having the AC off and the windows open is fine, and nights where the temp is stable and low enough that having it off works then, too. In the Winter I do not turn the heat on during the day since you can just layer up, but we turn it on low at night so we're not tense and cold at night. ALternatively we could use a space heater but we gave the one we had to someone else lol.

In the Summer the AC is on 79 during the day and 75 at night. We go outside a lot to get used to dealign with the heat- like a 40 minute walk outside almost every day, going to parks on the weekends when we can etc. In my car I usually leave the AC off but if it's on I turn it on low with the lowest amount of cooling. Bc I don't use AC much, the lowest amount is usually enough to make me feel "wow, cool!". I also save on gas since it's not blasting.

Also really important though is how I dress, and I don't tink that's talked about enough. If I'm gonna leave my house and I'm not exercising I wear crop tops/cholis with long skirts or over dresses of light, cotton layers and a veil/scarf of cotton or thin cotton jersey. This keeps heat away from my skin while allowing my skin to breathe and cool itself with perspiration and when I walk into th sun if I'm not wearing a wide brimmed hat (which I usually am) I use the veil to keep the sun off of my neck and head.

Again, when it’s hot and I’m outside I *literally* do not allow the sun to touch my skin. Think of how ppl who live in deserts dress. Yeah. And since it’s humid I make sure the fabrics are light, I keep layers away from my kidneys and I’m generally fine-

note about the kidneys if you’re cold you wanna make SURE your kidneys are covered snugly, if you’re hot you do NOT want fabric compressed around them.

One of my pet peeves about western culture is how the fashion of it is usually an affront to the environment. Weird bulky fabrics, lack of flowing layers, or too many layers in general- people who live in hot climates globally don't fucking dress like that! lol. Sidenote polyester? It may not wrinkle but it's NOTORIOUSLY non-breathable, making you feel even hotter.

The average person here wears like jean shorts and a polo top both of which are heavy af, and then MAYBE a baseball cap which does nothing, actually to keep the sun off of the sides of your face or your neck (where your blood is!!! so you don't want it getting hot!) and then goes 'shit it's hot outside'. Meanwhile as you probably know, ppl in South Asia....? Not dressed like that lol.

HTH!

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lorelylantana · 4 years ago

Text

Compulsion

Ao3

This oneshot was inspired by this post by @snooze-zzz

Oneshot rating: G

His father wasn’t happy when Link was called to his office, a scowl etched into his brow. Link stepped in and stood at attention, expecting his father to grumble about some last minute change to the guard’s rotation before assigning him to a troop to fill in the gaps left by such shifts. Link had been knighted only recently, and as the most junior member in his unit he was expected to pick up this sort of slack. Link didn’t mind, a little sleep lost was a small place to pay to quiet that writhing feeling in his chest. It wasn’t silent just yet, but he was getting closer. When his father got up to walk around the room, Link made no move to maintain eye contact, standing at attention. It was a test of sorts, teaching Link to hold his position until told otherwise. It took some practice to tamp down the instinctive urge to turn towards the speaker, but he was getting it. So when his father walked behind him, he thought he was just checking his form.

“Do you think this is a game, son?” the Captain’s words were cold, dripping with the kind of disappointment that would make any child’s blood freeze. Link’s pulse began to race. His face flushed, but his training held and he stood rooted to the spot.

“Sir?”

“Do you know how many fourteen year old knights there have been in recorded history?”

“One, sir,” Link answered, bracing for a lecture.

“Right, one. You are the only knight to ever be sworn in so young,” his father continued, coming around to face him again. Link almost flinched when he saw the quiet rage in his father’s eyes. This wasn’t going to be the ordinary scolding for being late to the mess hall or having a spot on his armor.

“I had to jump through a lot of hoops for you to be allowed to swear in early. I stuck my head out for you because I had faith in you. You told me you could handle the responsibility and I believed you. I don’t appreciate you dragging my name through the mud with this little stunt and I definitely don’t appreciate you going back on your word.”

Link racked his brain, still completely at a loss to the ‘stunt’ the Captain was referring to. He’d looked after his armor meticulously, arrived early for morning drills, he even took time out of his break to have a barber crop his hair to match Hyrule’s military regulation, leaving his neck uncovered for the first time in years.

Then again, he did break one of the sparring dummies yesterday, a swing of a sword that landed a bit too hard. The drill sergeant laid into him for that, sending him to run laps while everyone else got a water break.

“I can fix the dummy, sir.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently, because when his father’s face contorted even further. The Captain shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You knew perfectly well that tattoos visible in uniform aren’t allowed, let alone one blatantly disrespecting the royal family, so what possessed you to undermine the sacrifices made to get you here?”

Link’s hands were shaking behind his back. He couldn’t remember the last time his father was so angry with him, and he still had no idea what he was being reprimanded for. He didn’t get a tattoo as far as he remembered, and he didn’t drink, so it wasn’t a memory lost to wine.

Justified or not, the Captain’s anger stung after Link tried so hard to uphold the high standard his father held him to. He had been proud to meet that standard, but it was hard to hold his head high when his captain and his father looked at him with such disappointment, whatever the reason turned out to be. He felt his face heat with shame and his throat close.

The Captain sighed when his son failed to answer, and Link knew that he had fallen in his father’s eyes, and that thought alone was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, his knight’s countenance cracking at long last, “What did I do?”

His father shook his head, refusing to look him in the eye, “If you can’t be honest and own up to your own actions, then I have to put you on probation. Pack your backs and come back when you’re ready to stop treating the knight’s oath like a joke.”

Link saluted, maintaining his silence in a desperate attempt to regain his composure, though he couldn’t stop a few childish tears from leaking out in what would be his last show of emotion for a very long time.

The sun was setting as Link started down the road south to Castle Town where he’d stay the night, wondering what he’d tell his mom. His stomach twisted in dread. He didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment on his mother’s face. He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but whatever it was had to be so obvious that any denial would read as insubordination, so he doubted she would believe any defense he could muster.

He wanted to scream that he didn’t think knighthood was a joke. In truth he wouldn’t even consider it an ambition. He supposed it was an instinct, if anything. Perhaps it was because he was the son of the Captain of the Royal Guard, but that answer tasted wrong in his mind, like it was far too trivial an explanation for the growling dissatisfaction in his chest.

He’d always had fun swinging the wooden swords his father brought home when he was small, but time and again Link would be overtaken by some deep set sense of urgency to learn and hone any skill he could use in battle. He would be seated at the dinner table or doing his chores when something that tasted like an elegant, tempered version of panic would consume him and demand he rush outside to practice his sword forms. His mother scolded him for it at first, but couldn’t bring herself to reprimand him after she saw how distraught he would be if she stopped him, so she left him be, only calling him in if it was bedtime or if he scraped a knee. If he couldn’t find a sword, he’d pick up a broom and pretend it was a spear, or he’d make a claymore out of an iron hammer. He’d go hunting even though he’d have to drag a buck along on the ground because he was too small to carry it himself because standard targets simply wouldn’t cut it. Anything he could use to practice he would.

At first it was just repeating basic swings and perfecting technique, but after a few years passed there chime began to sound in the distance when he took up his arms, and soon after that ring grew into words reverberating in his head. At first, Link had thought the voice, ancient and vaguely feminine, was that of the Goddess. He didn’t think that now though. She, if the voice was, in fact, a she, felt isolated, personal. Link had the distinct impression that the voice was interested in him and him alone, and he didn’t think the White Goddess Hylia would play favorites, least of all with him. There was no praise or scorn from the voice, only instruction flavored with an odd sort of affection that felt older and steadier than the land itself, and Link, still driven by a baseless devotion, did as he was told.

When she told him to hone his agility by shadow sparring on a fence, he obeyed. When she told him to climb Mount Floria to strengthen his body and spirit he obeyed. And when he was told to visit the Spring of Courage to pay homage to his predecessors he obeyed, whoever they may be. Then old and forgotten combat arts were whispered in his ear, and Link began to fight unlike any man or beast in thousands of years.

It wasn’t long after that his father returned to Hateno on leave and took note of his progress. The Captain made a blithe comment that Link could hold his own against a royal guard, and once again the urgency rose, not to take up arms, but to head towards Hyrule Castle. He’d begged and pleaded with his father, swearing up and down that he would uphold the knight’s standard both in and out of combat, the voice reassuring him all the while.

When he was sworn to Hyrule’s service and he settled into the Military Training Camp the voice quieted down. He felt a tad lonesome without her, though he didn’t miss the mind numbing sensation so close to terror that always preceded her voice. It had been relaxing to train and talk and go about his life without a sense of foreboding shadowing his every action. He was where he needed to be.

As he walked further and further south he could feel it growing again, pulling him back the way he came. Link thought back to his childhood, wondering when this feeling, so much like a sickness, first came to him. Now that he thought on it, he was quite certain the first taste of this compulsion came to him at the late Queen’s funeral.

Yes, he remembered it clear as day. He had been outside the cathedral in Castle Town bearing lilies on his family’s behalf, since his father was guarding the ceremony and his mother had taken ill that day. Once the priestesses had concluded their rite there was a bid for all those in attendance to leave their offerings if they so wished, and when it was Link’s turn to approach the coffin he caught sight of Princess Zelda.

She was so small, smaller than he was, and though no tears fell Link saw her quivering ever so slightly. The sight of her green eyes and sun bright hair was so familiar even though he’d never seen anything like it. She looked up to meet his gaze, and within her green eyes Link found a fleeting epiphany tinged with nostalgia. In that moment Link could feel something deep within the earth beginning to rumble awake, dark and devastating. He’s certain that’s where his fixation began, and after years of contemplation he deemed the swell in his chest at the sight of her protective, though the nature of such devotion was lost on him.

Link had come up on Hyrule Cathedral then. He stood there a moment, wondering if he should seek Hylia’s guidance before heading on his way. Who knows, perhaps the voice would return to him and give him an objective to work towards, something to drown out the devastation in his chest.

“You are not to leave that spot until dawn breaks, Zelda. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

And there she was again, all snow white and burning gold in the light of the setting sun. He could see her glowing faintly in the firelight of the torches around her, kneeling in the middle of the Cathedral’s garden to pray. Possessed, he stepped closer to the wrought iron fence that separated them, drawn to her like a moth to any warm, bright light.

It had been years since he’d seen her shaking at the loss of her mother, but she somehow looked more hopeless and alone kneeling there in the grass. That observation tore at him, momentarily eclipsing his own desolation. In that instance Link wanted to be there by her side, if only to provide a moment’s reprieve from the storm they were trapped in.

His wish struck through him light a flash of lightning as though granted by a higher power.

Link spun around on the street and walked right back to the gate, retracing his steps, though he had no intention of returning to the Military Camp. He didn’t know where he intended to go, only that there was a white hot tether curled around his heart and soul dragging him back north, relentless and daunting.

He walked on into the night, after the people of Hyrule settled in to sleep and doused the fires lighting his way. The darkness mattered little, because whatever drove Link’s feet, it wasn’t his sight. He walked past the Camp he’d left not hours before, keeping out of the nightwatch’s range. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t need interruptions, and the guard would just get in his way. No one entered the Lost Woods without a death wish, at least, not before tonight. The fog of the ancient forest was potent, laced with an old magic, but it parted for Link, yielding to a more powerful, primordial force. It was a familiar feeling, Link realized as he passed between two seas of swirling white. He could hear her chime as she led him into the warmth of the Korok Forest. He didn’t hesitate to walk up to the sword where it lay in stone. The massive tree before him began to shift, but Link paid it no mind as he took hold on the blade and pulled.

The blade came free effortlessly, but Link tumbled back, overtaken by visions of death and destruction and ruin.

He’d heard whispers of a fabled apocalypse brewing beneath the land, but Link hadn’t listened too closely. They were only rumors, inconsequential when compared to the mind consuming drive to become a better warrior. Link had trained himself for years, mastering every weapon he could find, all in preparation to wield this sacred blade of evil’s bane.

But it wasn’t enough. It was nowhere near being enough to stop the horrors the voice in his blade spoke to him of.

Link didn’t return home after that. He couldn’t, because he knew that if he faced his father and mother just once he would break down, and that wasn’t an option anymore. He needed every hour he could get, and with the Calamity looming over the horizon he couldn’t justify something so selfish. He had to protect the Princess, he had to protect all of Hyrule, and weak as he was now he didn’t stand a chance. With the blessing of the Great Deku Tree he remained in Korok Forest, learning skill after skill. He trained dawn till dusk, sleeping in the Deku Tree’s hollow and cooking meals from the mushrooms and herbs the Koroks gathered for him.

He appreciated the little forest spirits, their antics helped cheer him when the weight of it all began to crush him.They were helpful in small but essential ways. They mended and refreshed his clothes, told him their stories and sang their songs, and when his hair grew long they found him a band to tie it with. He asked them to send messages to his family that he was still alive even though he had no idea if they were successful. They would listen to the whispers of Hyrule and tell him which monsters were causing the most trouble so Link could gain some real battle experience. Hestu helped him pack enough provisions to make a pilgrimage to Thyphlo ruins, where he stayed day and night until he had mastered fighting blind, and then he returned to the Korok Forest to fine tune his skills until his seventeenth birthday.

He could slow time, and move faster than an arrow in flight, but he still wasn’t satisfied when the Great Deku Tree spoke, his voice painfully similar to his father’s.

“You must leave now, Hero, go and face your destiny.”

Link didn’t look up from his swings, the sword humming in his hand, “I’m not ready.”

“No one ever is, child,” the tree said, sadness and affection melting into one another, “you must go nonetheless. The princess needs you to be her strength. The land of Hyrule calls for your aid. You must answer their call”

The sword whispered in agreement, so he sheathed the blade and said his goodbyes to the forest children before emerging from the fog for the first time in months. He stopped to look at the Military Training Camp, wondering if he should visit his father. He thought better of it, continuing on his way. Even if they allowed a deserter within the barracks, Link didn’t think he could hold himself together in the face of the family he had left behind.

Link’s father stood at attention behind King Rhoam’s throne. He was Captain of the King’s Guard, which meant he had to watch over the weekly constituency. The King sat on a throne while the Princess occupied a plush, though less ornate, chair placed to the right of her mother’s vacant seat. He’d received the promotion a year after his son went missing and he accepted, since he no longer had a reason to stay at the Military Training Camp.

It took him three months to realize his son had disappeared.

When his wife asked after their Link’s whereabouts upon his return to Hateno on leave the Captain had been annoyed, at first. It was easier to believe that his son was simply acting out, surely to return once he’d felt he made his point, then to face the truth. That flimsy belief didn’t hold out for very long, because deep in his heart he knew better. Link had made a mistake perhaps, but he’d never run from the consequences of his own actions. The tears of his distraught wife hammered home the heartbreaking reality.

Whatever had befallen his son, he wouldn’t be coming home.

There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret how he’d sent his son off that final time. He should have told his son that he loved him, protocol be damned.

There were countless reminders of his son that tore at him. Small things. The Captain would be on patrol and he’d see a doodle of a young man wielding a winged sword that the children of castle town must have scrawled on a wall. He opened a drawer to find a scrap of fabric from the tunic Link was wearing when he left the Training Camp, and he would return to his office to find honeyd apples and other treats his son loved the most. The universe seemed intent on haunting him, and he knew he deserved it.

He was so proud of his boy, but his final act as a father was to push Link to tears.

A chill went down the Captain’s spine, and he snapped to attention, kicking himself for letting his mind wander when he was supposed to be protecting the most important people in the kingdom. His time as a soldier had tempered his instincts, and he could sense a quiet, oppressive strength that would make a Lynel cower spread throughout the room at the sound of light footsteps padding towards the center of the room. A quick glance around the room revealed that his subordinates felt the same, shifting from foot to foot and hand twitching towards their weapons.

“State your business, boy,” came the King’s command, loud but not enough to drown out the ferocity leaking out from the diminutive hylian standing in the center of the Sanctum, his feet planted on the royal family’s crest.

Link said not a word, only reaching over his shoulder to pull the Master Sword from its sheath. The guards moved to intercept him, but he drove the tip to the ground before they could come close. The Captain stepped forward, swallowing his fear while he drew his sword to face the intruder.

“Stop!”

The Princess’ voice rang out with an uncharacteristic authority, bypassing the King himself to halt the guards’ assault. The adrenaline seeped from the Captain’s blood, and he took a good look at the swordsman.

He knew those eyes, their tearstained image had been burned into his memory for years. His son was taller now, though still on the shorter side. His hair was longer, much longer and swept back in a ponytail. The scrap of fabric the Captain had taken to wearing around his wrist was a perfect match for the tunic his son wore. The Captain’s sword clattered to the ground. Link was alive.

His son was alive!

But as he looked at the man his son had become, he felt some of that joy slip away. It was still there, but it was tainted by the realization of just how much Link had changed. Children grow, the Captain was well aware of this fact, but his son wasn’t just grown, he was distant and restrained. He stood less like a man and more like a statue carved to scare off malevolent spirits and sinners.

“Go to him, Zelda,” the King’s voice barely registered as the Captain struggled to reconcile this stoic, intimidating figure with the giggling, infectiously bright child he had raised.

Link hadn’t expected to run into his father so soon, his resolve was beginning to crack at the sight of the hesitant, regretful joy on the Captain’s face. He clenched his fist around the Master Sword’s handle, suppressing the urge to throw himself in his father’s arms and never leave. But then Princess Zelda stood before him in all her gentle radiance, fate given flesh, and he held onto her. Her presence banished any doubt within him. Link could feel her slumbering power, pulsing softly with the rise and fall of her breath. She felt like sunshine, and looking at her reminded him that this is where he needed to be. She too had destiny woven into the very fabric of her soul, the only other one of his kind.

Link knelt on the stones before her, laying the magnificent blade he commanded at her feet.

“That’s it then,” the King said, and the Princess nodded.

“Yes, it’s the Sword that Seals the Darkness,” she said, voice shaking, “We’re running out of time.”

“Not necessarily,” Impa piped up, “the fortune teller stated that the wingcrest would appear on the Hero’s body when the time drew near, I see no such mark.”

The Captain made a choked, distressed sound, but no one paid him any mind. All focused on Link. His hand was indeed blank, but after a moment’s confusion the Hero lowered his head before his princess, brushing his hair to one side so she could see the back of his neck. Her fingers brushed across his skin, sending a warm shiver down his spine. Link found himself relaxing under her hand, the touch felt like sending water from a hot spring rushing down his back and soothing the restlessness writhing inside him.

“How long have you had this?” she whispered, her fingertips lingering on the crest. Link could feel them shake slightly and felt a surge of protectiveness course through him.

“Two years, eight months and six days,” the Captain answered.

The King turned to his Captain, nonplussed, “You know this young man?”

“He’s my son,” was his broken reply. King broke into a smile.

“Well what do you know? You must be very proud of your boy today!”

“I’ve always been proud of him, your Majesty,” the Captain replied, “Always.”

Link took a shuddering breath as he felt some of the guilt from the last three years melt away, but his face remained stoic.

“With such a son I imagine you’d have little choice in the matter,” the King laughed, deaf to the thick emotion in the other man’s voice. Link felt the Princess’ hand stiffen before she drew away, a chill replacing the gentle heat he was already starting to miss.

“Rise, Hero,” she commanded softly, and he obliged without a word, sheathing his sword and taking his place by her side, the disquiet that had clawed through him since childhood finally satisfied. The Captain followed the divine pair as they declared the constituency over and the arrival of the Hero of Hyrule was announced, hopelessly at a loss.

The night was quiet when Link was headed to his assigned quarters below the Princess’ tower, much like the evening he was called to draw the Master Sword. He had put his hand on the door’s handle when he heard steps approach.

The Captain approached his son with caution, consumed with hatred for his own cowardly hesitation. After years of grief, his son stood before him yet again, and here he was, trying to dredge up the courage to give his boy the apology he deserved. He didn’t know how to approach Link like this. He wasn’t his son anymore, it seemed, but the Hero of Hyrule, the answer to the prayers of thousands. Here stood the Knight who Seals the Darkness, the paragon all aspired to the second they took up a sword.

Looking at his son felt like looking over the edge of a cliff, but it was his eyes that concerned him most. The blue eyes passed down from his mother lacked the good nature and mirth once found there, a trait shared with her. Instead there was an emptiness, a great void between the Captain and the Hero far too wide to cross.

No. Now that he looked closer, it wasn’t a void, it was a wall, and that broke the Captain’s heart all the more. Deep down he knew that he couldn’t reach his son like this, but he owed it to his family to try.

“I’m sorry,”

He’s not sure what he expected, he still hadn’t heard his son’s voice, and drawing Link in for a hug felt like crossing some unspoken but no less potent boundary that legendary blade had cut around the Hero. The Hero of Hyrule nodded in acknowledgment of his words, and the Captain didn’t feel like pushing further would be fair on his son, so he nodded his goodnight and walked further down the path with a heavy heart to write a letter to his wife, not sure what exactly to tell her happened to their little boy.

#Link #botw link #angst #Link's father #Link's family #oneshot #zelink #when logical parenting decisions tragically backfire #Compulsion #call of destiny #The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild #loz #legend of zelda #loz botw

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buccigang-headcanons · 4 years ago

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La Squadra Backstories!!!! Stream of consciousnesss style!

So literally I just sat down and wrote down exactly what I thought. I have not edited these at all lmaooo. But I made long drawn out backstories for our underrated assassins so enjoy!!

T/W + C/W - idk I talk about people dying in a lot of ways. Child abuse, drugs, severe illness, dead cats. This stuff is a mess I really didn’t censor it. But nothing is described in detail cuz I’m too lazy for that.

————

Prosciutto cuz he’s at the top of my mind. Mmkay he and Pesci are brothers but not by blood. Pro was an orphan, I still wanna make him Russian, and pesci’s extremely kind and gentle family adopted him when he was like 7. They were like literally a garden catalogue family. Perfection. The parents died when pro was like 15, Pesci was 13?? Idk the age difference I’m just making shit up now. And Pesci had no fucking idea what to do, they didn’t have any other family, and pro was like “I’m still basically a hardened criminal from living on the streets of russia most of my childhood, so joining the local mafia should be a piece of cake”. It was.

Risotto..... fuck it. Polpo is risottos dad. I’ve seen that so much and fuck it I’m here for it now. Idk how I feel about the whole Mariah from part 3 being his mom that seems too coincidental. But either way, he is half Spanish. I don’t think he’s ever been in touch with his Spanish roots at all, but that’s what he is. Polpo had too much fun on vacay in Spain. But it was a once night stand and polpo, a skinny king back in the mid 70s, fucked off to do mafia stuff and didn’t know about this kid. Risotto never knew his father. Time goes by, about the time he’s 10, rizzo’s mom moves to Italy to find the man she once loved. Since the 70s, she has been married and divorced 4 times, disowned by her entire family, and she speaks only of Polpo, the man who swept her off her feet and then disappeared into the night. Leaving only this child with his matching eyes. So they live in Italy, risotto is about 13 now and his mom has been searching seriously for polpo for about 3 years. One day, she gets too close, mafia takes her out. Risotto is all alone in a country he has lived in for less than 3 years. So he decides to take revenge against the mafia. He goes to hunt them down. (I’m too lazy to write out how. Gets a gun. Basically the scene in part 5 where the kid is like “you killed my father and now I’m gonna kill you!!” But he chickens out???) yeah except rizzo didn’t chicken out, he stood firm and killed 2 of them. The other 2 surrendered, and immediately asked rizzo to take polpos test. He did. And he unknowingly met his father, the man his mother had died looking for. He stared into his fathers eyes, black sclera reflecting each other, and passed his test with ease.

Wowwwwwwwww alrighty then that was something. Let’s shake out those jitters because fuck that was intense and let’s move onto some happy shit.

Melone!! Always a bottle of joy. He was a phenomenal student, a perfect child. Perfect grades, perfect attitude, perfect looks. Onlyyyy tiny thing is he murdered cats and buried their heads in the back yard. But that was his only flaw. Aaaaaaaand mayyybe trying to use his extensive knowledge of molecular biology and genetics (even at as young as 11) to asexually breed said cats.

But, apart from that, absolutely perfect specimen of a young boy. And he kept that up until college. Until the rape accusation. Melone had no interest in having sex with her, he swore under oath in open court, he only wanted to “extract her essence” in the hopes of making her amazing genetics stay pure for centuries.

Due to his previously amazing school record, he was allowed to plead not guilty by reason of insanity (because the justice system is bullshit) and was released to his parents. During this whole process, Melone’s mother had begun to grow suspicious of her son, wondering if there was something wrong with him. This led her to explore the crawl space under the garage, more commonly known as “Melone’s childhood laboratory”. The cat skulls alone were enough to set her off. They allowed him into their home long enough to fool the court, but parole officers don’t pay attention, and they kicked him to the curb a month later. Broke, alone, and with no real skills other than his genius mind and gorgeous body, he became a prostitute. It was only a few months before he wandered up to a gigantic white haired man with angry eyes and asked if he wanted a date. Instead of declining, our good ol rizzo just knocked him out cold and brought him home. The rest is history. Literally because I can’t think of what would happen between that and Melone joining the mafia. I assume he was just their house pet for a little while before he decided he wanted a stand too.

Oh good lord these are getting insane. Better keep going. Okay I have no idea what’s about to come out of my head for ghia but oh Lordy. Might as well start. Ghiaccio wasn’t always quite as angry, but it’s actually gonna be a sweet story. Kinda. He used to act perfect, even tho he always felt the anger inside. He was forced to bottle it up and put on a happy exterior always. His mother was Belgian. (From experience, Belgian mothers (Flemish in particular) will beat you until your ass is raw if you talk back). Italian father, they lived in italy. He had 4 sisters, he was the middle child of 5. Around high school, he started acting out. Of course this was due to all of his bottled up anger from the past 15 years. 4 shattered sinks, 16 holes in the drywall, and one classroom fire later, Ghiaccio was expelled from school. His parents were too busy brimming with joy about the success of all his sisters that they didn’t take much notice to him. “If you’re going to behave in such a manner you might as well leave” his mother said. She was past the point of caring enough to beat him. So he left. 16 and with no where to go, he wandered the streets. After a year or so, Ghia had gotten used to that life, and was angry at everyone, sometimes when he wasn’t even angry. Anger had become his coping mechanism. Screaming was easier than talking. Until one day, he screamed at a blonde man in an intersection. Prosciutto was driving back to the squads hang out, boxes of takeout in the back seat of the car. He had chosen to not stop at the red light, just for fun, and nearly ran into our blue haired teenager. Ghia proceeded to cuss him out for a good 4 minutes in the middle of this intersection before pro cut him off. “Get in the back. “ he said, with his own special brand of brotherly love. “I know how you can put that anger to good use”. Ghiaccio, having no real reason to object, got in the back seat. Prosciutto was silent the rest of the drive and Ghiaccio yelled about all the take out food, now splattered on the backs of the seats due to the sudden slam on the brakes.

Y’all I don’t even remember the other la squadra members. Let’s do sorbet/gelato because they have zero backstory or personality so I can just ramble. *Clears throat* let’s begin. These fuckers. Friends since birth. Grew up together, always really close. They were both dirt poor, but because the only school nearby was a decent public school, when were able to slightly experience middle class living. They liked it. They wanted to see upper class, and once they did, they wanted to be there. These two were money grubbing bffs, I’m talking josuke and okuyasu, but like waaaaay more intense and also violent. They both left home around 14, together of course. Gelatos father had left them a few years prior, and his family were on the brink of starvation. Figuring they didn’t need another mouth to feed (and completely abandoning his post as family patriarch lol) he left with sorbet, who’s family had all died in various ways over the years. Most recently, his older sister being taken by some illness that was probably easily treatable, but with no means for a doctor, she died in days. The boys left home and school, and made a living by pickpocketing tourists and occasionally launching into larger heists. They made a decent living for themselves, but eventually started spending their money on drugs. It’s was sorbet first, heroin was really good to him for awhile. Gelato was against it, knowing it was the reason sorbets family had been so poor to begin with. His father was an addict, and despite holding down a job fairly well, spent all his earnings on drugs. Eventually he became too dependent, lost his job, and OD’d. But around this same time, when the boys were 16/17, they were starting to realize their feelings for each other. Confused teenaged minds full of budding love led to Gelato giving in, and soon their days were filled with heroin fueled ecstatic sex. They lived like this for awhile, existing in half reality, until one day they chose to set their pickpocketing targets on a short man with close cropped gray hair. The plan was perfect, sorbet bumped into the man and gelato passed by to grab his wallet, and suddenly they were the size of mere ants. In an instant, they were returned to size, left to wonder if it was real or just a hallucination from long term drug use. But they didn’t run. Formaggio introduced himself, with a loose handshake and a pause to spit out some tobacco, and promptly invited them to a “party”. Although, Formaggio was honest in his promise, this party did have drugs.

Cheese boys turn!! Seriously who am I forgetting??? Illuso my mirror man! Am I forgetting someone else too?? Idk. But shut up Kel it’s cheese boys turn.

So. Formaggio. Probably the most chill childhood. Lower middle class, pretty average, but he was quite gifted with sports. Soccer was his main, and also a fantastic competitive swimmer. (Okay I have a separate hc that Bruno is really good at soccer so hol horse up a moment so I can imagine those 2 playing soccer together in friendly competition. In my lil au where Bruno is in la squadra because I say BruPro exes rights please and thanks.) but anyway, he got really good at soccer and was offered a scholarship to play at a fancy pants private high school when he was 14. Of course his parents made him go, this has been the family’s dream for years, and formaggio’s as well. So high school is amazing, he’s starting to attract attention from universities even tho he’s barely in grade 11 by this point. And it’s all really amazing until he realizes. This isn’t what he wants. And it’s just that. He doesn’t want to play soccer anymore, he doesn’t want to potentially be famous. He just wants to be a kid. So he leaves school, he leaves home, he wants to start over. And he wanders into a diner and sees this small group of weirdly dressed men. At this point, it’s rizzo, pro, Pesci, and ghia. And he’s staring at them because they’re dressed like circus clowns but their aura is so murderous. And then the one who looks like a giant pineapple starts staring back. Pesci gets up and walks over to Formaggio. “I know you! You’re that amazing kid soccer player!!” And he just goes on and on about shit he read in the news (70% of it was false) until pro comes over and yanks his idiot brother away. Pro starts asking Formaggio questions, thinking he could be a good target. Stupid little rich kid. But to prosciuttos surpise, Formaggio is just a down to earth kid with no more money to his name than he needs to pay for this meal. Prosciutto takes him home after that. He doesn’t really offer any explanation.

(The rambling at the beginning of this paragraph actually happened lol so I paused for like 4 hrs oops)

Alright we are back. Had to leave to go to therapy and then scream at my mother and cry to my boyfriend but we are ready to go! Illuso and I really hope he’s the last one and I’m not forgetting one. Illuso was raised in an orphanage from infancy. No idea who his parents could even be. Fun fact: one of the nuns at the orphanage (cuz it’s an orphanage in Italy in 1980, they’re catholic.) nicknamed him Illuso because he was always pointing at things that weren’t there. As a tiny baby and a child, he would always be looking at things no one else can see (yes illuso is a natural stand user fight me). The nuns called him illuso as an insult, hoping to shame him into stopping. He never did. When he outgrew the orphanage, he decided to join the priesthood. He was 19, a priest in training, when the mafia came to the orphanage. They were collecting, and illuso knew they didn’t have the money this month. He tried to talk the mobsters down, but that went about as well as planned. 4 bullets to the chest, 3 open heart surgeries, and half a dozen resuscitations later, Illuso was released from the hospital. The orphanage had been shut down, and no one knew what had happened to the children or the nuns. With no where to go, illuso knew of one place that could use talents like his. The talents of steadily stealing money from the starving children of the church for a decade. It was during polpos test that illuso’s stand manifested. Not due to the arrow, but to protect its user from the other stand. Illuso was able to avoid Black Sabbath by hiding in his newfound mirror world until it was time to return the lighter to polpo (kinda cowardly but whatever.) he was assigned to risottos group by chance and was the last to join excluding Melone. But they loved him as if they had found him themselves.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra #Melone #ghiaccio #Formaggio #illuso #sorbet #gelato #risotto Nero #prosciutto #Pesci #jojo part 5 #jjba

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anabantoid · 5 years ago

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The Ubiquitous Betta Care Guide

Literally everyone and their mother has written a care guide about bettas, but I felt like I could provide a care guide based around my opinions and experiences in keeping bettas. I’ve kept bettas since I was about 15 years old, they were one of my first fish, and I fell in love with them and at one point I had over a dozen bettas at one time! That’s ridiculous now, but this was 2005/2006, bettas were cheaper and not as disposable then, definitely lasting for the oft-quoted “2-3 year” lifespans that people struggle to see today. Nowadays, I struggle to be able to get a betta to live past 6 months. So, what’s happening? Am I suddenly taking worse care of bettas than I did when I was 15?

Well, no, all of my most recent bettas were kept in tanks that were over 50 gallons, well planted, my tap water is soft (kH of 5), my pH is neutral (7-7.4) and my water is easily modified with botanicals or wood to be about 6 if need be. They live in filtered tanks with 80 degree water, eat nothing but live or frozen food, and never fall ill with disease or parasites. That’s more than I can say about teenage me. I dealt with a lot of issues, obviously, from bacterial to fungal infections because of my ignorance, but nowadays I can’t say I’ve had to treat a betta for anything, they just sorta..die, and at seemingly random too. What’s going on?

Today, bettas come in every color, shape and variety you can think of, which wasn’t the case when I was 15. The reason for the huge variety is the desire for more ornamental fish, but for commercial selling, there’s mass breeding on an industrial scale which leads to poor stock, inbreeding, and deformed fish and genetic issues we just can’t see. It doesn’t matter if it’s a local breeder or from a store, they’re all coming from the same stock now.

I’ve touched about betta problems in the past, and if you’ve followed my blog for a few years or see me in my discord server (Fish Tea), then you already know how I feel. That’s not what this post is about! This post is about caring for your betta, what I’ve learned in my experiences with them, and how to treat and care for the common ailments that befall them.

THEIR CARE:

Min tank size: 10 gallons. Why 10 gallons? In all my time keeping bettas, they do best in larger tanks that allow them to move, they get proper muscle tone in larger tanks because they’re able to move, and I’ve never had an issue with constipation in bettas when placed in larger tanks because movement makes it easier for animals to pass their waste. I can’t think of any other 2 inch-3 inch, active fish that anyone would suggest for a 5 gallon, but for some reason people all say 5 gallons is fine. This is MY recommendation, this is something I will tell people to follow, but whether or not you agree is up to you. You can keep them as you wish, but I prefer having bettas in larger tanks.

Temperature: 80+. In the wild, the Betta genus comes from hot, humid environments in Southeast Asia, living in shallow bodies of water that can be over 80 degrees in temperature. Wild Betta splendens have been observed living in rice paddies with an average temperature of 84 degrees (Jaroensutasinee & Jaroensutansinee, 2001). While it can be argued that domestic bettas are different from their wild counterparts, we have not bred them for cold resistance, and bettas display poor health in colder temps, lethargy, loss of appetite, bloating and constipation.

Water Params: My position about water parameters has evolved over time, but I still think a betta does best in neutral to acidic waters, because a betta in a pH of 8+ will not have a great time. Essentially, most people’s tap water will be fine, you don’t need RO water to keep a domestic betta.

Feeding: I feed my bettas live food in the form of blackworms, fruit flies, random small bugs I find, a spider….anything that’s an invert and they can swallow, they can eat it. I also feed them frozen foods such as bloodworms, krill, mysis, cyclops and sometimes just cut up cocktail shrimp. You can feed them live and frozen, and you can also give them prepared foods, like New Life Spectrum, Bug Bites, or Bug Pro. They have excellent sources of protein that are not derived from soy like other brands such as Hikari, Omega One, Tetra, Aqueon and such. You can also make repashy grub pie and feed them that.

Furnishings: Bettas naturally come from environments that are dense with vegetative growth (Jaroensutasinee & Jaroensutansinee, 2001), which means your bettas should also be in tanks that are filled to the brim with plants! I like live plants, but you can use soft silks too, anything that can provide them some cover that they can serpentine and swim through. My rule of thumb usually is if you can see straight through one end of the tank with no broken lines of sight, you don’t have enough plants. Lack of proper coverage can make them stressed out, lethargic and more susceptible to illness and refusal to eat.

Tank mates: If you want to keep bettas with other fish, I suggest a 20 long as a minimum. If your betta has long fins, avoid getting any boisterous, nipping fish like tetras. Kuhli loaches make wonderful tankmates for bettas because they tolerate the high temps a betta likes, as well as Hypancistrus plecos, some corydoras, smaller spiny eels and more. I don’t recommend ever putting shrimp in with bettas, aside from larger shrimp like amanos, because shrimp are a betta’s natural prey and they will hunt them all down!

WHAT IF MY BETTA GETS SICK?

Bettas can and will get ill, you will most likely encounter an issue with your betta one way or another, but what can you do to help? In most cases, the problem is lack of proper care and poor water conditions. The best way to insure your betta remains happy and healthy is to have a clean tank. The easiest way to do this is to make sure your tank is cycled and you do regular, weekly water changes of 25%-30%.

When you buy a betta, make sure you are picking out an active one, don’t try to be a saint and pick out one laying on its side, half dead. The likelihood is that it will just die, you’ll feel upset, and then you’ll go out and try it again. I’ve been there! It doesn’t work! Get a fish that wiggles at you and looks like it wants to kick your ass. That’s a good betta.

Here’s some common betta ailments:

Popeye: This happens because your water quality is poor and a bacterial infection brews up, causing fluid retention that can pop the eye out. Your best course of action is to address the water quality issue, then use an antibiotic such as kanaplex or metroplex.

Bloat and constipation: The betta is fed too much, the tank is unheated, the water quality is poor, the tank is too small, and more. This is a symptom of an underlying issues, and it needs to be addressed by seeing what you’re doing wrong. To treat it, give your betta a soak in an epsom salt bath for 10-15 minutes in a bucket or other container, with 1 tbs of epsom salt per gallon. Feed them some frozen food like daphnia or brine shrimp to aid in passing their waste.

Ich: This can literally happen to anyone, and it sometimes just. Happens. Inexplicably. Whether or not it’s introduced or always in the water, it can crop up in even the warmest of tanks, as ich nowadays seems to have gotten particularly strong. Up your temps to about 86, your betta can handle temps into the 90’s, and use an ich treatment, I usually do Ich X, follow the directions on the bottle. You can also do a salt dip on the betta at the first signs of ich, 1 tbs of aquarium or table salt per gallon in a separate container, do a 10 minute soak. Up the temps and see if the ich subsides, if not, follow through with medication.

Fin rot: This is a water quality issue, you need to address this first before proceeding with treatment, as usually providing clean, warm water is enough to stop fin rot. If you do this but notice the fin rot is especially aggressive or starting to proceed onto the body, treat with an antibiotic such as kanaplex.

Velvet: This is a parasitic infection like ich, though for this one it comes from yet another water quality issue. It can happen in the store they come from, or it can happen in your home if you’re not up and up on your care. You would treat it the same way as ich, however shut your lights off, as it appears to be light sensitive.

Lethargy, bottom sitting, loss of appetite: These are symptoms of a bigger issue, be it water quality, age, or simply just something going wrong internally that we can’t see. If your tank is too cold, you’re not feeding enough or you’re not on top of water changes, you can help by adjusting all of that. If it’s from age or something else, all you can do is wait and see how much longer the betta has left, or euthanize if you feel he won’t get better. You can attempt an epsom salt bath, raising temps, and feeding live or frozen, but at that point it’s palliative care rather than a solution.

What if you just got your betta, and it seemed fine, and then one day it didn’t look good and the next you found it dead? Well, circling back to my long winded intro, you can see that the answer is in the poor breeding practices. Bettas are not as strong or hardy as they used to be, in fact they seem to just be about as durable as tissue paper nowadays and will die after a few months or a year, with some exceptions. It can be disheartening to feel like you’re failing at a fish that’s touted as being one of the hardiest fish out there, but I promise you that if you’re providing the best care for them, they’ll still die early, and you’re not at fault. I still get bettas, but I only buy one after another passes, and I try to not spend more than $15 on one. I settle with the fact they won’t live as long, and I enjoy them while I have them, and if you feel the same way, go for it.

If you’d like to learn more about bettas, their alternatives and more, the best way to reach me and a whole community of experiences keepers is through Fish Tea, an lgbt+ friendly discord server dedicated to all things aquatic.

(reference: Jaroensutasinee, M., & Jaroensutansinee, K. (2001). Bubble nest habitat characteristics of wild Siamese fighting fish. Journal of Fish Biology, 58(5), 1311-1319. doi:10.1111/j.1095-8649.2001.tb02288.x)

#fishblr #betta fish #bettablr #betta #fish tank #megs does guides

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naomistone · 3 years ago

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Vither Race Categories & History

Part 2 of my vither lore dump, if you're interested in the first part, check out my post called "Vither Introduction"

Civilization & Living

Vithers usually live in flocks/groups, usually larger and taller forests, creating a sort of tree top village. They tend to gravitate towards jobs where they have to hunt or gather food/materials (so things such as berries, fruits, and animals such as wolves, deer, rabbits etc.) though there are a decent amount of them who become warriors or protectors of their clans.

There are a few roles in a clan, though these depend on the age and skill of the Vither

Chief - This Vither is the leader of their clan, making final decisions on important matters that have to deal with the clan. If the chief has any children, the oldest is usually the next in line to become chief unless they’re chosen to become a shaman or are born as a runt/illness. The children are looked at differently, so things such as runts are even looked up to, sometimes being seen as above Hunters and even sometimes Protectors.

Shaman - One of the older members in the clan. They usually choose the future jobs of children as well as prepare them. These Vithers will also send the runt children on their year long “survival mission”. This mission is a way to earn their way into the clan, otherwise they die. Shamans are also usually the ones to interpret events and signs from the gods, though it is not done much anymore.

Protector - Like the name suggests, these are the Vithers from the clan that are there to help keep the clan safe. There are generally 2 different types of protectors, but there may be more or less depending on the clan.

Guards - These are Protectors whose main job is to protect the clan, usually being assigned watches on the perimeters of the territory or going with Hunting/Gathering parties in case something happens. They’re mostly used to sudden combat/encounters, able to attack quickly as well as quickly incapacitate anything that presents itself as a threat.

Scouts - These are Protectors whose main job is to survey the area in and out of the territory, sharing everything (ex. A strange observation, a normal day, possible conditions, predictions, etc.). They are not usually used for battle or fighting but they will step in and fight if they’re ordered to or there’s no other way to stop something, a.k.a. They’re usually used to break up small conflicts/arguments, calm the clan, announcements, etc.

Toolsmith - Toolsmiths are responsible for the tools and weapons of a clan. There are usually only 1 or 2 of these in a clan, few being trusted to have good enough skills to produce quality weapons and tools for the clan to survive with. The ones who have been doing it for years are known for their everblades, bladed weapons with a crystal core found in and near certain energy veins. These crystal cores can give these weapons abilities, abilities such as being able to cut through materials like stone or thinner metal, light elements/damage, crystalize points, wounds that can’t heal naturally.

Hunters - These Vithers are perfectly fine with fighting others for food, though they usually don’t need to because of the many animals on Athil. They are usually equipped with a spear, a hunting knife, and camping gear (though it depends on the trip). Parties may be gone for 1-3 days, hunting down enough food to last the clan awhile before they need to hunt again, but this grows difficult as clans move/travel or grow.

Gatherers - These Vithers are the more peaceful type, preferring to avoid combat and hurting people and animals. They choose the more non violent way to get materials, gathering. The materials that they search for, find, & bring back depends on the clan, what is needed at the time, where the clan is located, and where the materials are located. This may cause parties of 4-6 to go on trips for a week or 2 to get the correct materials. Some of the most common materials brought back are thick vines, stone, iron, gems, crystals, berries, flowers, saplings, seeds, & wild vegetables.

Runts - The “survival mission” is a way for the runts to earn their way into their clan, still being considered the lowest level but being able to live in safety. They usually help with sorting materials around and for the camp.

Athil

In this world, known to the Vithers as Athil, there are a bunch of clans and species of Vither. Clans will usually be all the same type of bird or have a few of another kind, which will sometimes happen when a clan combines either due to a small amount of people remaining in one clan or if the whole clan splits. Vither clans usually tend to stay in a specific region of Athil depending on what type of bird the clan is. There are mountainous ranges with large caves, large forests with tall trees, fields of grass/crops, canyons, islands, deserts, but the most important part is that there are also floating islands above the surface. These islands are decently sized, allowing 2 or 3, sometimes even 4, clans to survive on them. There are obviously a few oceans and definitely a lot of rivers going all around this planet. There are winds at a specific height, tbd but I think they're probably gonna be lower to the ground, as well as energy veins all around the planet. Those veins are used to help the islands stay floating as well as get the Vithers into the air if they need assistance, so for example, the younger ones. Another thing that these veins are used for is being a power source. This power source could be used for any vehicles, for example a flying ship.

Names

Vithers generally have 2 different names, a birdfolk name and a human name. This birdfolk name is used in their clan as well as people they trust with their life, their human name is what they use to introduce themselves to strangers, use among acquaintances, guilds, etc.

Some examples of male birdfolk names are; Rucia, Aina, Iccik, Ricci, Qatoth, Skrisi

Some examples of female birdfolk names are; Asi, Ziwi, Riyo, Zriena, Kassi, Reisea

Some examples of male human names are; Bral Glenesk, Saro Zostin, Tero Kargez, Bresor Sag

Some examples of female human names are; Yue Zastad, Evony Min, Aubry Kov, Maxine Nalei

#homebrew #vither #oc species #Valorie Ashford #dnd races #lore

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kamiyu910 · 5 years ago

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All right, @the-defiant-pupil, I’ll see what sort of research paper I can throw together here concerning Corona-chan.

Right now, we’re going on fatality rate based on known/confirmed cases. This global fatality rate is currently at 7.1%, with 3,253,181 confirmed cases and 233,014 deaths. We’re still lacking a lot of data, such as China withholding so much, and with other countries only testing those with symptoms while ignoring the high percentage who are asymptomatic.

https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6

Antibody tests are now being used to tell who has had the virus, and to see if they’re actually immune to it, which would allow them to go back to work. This also allows us to see exactly how far Corona-chan has spread, and this data is being used to show a slightly different picture for a mortality rate, since it helps identify those who were asymptomatic. Countries that don’t count asymptomatic people show a might higher fatality rate because they only count the people who seek medical help.

https://www.livescience.com/coronavirus-antibody-tests.html

In the US, there are still places that are barely testing, and only testing those who show symptoms, such as the largest county in the country, the San Bernardino County. Currently, we’re listed at 2058 cases, with only 93 deaths, putting us at a 4.5% fatality rate. We cannot take that at face value, however, because even those with mild symptoms are being turned away, and those with no symptoms are being ignored. Out of a population of 2.18 million, only 20,000 have been tested. That’s 0.09% of our entire population. We’ve known about this virus since at least December last year, it has been in the US for months, yet we lack so much information.

https://sbcph.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/44bb35c804c44c8281da6d82ee602dff

https://coronavirus.1point3acres.com/en

Some sources say the true mortality rate is:

“In the new analysis, the death rate in confirmed COVID-19 cases is estimated to be 1.38%, while the overall rate, which includes estimated unconfirmed cases, is calculated at .66%.”

https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/20200331/covid-19-death-rate-drops-still-deadly-to-seniors

https://time.com/5798168/coronavirus-mortality-rate/

In this post by Berkeley, they say:

“A comparison of daily deaths in Italy since January 2020 with those over the previous five years there indicates that the fatality rate in that country for those infected with the new coronavirus is at least 0.8%, far higher than that of the seasonal flu and higher than some recent estimates.Extrapolating from the Italian data, University of California, Berkeley, and Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory data scientists estimate that the fatality rate in New York City and Santa Clara County in California can be no less than 0.5%, or one of every 200 people infected.”

“The difference, the researchers say, is likely due to many deaths among older people that have not been counted in the official Italian statistics. The team found a much higher fatality rate for those over 70 years of age: In Lombardy, a region hit hard by the pandemic, those between 70 and 79 had a 2.3% infection fatality rate, while those 80 to 89 had an almost 6% fatality rate. Nearly 13% of those over 90 died.In comparison, those 40 to 49 had a 0.04% fatality rate.

In comparison, those 40 to 49 had a 0.04% fatality rate.These differing fatality rates can explain the observed higher number of deaths among younger people in New York City. Because the population there is younger than in Italy, more deaths among young people are expected, despite their lower fatality rate. The researchers predict that about 26% of all deaths from COVID-19 in New York City will be among those younger than 65.

The population of Italy, on the other hand, is older, yielding a higher overall fatality rate for the country’s population: 0.8%, versus 0.5% for New York. Only 10% of Italian deaths will be younger than 65.The team also estimated, based on the predicted fatality rate for those infected with the new coronavirus and the positivity rate for those tested for COVID-19 in New York City, that about one-quarter of that city’s population has been infected with the virus. This agrees with the recent announcement by New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo of 21% infection.The team’s predicted infection rate for Santa Clara is around 1%, while that for Los Angeles is around 2%, based on current mortality rates.”

https://news.berkeley.edu/2020/04/24/study-challenges-reports-of-low-fatality-rate-for-covid-19/

So if an area has a higher rate of elderly, they will have a higher fatality rate than an area where the population is young. If a rest home gets hit, it will be devastating, whereas if a nursery gets hit, it’ll probably not even be noticeable, though that doesn’t mean they’re immune, there will be a couple of kids who may need hospital care, and the potential for other side effects that’ll become more apparent later on (still waiting for more studies to be done to confirm this).

There is a lot of fear mongering being pushed on people with all the misinformation out there, and people are actively allowing their governments to become controlling dictatorships out of fear. It is possible to maintain safety measures while opening up businesses so that the economies don’t collapse. We don’t have to go so extreme as to destroy ourselves out of fear. People are going to die one way or another, whether it be from Corona-chan or from a man made famine.

Take the US for instance. Farmers are being made to dump tons of food, perfectly good food, because they’re being told there isn’t a market for it just because certain businesses are closed, like schools. There are plenty of other places that need the food.

https://www.wsj.com/articles/new-york-dairy-farmers-feel-the-squeeze-from-coronavirus-as-milk-sales-dry-up-11588183989

https://www.miamiherald.com/news/coronavirus/article241627101.html

https://www.chron.com/news/article/Farmers-seek-help-selling-crops-while-volunteers-15238489.php

My milk.... all of that precious milk...

We do not have to go this far, people. We do not have to go to the extreme! This is fucking ridiculous.

I’ve seen this screenshot going around as well, not sure how accurate it is but if they cut off the supply chain, which is possible, it can be a reality. I’ve talked to more than a few people who have no idea how to keep a store of food to last a few months, and apparently it’s common for people to just have food for a week in the fridge/freezer/pantry. I don’t understand how that’s possible...

On top of all that, the government is overreaching on their control issues, going so far as to turn off electric and water to businesses that refuse to close

https://calepa.ca.gov/2020/04/02/news-release-governor-issues-water-shutoff-order-and-takes-steps-to-maintain-delivery-of-critical-water-services-during-covid-19-crisis/

https://abcnews.go.com/US/small-business-owners-file-suit-gov-newsom-ca/story?id=70365949

Not to mention all of these headlines, like what timeline are we living in that they feel these levels of invasion are necessary? You can fight a virus without going to this length of control!

Not to mention New York itself, like really?

And while I can kinda understand wanting to prevent large parties from happening, they’re going after single people having a walk in the wilderness and arresting them for it, or going after a couple of dudes on a rooftop having a cold one, even boaters are getting arrested, despite practicing social distancing, yet we’re allowed to still go to the store? However, in some places like Michigan, they even have police checking bags for essential items...

Which, btw, is also a point of interest, as being allowed to buy seeds has been banned in many areas, but lotto tickets are still available for purchase. There aren’t near enough articles detailing all the things that people are slowly finding out are being restricted/outlawed, and honestly, the more I see people calling on some random person taking a lone walk around a neighborhood, the more I think of this meme:

In many ways, I’m more concerned with the government destroying us than the virus. Many governments around the world are taking advantage of this to tighten the leash. This is completely unnecessary. The main reason for the lockdown isn’t to prevent people from getting the disease - it’s pretty much just accepted that we will eventually get it - but to lighten the load on hospitals so we don’t end up overloaded like Italy, where they have to decide who to let die. The Netherlands is reportedly doing similar.

“...in the Netherlands as in Belgium, euthanasia has been applied for years, according to the authorities, “voluntary”. However, in Germany, and in France, Spain and Italy, they have received elderly patients from these countries to be cured, not of coronaviruses, but of anything, because they do not trust the hospitals of their country: euthanasia is not Voluntary, they say, nor is it respected - not infrequently - the will of the person to whom euthanasia is applied.”

https://es.aleteia.org/2020/03/28/coronavirus-dejar-a-los-viejos-que-mueran/

I can understand wanting to ease the load on hospitals, but again, house arrest is not necessary. These measures being taken are too extreme. Some governors in the US have eased up on their restrictions, and the number of cases has not risen dramatically like some people spreading fear claimed. Our hospitals are not being overrun with cases.

In fact, the number is going down. Plus, look at the number of beds. It doesn’t mean I want more people to get sick, but we have to be logical about this and think about more than just the illness. We cannot keep letting the government say “money printer go brrrr” (not to mention the insider trading they were doing, like this shit is blatant, the corruption can be cut with a knife)

If we head into another depression, there will be many more millions of people who will die. People in poverty are at most risk for illness in general, and greater health problems, and malnutrition, and they will be the most hit in a depression, obviously. The elderly who get made homeless will basically be guaranteed to suffer badly. We can balance this out so that we can save the economy (as long as it’s not too late) and protect people from the illness as well as keep hospitals from being overloaded. Balance is the best way to protect everyone. I know people seem to have an aversion to moderation for some reason these days, but it really is a good thing here. Balance the needs of everyone.

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