#so yes this is what my old clunky transitions looked like

[moongothic]

You know I wasn't going to post about this, but the more I think about it the more it drives me up the walls

So when Luffy and co release Crocodile from jail, it's specifically under the threat that if Crocodile tries anything funny, well, Iva-chan has a trick up their sleeve to put Crocodile back in-line.

So what the fuck was that actually about? What is Crocodile's secret weakness? I'm specifically looking at the way this is phrased in the manga, because the anime's added dialogue kinda messes with what's implied here. But what Iva specifically says is that Ivankov in particular holds the key to one of Crocodile's weaknesses, but they'll stay quiet about it as long as Crocodile behaves himself ("Vataashi wa koitsu no yowami wo hitotsu nigitteru", a very clunky but literal translation could be "One of his weaknesses is within my grasp". The way Viz translated the line is a bit different so I'm not bothering with getting a cap of the panel, you wouldn't be able to tell how these lines were phrased in Japanese based on Viz's translations anyways) (The dialogue Toei added was Crocodile furiously shouting at Iva-chan, telling them to not say anything and Iva-chan reminding Croc to watch his tone or else they'll reveal Croc's past to everyone. A lot of people don't remember this was in-fact added by Toei, hence I wanted to clarify/remind what happened in this scene originally)

And now. Obviously. When Oda went out of his way to introduce a brand new character whose entire personality is being queer and their power is giving people magic HRT. And then like five chapters later re-introduces Crocodile. And tells us that these two have Secret Beef. And never proceeds to fucking tell us what the hell that was about. Yes, the natural conclusion one would come to would be that Crocodile is stealth trans. That is basic, good storytelling. You (re)introduce two characters, tell us they have beef, one has a very specific ability; you're supposed to connect these dots in your mind. So that now, if Oda revealed to us tomorrow that Crocodile was canonically trans, it would not surprise anyone because it's already been set-up in the story, by this very scene. It's a logical conclusion.

But. I'm becoming more and more convinced that Iva-chan's blackmail might actually not be about Crocodile being trans.

Like the general fandom assumption for the past 15 years has been that Crocodile's stealth trans, but we actually don't know he's stealth. He could be openly trans, and between that being a borderline requirement for Crocodad to be real (since he would've been a Shichibukai for years before Luffy was even born) and the possibility that his earring could specifically be a gay earring, like. Yeah. Crocodile could be openly trans. If Crocodile's perfectly happy to let the whole world know he's gay, then him being trans shouldn't have to be a secret either. We the readers could just be unaware of it because it wasn't relevant information to us, and his transition would be old ass news in-universe and not worth bringing up.

And thus, if Crocodile isn't stealth, then Iva-chan can't blackmail him by threatening to out him, becaus he can't be outted.

Now for a while I did considder that Iva-chan could've been actually threatening to detransition Crocodile if he tried anything funny. Surely he would hate that, so much so that he might not have wanted to even hear Ivankov suggest it. But thinking about it. Unless Iva-chan can use Armanent Haki or get Crocodile moisturized, they shouldn't be able to hit Crocodile actually. Like Croc's Logia makes him impossible to hit unless he specifically allowed himself to be touched. So even if Iva-chan tried to surprise attack Crocodile with Estrogen, Croc should just turn to sand automatically, the attack should not land.

Meaning Iva-chan shouldn't be able to detransition Crocodile against his will, at least not without Haki and we don't know if they can use it, so that can't be Crocodile's weakness either.

And so we have to ask the question. What the fuck is that weakness then that Ivankov mentioned?

All we really know is that Crocodile doesn't want this weakness to be brought up, it's a secret. And for all we know Iva-chan might be the only person in the world who knows about it.

And I just. Like.

There is one weakness, kind of a universal one that many people could have, one that has been brought up time-and-time again post-timeskip, one that has become more and more relevant in the story, especially now at the begining of the Final Saga.

A secret weakness.

If pregnancy is what cracked Crocodile's egg and he transitioned immidiately/soon after giving birth, then it's entirely plausible Iva-chan could know Crocodile had a secret child. And surely he'd want nothing more than for his child to be safe, not end up in trouble because of him. And Ivankov most certainly could put that child in danger, especially now that Crocodile was officially no longer on the World Government's side, there'd be no protection for the baby. All Ivankov had to do was leak the information out, that Sir Crocodile had a child, and anybody who had beef with him could get their revenge by attempting to find the child.

Like I'm just saying. This could line up nicely, actually

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 4: Where Things Have Gone Astray

It pains me to say it, but I found Episode 4 sloppy in it's execution, direction and writing overall. (I'd like to preface that regardless of how much I like fortpeat, or have enjoyed the series for the most part, I personally think it's important to be able to critique a show when it's flaws present themselves, and not to blindly excuse those issues because we want so badly to like it).

The transition from island to Bangkok was a huge turning point in the story, and I'm disappointed to say it wasn't handled well. The episode felt very off-beat and clunky compared to the lovely moments we got last week. Most of the issues centre on inconsistencies in character trajectory that were set up by the end of Episode 3. So let's unpack what went wrong here.

Mut is brusquely given the cold shoulder

My biggest gripe is the treatment of Mut this episode and without good reason. Let's start by recognising that Mut has potentially left his entire way of life behind: his friends, his community, his livelihood - all on the possibility that Rak may come to love him. I don't think Mut's naively banking on this being forever, but the emphasis here is he's willing to give it all up. The lack of acknowledgement to this gesture was glaring. The boy is only 20 years old, may I stress. Rak knows the hardships that Mut has faced, which should make this sacrifice even more significant in my opinion. What little Mut has built from scratch, he's willing to leave behind. All for Rak.

Other than a few brief moments of Rak looking sheepish/guilty, he's very passive throughout. I was really hoping he'd display more initiative and maturity here as the older party (like he did at the end of Episode 3). Even more disappointingly, once they land in Bangkok, Rak has Mut trailing behind him and largely leaves him to his own devices. At points, Rak's attitude towards Mut feels borderline exploitative. Rak is the one who begged Mut to come with him, and now that he's there, he seems to be putting Mut on trial.

Mut's hospitality on the island was due to Rak being an outsider who was completely out of his comfort zone. Now they've essentially reversed the situation but somehow the default is still Mut making all the effort (and yes, I know he's getting paid, but the last 3 episodes have just attempted to establish that their relationship is beyond just monetary). We need to see some more active reciprocation from Rak that supports why he was so driven for Mut to stay with him.

We've also been shown that though Mut is incredibly patient, he's not a doormat. When Rak crosses a line, he does get angry. Mut ran away when his father offended his core values, so we know he's capable of putting his foot down. But Rak's treatment of him here roused no protest or questioning when it would be fully warranted. By the time they discuss the contract, it's a null confrontation as Mut has already conceded to Rak's demands by signing. I wish he stood up for himself more here.

Tongrak's change in demeanour

The Rak we see in Bangkok is how I would imagine his character to be at the beginning of the series. Slightly haughty and dismissive. But because our impression of Rak was intentionally reversed so early on - where we were shown his sensitivity and softness - to have him slip back into a standoffish persona gave me whiplash. Has Rak regressed to who he was prior to the island? Has his time with Mut not changed anything? We know it has, which is why this front feels performative. Why would Rak feel the need to play into this character when Mut's already seen who he is underneath? And what has triggered him to do so? His family haven't come into the picture yet. I don't think Rak really cares about Mook's judgement. So why?

I think it's a huge disservice to shrug this off with: 'oh it's because Rak has trauma', and that's why he's running hot and cold. Doing so only trivialises the magnitude of trauma as a 'convenient' excuse when the writing doesn't support itself well enough for a character's actions to feel convincingly well founded.

When I started Episode 4, I thought we'd missed a scene or were due a flashback that would signpost why Rak changed his mind. We're told it's because of his PA, but that doesn't hold up well because surely Rak would have factored that into the equation. There are plenty of ways they could have remedied this. They could have shown us that Rak was genuine in agreeing, but spirals over the enormity of such a decision afterwards, which leads him to back out. Or Rak agreed despite knowing full well he couldn't meet his promise, and only lied because he didn't want to hurt Mut's feelings. Or they could have included the phone call from his sister in this episode, which would indicate that Rak has bigger responsibilities outside of himself, which caused his decision to sway. But we didn't get anything to ground us to Rak's mindset this episode, so his mentality feels like a 180. It also makes his agreement to Mut feel flippant if all it took was for Mook to whine to change his mind.

I can accept Rak retreating emotionally out of pressure or worry, but it doesn't read that way. Instead, his actions and body language feel abruptly indifferent, oddly detached and cold. The contract just epitomises a clinical level of emotional distancing. Even when Mook voices her concerns, Rak looks exasperated. So this isn't presented to us as a reaction borne out of vulnerability. And because we don't see Rak mulling over any doubts about Mut or otherwise, his behaviour feels all the more sudden and incongruous.

Ultimately, Rak was the one who let Mut down. If Rak agreed to stay on the island because he truly cared about Mut, wouldn't he be feeling doubly guilty at present? Not only has he broken a promise, but Mut is making a huge compromise to pursue Rak. Yet, Rak's attitude seems to be: 'these are my terms, do you have a problem with that?' This challenging air feels out of place and counterintuitive to what they've set up so far. What has Mut done to deserve this? Why is Mut still the one accommodating and initiating, with seemingly no return?

When comedy is not your strong suit, do not lean into it

I have a real bone to pick with the 'humour' attempted in this episode. I know comedy is subjective, but these scenes are arguably the shows weakest moments. People underestimate just how hard it is to pull off comedy and to do it well. And the brand of humour they're going for comes across quite juvenile, slapstick or theatrical. Sadly it only magnifies Aya's acting as egregiously bad in this episode because Mook is leant on so heavily as comic relief.

Mook and Vi's presence as individuals and as a couple has also been very one-dimensional so far which doesn't help things. It's getting increasingly taxing to sit through their scenes when there's so little substance and depth there to root for. Trust me, I am trying to like them, but they're not making it easy.

At it's worst, filler offers us no further insight or advancement in either character or plot. Which inevitably makes you question why the run time is being wasted on excessively inconsequential material. That crime was being committed multiple times this episode.

This is not me writing off the series by any means. As I say in my introduction, I think it's extremely important as a viewer to retain the objectivity to recognise when there are speed bumps, dodgy choices or noticeable areas for improvement.

As I was writing this, I found myself going: 'I think I see what they were trying to go for here' and applying additional guess-work to fill in the gaps. But that's the issue. If the writing requires your viewer to do mental gymnastics to make it make sense, you've dropped the ball. I would heartily advocate for 'show, don't just tell'. But in this episode we neither get shown or told why our characters are acting like this, especially when it seems to contradict how we got here.

Let's hope next episode is only onwards and upwards.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Raven, are you going to watch the upcoming new Disney movie "Wish"?

I've seen mixed reviews, but i'm lowkey excited since we get to see a new Disney villain, especially since Disney got really lame villains after all the old classic movies!

Have you seen the trailer for the movie? What are your thoughts so far?

I saw Wish with a friend recently! I'll give my thoughts on the trailers here (in case you don't want spoilers for the film itself) and put my full thoughts beneath the cut (if you're okay with spoilers).

Looks-wise, I think Disney was definitely trying to go for something more stylistic and painting-esque for this?? And while I commend the effort, it definitely doesn't look as interesting as Puss in Boots 2: The Last Wish. The humor also definitely isn't for me, it feels very "quirky" and "so relatable" (Asha reminds me of Mirabel in that sense), and other times too juvenile (like the goat butt joke). I do like the idea of the villain passing as a good guy in-universe and actually being vain and selfish, especially since the marketing is making it clear who the bad guy is rather than making it a "twist" villain scenario. Not sure if I like Magnifico himself though??? All the ads with him in it feel like Disney is trying too hard to make people thirst for him. From just the trailers, Magnifico does seem interesting and like more of a return to the traditional "villain" rather than the protagonist having to deal with an existential dread or concept.

***Spoilers for Wish beneath the cut!***

Right off the bat, my first impression is the narrative is SO ham-fisted. Within the first 5 minutes alone we're establishing so much information and in such a clunky, unnatural way. Like... Asha says hi to her friends but then they robotically have a dialogue where they overtly call each other "friends" just so it's clear to the audience (when in reality no one talks like that). It's telling instead of showing, and this happens sooo many times early in the film.

Could not for the life of me remember the friends or their names. There were just too many of them when 1 or 2 would have been just fine to move the plot along and to help Asha. (Yes, I know they're a reference to the 7 Dwarves but it's STILL not necessary to have so many just for a reference.)

Bruh, the makeup in this movie is on point. Every time there was a close up of a character, I was staring at their eye makeup (especially Asha and the queen's).

Asha as a protagonist was... fine? She feels very close to Mirabel and at times Rapunzel in her character. I didn't dislike her by any means, but she didn't reinvent what it means to be a Disney protag. Her motivations also come off as… really “out of nowhere”. We’re told she “cares too much”, but she initially only wants to save the wishes of her mom and grandpa; she randomly decides she has to free ALL wishes midmovie and that was jarring. There could have been a smoother transition. Instead, it was abrupt and Asha didn’t change in any meaningful way. Even her “I want” song was vague (what exactly is “to have something more for us than this”?) and didn’t connect well with her character.

I do really like her design though! Her freckles, earrings, and how her hair moves are my favorite details.

Valentino was not as annoying as I thought he would be. Still didn't care for his sass and brand of humor, but at least he helped out a few times.

I called it, the film is trying so hard to make Magnifico "hot" 🤡 I don't get it but okay, Mouse. I see your effort.

Loved his fit!! Very cool cloak and diamond/star motifs everywhere! His lab and study was also fun to look at.

I quite liked the moments when the queen talked to her husband and tried to smooth things over with him. “I can fix him energy”— Their relationship seemed very genuine at the start of the movie.

NOT THE WISH NEPOTISM...

If they were going for “sympathetic” with Magnifico, it didn’t work. He gave this backstory about how he was traumatized before + left as the only survivor of a great tragedy and so now he wants to use his magic to prevent that from happening to anyone else. Thing is, we only ever know about this via his word and staring at a half-burnt tapestry. We never see the event on screen, nor what was left of the tapestry. I was expecting a twist where it’s revealed that he lied all this time about his backstory and rewrote history so he could more easily manipulate the people of the kingdom he founded and live out the fantasy of being worshipped as a “good guy”. That was such a missed opportunity!!

Something else I was thinking of (this was during “This is the Thanks I get” was??? Maybe Magnifico started off genuinely good but became worn down over time as people’s wishes grew more selfish and they became ungrateful for what they had?? Then he could have become bitter and disillusioned by the behavior of his people.

Another idea is maybe Magnifico was “villainous” only in Asha’s eyes, since they don’t agree on how to best handle granting wishes. This would be more of a clash of ideologies rather than the traditional Obvious Evil vs Obvious Good that Disney is so known for, but hey, it could be a neat evolution of their storytelling from classic fairy tale roots.

This is to say that there were so many more interesting directions they could have gone with Magnifico’s motives, character, and portrayal 😭 but the second half of the movie never commits to any of these, they just blame his complete insanity and turn to the dark side on Forbidden Magic which is such a cop-out.

The trailers gave away the twist that Magnifico was the villain. It wasn’t revealed until like the second song into the movie. Would’ve worked better as an on-the-spot reveal rather than part of the marketing, in my opinion.

When they showed the wishes, the TWST fan in my was shouting, "OMG IT'S WISH UPON A STAR, THE LIMITED TIME STORY EVENT FROM THE HIT DISNEY MOBILE GACHA GAME TWISTED WONDERLAND!!!"

As Wish is Disney's anniversary film for 100 years, there were tooons of easter eggs scattered throughout. (I had fun looking for them!) Some were visual (I saw Aurora's dress, Snow White’s well, Peter's Pan's costume, Ursula's green smokey hands, Asha's robes resembling those of the Fairy Godmother, etc.) or extended imagery/scenes (Asha recreates Mulan's dinner and “Reflection" scenes), others were more overt lines of dialogue (Magnifico says the "Mirror, Mirror" lines along with others, a deer named “Bambi”, Valentino mentions an animal metropolis in reference to Zootopia, etc.).

In theory, the wish magic sounds cool but has so much that isn't explained??? And yeah, it's magic so it technically doesn't have to be. However, there are things not explained even when it is important to the plot. For example, Magnifico crushes some wishes and seems to absorb their power for himself (including the wish of Asha's MOM, so you'd think this would be important)? The consequence of this is that the wish's owners... become sad??? Okay, what are the long-term effects??? Why isn’t this fully explored?? But then later in the film we see the same people whose wishes were crushed... regenerate their wish??? So what, he has to keep reaping them??? And why are the wishes only taken at 18 years old? What if a wish changes? Ironically, the townspeople of Rosas have a scene where they question the technicalities of this wish magic. Magnifico essentially tells them to shut up, and it kinda felt like Disney was telling us to not question their lore www

It was weird that they never fully explored the ramifications of going without your wish. You’d think they’d show us people without ambition or hope (which would incentivize Asha to return their wishes), but everyone seems blissfully happy without their wishes?? The only exception is Asha’s friend that betrays her (cannot for the life of me remember his name), and that’s namely because his asshole friends keep ragging on him for it.

I thought the movie was going to go in a “you can make your own wish come true!!” direction but NOPE, turns out it’s just magic. Felt like Disney unintentionally wrote a whole movie about "wishes not coming true unless some big powerful entity allows it to come true” (Asha literally becomes the fairy godmother of Rosas at the end, making her ultimately no different than Magnifico)… ie a metaphor for how Disney owns so many properties it practically owns our childhoods www

"The power of friendship saves the day" ending 🤣 It was very Paper Mario ending-esque...

A song saving the day though?? It’s giving the Illumination Lorax film…

I was right about the humor. Too "quirky" and/or juvenile for me.

Animation was alright? Nothing awful about it, it just didn't feel as detailed or as experimental as other films with a similar style.

Songs were mid, which checks out with the recent Disney music excluding We Don't Talk About Bruno--

Some of the lyrics however were awful. “I let you live here for free and I don’t even charge you rent” is redundant. “So I throw caution to every warning sign” means you’ll show more caution than usual, not that you’ll forego caution. The correct expression is “throw caution to the wind”. Etc, etc, etc.

There was a cute after credits scene where they reveal that Asha's 100 year old grandpa (same age as Disney omg) wrote the "When You Wish Upon a Star" theme, which was sweet since his wish was "wanting to make a mark".

THE BEST PART OF THE MOVIE WAS STAR!! It was very cute (partly because it couldn't talk and just jingled and giggled, I was dreading another annoying mascot animal voice) and reminds me of my own pet… The way Star infused everything with glitter and formed unique shapes with the red twine was so fun 😭 I'M A STAR STAN, IT WAS ADORABLE AND KINDA BRATTY AND I'M LIVING FOR IT

Decent ideas, "meh" execution. Enchanted and Shrek did it better in terms of self-aware, fairy tale defying stories. It felt as though the movie was trying to deliver a profound message but got lost in the sauce of making as making Disney references possible and didn't fully commit to actually saying something meaningful. As a result, the film feels somewhat… hollow.

That one friend betraying Asha was the biggest surprise in the film but I still saw it coming 😂 I do get where he’s coming from though (being worried that his wish won’t ever come true) but it also felt like his conflict wasn’t resolved??? It might have gone better if the movie actually fully tried to push the “you can make your own wish come true” message (to reinvigorate the traitor to make his dreams a reality on his own) but they don’t 💦

Wish didn’t end up being “the wishing star’s origin story” because not once did anyone question where Star came from or why it was different from other stars (or what the significance of Magnifico blotting out the other stars was).

I think the people that would enjoy this movie are the people that are already highly invested in Disney and the nostalgia of it.

... Anyway, stan Star 🤩 (and the talking mushrooms 🍄)

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

So I'm seeing quite a bit of seething outrage in the tag and maybe I'm just adding fuel to the fire here but... the Netflix adaption was pretty good? It's not perfect, the modern storyline in the first two episodes are quite bad in parts (thanks a lot, Auggie 🙄). Some of the dialogue is also weird and clunky in the first two episodes. But it really, genuinely picks up the pace afterward. First and foremost, the visuals are beautiful. I like how the show expanded on the characters in modern times, adore the friendship between the Oxford Five, and I'm in delulu about Jin's and Will's ending (something something ships in the night 😭). Even Auggie has her moments in later episodes, and I find myself pretty satisfied with the end of her arc. The transition from page to screen is mostly effective, and I appreciate that they can just let the visual storytelling do the talking instead of just a lot of declarative statements for character introduction in the books, that could (at least to me) get tedious at times.

I find it to be one of the adaptions where the changes make sense. The diverse cast makes sense. The book takes place in China but it's a story about humanity. Plus you already have your all-Chinese adaptation (a few times as well). Widening the geographic scope to get a new perspective on the story is a pretty valid reason for an adaption. Plus, transnational adaptions happen All. The. Time. Taking shows and movies from other countries and putting your own national take on it is a pretty popular practice. China definitely does it.

The Netflix show has these intimate, quiet moments that are very compelling, and the besutiful music helps further highlight that. On the other hand, I can see where the white-washing argument from some of y'all came from. While I don't necessarily agree with it, I think it's a reductive and just not very accurate description for this show in particular, there are however certain scenes that I would dub Joseph Campbell-infected, which seems more fair and specific to me.

Something that's more baffling to me is the disagreement over Ye Wenjie's portrayal in the show. That she's a bitter, mental old lady in comparison to her counterpart in the book. Did we read the same book??? What did I miss? How was she not a bitter, mental old lady in the book? It's the whole point of her character. That she was a deeply lonely, traumatised woman whose repressed anger and resentment were indistinguishable with intellectualism and who mistook her cynicism for objectivity. Of course she was mental. She was in the midst of a silent breakdown, for otherwise an emotionally functional person would not have made the choice she did and DOOMED THE ENTIRE HUMANRACE TO EXTINCTION. Also her confession to Shi Qiang in the book? Where she believed that the Trisolaran would save humanity based solely on the fact that they are more technologically advanced? That was bonkers. She echoed the sentiment of many real people from her generation, people of invaded countries who look upon the historical colonialism fondly or as a desired solution, because the system in power has failed them. I know actual people like that in my life. They are my loved ones, and they enforce such beliefs on their children, us, like how Wenjie condemned her belief upon the rest of humanity. It's a complex, thorny legacy to carry, and it is insane that we have to carry it. Wenjie is a genius, she's a grieving, empathetic woman who could not access her emotions in a healthy way because she was fucked over in 100 different directions, AND she is an old, bitter, intergalactic war criminal whose mental state is definitely in jeorpady. She is all these things, and both the actresses in the Netflix show did a phenomenal job of portraying every facet of her character.

[jenniferdiazisatransgirl]

I think I’m straight!

Hey,

So mental health is still kinda shit but I want to make this post. It does feel kinda cringy to come out as straight, but at the same time it has taken me a long time to figure out and like I think I finally have figured it out.

For those who’ve followed this blog for a while, you’ll know I’m a trans woman and when it comes to my sexuality I’ve never really had it down. I have had times where I thought I did, but it changes a lot.

For the past few years I have identified as demisexual and I think that comes down to the fact I’ve imagined I can have a relationship with a woman, but there would need to be a strong emotional bond for something more. But when I think about the potential of dating a guy, that need for a strong emotional bond doesn’t seem to be there.

Not sure if that really makes sense, but I guess if and when I imagine being with a woman in a relationship. My brain has to do a lot of extra steps and gymnastics to be like, “Yeah, that feels like it would be right.” Whereas if I imagine being with a man in a relationship, my brain is instantly like, “Yeah, I can see that happening.”

Like feels weird to say, “I don’t need a strong emotional bond with a guy”. Cos that kinda isn’t true in many respects. Like I need to be in a relationship with someone I trust and who I share interests with, etc. But of course, as we all know attraction doesn’t necessarily play by the rules of what would be ideal in a partner. You can find someone initially attractive and then their personality puts you off. And God, does that happen a lot. My one date with a dude and straight dude at that, he confessed that he’d love to meet a WWII NAZI in real life and I’m just like sat at the table in the coffee shop terrified going, “Riiiiight! Make no sudden moves. Just get through this and then never talk to this guy again.” Wasn’t the only red flag with that dude. He seemed to be one of those people who wanted to hear people out just because and it is like, “You don’t need to know the reasoning of what a NAZI is doing to know what they did is awful.”

Sorry, bit of a tangent there.

I have found this difficult to come to terms with though. Like when I was younger and I first remember experiencing any attraction it was to women. Like at 10 years old, I figured out I should be a woman but I also started experiencing attraction to women at the same time.

Someone pointed out yesterday though, that my attraction to women could have likely been envy. And I guess when I look back on it, that was very likely true. I think the huge issue I had between 10 to 16, is testosterone can really muddy the waters on attraction. Especially when you are trying desperately to understand yourself. And like I get confusion in your teen years especially is part of life, but I think testosterone and being a guy when that felt really wrong just caused the wrong kinds of confusion. Like I at least knew since 10 that transition was possible. I didn’t know what it entailed but I knew one day I could be a woman if that was how I really felt. Sadly that did not mean I had an accepting Mum, just that I had one who was honest when I curiously asked, “Mum, can people change sex?” in my clunky 10 year old vocabulary. I asked her that on the bus to my Grandma’s 😂 She said, “Yes.” Probably putting it down to childhood curiosity. I guess it took away some of the confusion. Like at 10 I figured out I should be a girl and I could at least latch onto that, not thinking it was totally impossible. But then there was still envy for my female classmates which my testosterone fuelled brain at the time clearly mistook for attraction.

And when it came to figuring out I like guys, my attraction was dampened for other reasons. Without going into details, events that took place during my childhood made me extremely fearful of men. I remember in primary (elementary) school, having a male supply (substitute) teacher and being utterly terrified of him. And like for a few years, social services was involved in my life, they used to pick me up from school every week. It was usually a woman who came to pick me up, but one week two men came to pick me up. I seriously was terrified as hell and I had it in my head these guys were kidnapping me. When I got to the centre I think I ended up telling my social worker how scared it made me being picked up by two men. Plus I spent a lot of my school years being called “gay” and bullied for being perceived as such. Like any desire to explore my attraction to men was dampened by fear and while weird to say, given the topic of this is me coming out as straight, internalised homophobia.

I mean while from 10 I knew I was a girl, from the outside I was a guy and exploring being a guy who likes guys was not something I wanted to explore. Being perceived as gay never really sat right with me though. Like I readily admit there was some internalised homophobia there, but I also despise misinformation about myself. Like, all I could think is “I’m not gay. I like women.” And I knew my classmates meant gay as in I was a guy who likes guys. And let’s imagine the fact, that they were half correct, I do like guys. I was not a guy who likes guys, I’m a girl who likes guys. But of course, without coming out, exploring my sexuality in any meaningful way at school would have given the wrong impression about me. It would have just backed up that idea I’m gay. Which not bad in anyway, but I didn’t want to be viewed as gay.

And look, I can safely say that was my brain hating misinformation. I kinda got outed at school, but the news didn’t reach everyone. I came out to one guy and he told enough people that by the next day most people at school knew. The news missed a few girls I hung out with though. I was dating a bisexual girl at the time and the reasoning they had assumed for me dating that girl was basically, “You’re a typical guy. Dating a bi girl for a threesome.”

Like I hated that so much and with already so many people in the school knowing I was trans anyway. I was just like, “Okay. Let’s stop this rumour before it even starts. The reason I’m dating a bi girl is cos I’m a girl.”

And that is likely another reason I didn’t explore my sexuality much at that age. When I finally came out as trans in school, I was in a relationship and one that lasted nearly the remainder of my time at school. Also super weird note, but you know that thing where it is said you are more attractive when in a relationship? Despite being outed to the entire school as trans, so many girls were interested in me and clearly expressed it during that time. There was one lass I had to watch out for in the corridors as she’d side swipe me with hugs from a run that made me nearly fall over. That was an interesting time.

If any guys expressed interest for me during that time though, I think it was safe to say I was oblivious to it. I did dance with a guy at my prom, but I feel safe in saying that was platonic. The song was “Mr Brightside” by The Killers though and it is still a memory I look back on fondly. Weirdly enough, the dance was with the guy who outed me. I think I’ve said before, he was hard to stay mad at during the time, as being outed actually caused a lot of bullying to stop for me. It was like my being trans took away a lot of the power my bullies had over me and then I had a girlfriend so calling me gay was a lil weak.

I do remember one of my bullies approaching me one day though and just going, “So all these years we were calling you gay. You’re a lesbian, so we were technically correct.” I think my response was something along the lines of, “Technically, yes.” And thinking internally, how he’d made me miserable along with the rest of my bullies so it was kinda beside the point.

I think I’m just rambling now though. Main take away was my head was filled with a lot of confusion and at times still is. I do think I finally have enough clarity on it all to say I’m straight though.

Enjoy my post!

[lunarmultishine]

And Yet Another Beginning

My entry for the Valentines gift exchange organized for @goloveday for @teslatherat

Sorry it took so long, technical difficulties, and most of this was painstakingly typed out on mobile and not my best work. I  still hope you enjoy!

Crowley had left a cheesy, traditional Valentines letter in the bookshop the day before, finished "from your valentine" and all that. That's what he found his angel staring at, eyes wide and faraway, when he let himself into the shop the next afternoon.

"You... didn't mean it that way, did you?"

It only took a second for Crowley to understand what Aziraphale was saying.Saint Valentine had ended his letter that way, before he was executed.

"No, no, not at all. It's just something humans say," his throat tightened. He hadn't meant to worry his angel. It had only been months since Armageddon, and neither of them were over everything that happened. Naturally, after an event that was the culmination of 6000 years, most of their lives.

"We're safe," Crowley said softly.

"Oh," Aziraphale let out a long shaky breath, "Oh, good. I was just making sure. I was worried -" he looked down and so did Crowley. Crowley saw Aziraphale's hands, fingers laced together and trembling in front of him.

Crowley reached out a hand, putting his gently over Aziraphale's, "No, Hell or Heaven hasn't been knocking on my door with a summons to the gallows. I would tell you."

"I know." Aziraphale's voice was quiet, "I know, Crowley," he sounded stronger and his hands slowly opened, taking Crowley's hand between his. They were cold, from fright and memory perhaps. Neither of them knew every single thing that would remind or worry them. All the candles in the bookshop were put away for that reason, none of them lit for weeks. That had been a nasty surprise one evening.

here was a long moment of silence, then "Hey," Crowley started, trying to smile. It was a soft smile, gentle. One that had over the years been rare and almost exclusively directed at Aziraphale. The latter hadn't changed much, but the former was starting to, "How about we go for a ride? To the countryside, maybe?"

Aziraphale's eyes lit up, still hazel in this light, "That sounds lovely, dear. I'd be happy to."

The Bentley purred her familiar purr as they made their way in comfortable silence, both deep in thought. Crowley wouldn't take for granted having his angel beside him in the car, though. He loved the Bentley but he definitely enjoyed the added bonus of the presence of a certain angel. It always felt a bit warmer with Aziraphale by his side.

here was something peaceful in the countryside, to just see trees and greenery and flowers. Calming, knowing the world still lived out there.

They strolled for a while over a beaten path, though there was tension in the silence now, before coming to a meadow, blooming with flowers. They may or may not have had a hand in the place.

Aziraphale grinned and headed for the tall grass.

"What're you doing?" Crowley asked, trying to peer over Aziraphale's shoulder.

The angel giggled, "You'll see," he sing songed, knowing of his best friend's hopping impatience to knowing things, as clearly illustrated as Crowley tried to get a good look at what Aziraphale was doing. Aziraphale turned away,

"Alright, alright," Aziraphale laughed, as Crowley nearly fell over into a pile trying to keep up with Aziraphale, "I'm half done, look."

"A flower crown?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, but Aziraphale stretched out a hand, catching a lock of long red hair.

"I thought you'd look lovely. Though it's rather impossible to top how you look now," Aziraphale added, with a sheepish grin.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he took off the sunglasses, "Flatterer.”

"Oh," Aziraphale said softly, "Never mind what I said, you always look lovely."

Crowley was smiling at him, wasn't sure when his silly face did that, but it was. Aziraphale quickly finished and placed the crown on his head.

"What?" Aziraphale quirked a smile, watching Crowley beam at him, "You may blind me, looking at me like that."

"Sorry, angel, can't seem to stop." he took a step closer, taking Aziraphale's hand, "Y'know, there's an area near by. Real pretty. South Downs."

"Is that right?" Aziraphale's eyes crinkled as he smiled, "I think I know the place you're talking about. Some nice houses."

He had been afraid, still afraid of losing Aziraphale. Things were starting to steady, just a little, beneath their feet. The setting sun didn't mean the end, it meant another beginning, similar to the energy of creation before the Beginning, the type Crowley had shaped with his hands. Neither of them Created like they used to, but that didn't mean this was the end of it. It was a beginning, yet again.

"Yeah, 'xactly. Maybe we should go have a look," Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale reached up, hands sinking into the long curls and drawing near, holding Crowley against him as the sunset colors lit up their eyes.

[curiosity-killed]

evidence of a lost past part 4

(chronologically WAY after parts 1, 2, or 3 BUT i wanted to write kissing so i wrote kissing)

cw: mentions of internalized acephobia and generally wonky feelings about sex. no actual on-screen sex, just a lot of making out

story tag

Xie Lian slides to his knees from the penche and drops his head to rest on Hua Cheng’s chest, groaning in laughter. All the rest of the piece is coming together, but this transition still feels sticky, clunky, like they’re missing a step. Burying his face in Hua Cheng’s t-shirt, he huffs out a laugh. They’ll figure it out. It’s right there, just out of reach. For once, not being able to do it perfectly doesn’t feel like a failure or calamity; with Hua Cheng’s little huff of laughter underneath him, it feels like they’re trying to chart a new path through undisturbed woods, hand in hand. He likes it, the challenge, the back and forth, the bright spark of epiphany when it comes together.

Groaning, he props himself up to grin at Hua Cheng.

“San Lang,” he says and then stops.

Until he looked up, he hadn’t realized how close they are. It’s not the first time they’ve been pressed chest-to-chest—between the choreography itself and slips in lifts or turns, they’ve been spinning within each other’s orbit for all of this—but Xie Lian looks up and realizes that he’s draped across Hua Cheng, arms bracketing his ribs, hips caged by his thighs. And Hua Cheng— Hua Cheng is looking at him so steadily, lips a little parted and cheeks dusted pink.

At the academy, they discouraged dating as a distraction. Students were supposed to be focused on their studies, on excelling in both school and auditions, not making out in the backseat of a teenager’s old sedan. Jun Wu had been blunter.

“You can tell,” he’d said once, amused and a little condescending.

He’d pointed out company members with careless ease, making Xie Lian flush with mortification. When he said Feng Xin had been experimenting, Xie Lian had been relieved to find out that Jun Wu’s insight wasn’t infallible—and then, they’d been back in their little shoebox apartment three blocks from the studio and it had come up and—

For months, Xie Lian had walked around the studios with a prickling over-awareness of his own skin, as if everyone could know every secret he hid from just one look.

But now, Hua Cheng is looking at him and there’s no judgment, no smug curl. He looks at Xie Lian like he sees him, all of him, and wants it, blood and blisters and all. Xie Lian hesitates, drawing his bottom lip under his teeth as he tries to wrestle his panting breath back under control. Hua Cheng’s gaze dips. He swallows.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, quiet, like a secret, “I—may I—“

“Yes.”

A burble of nervous laughter escapes Xie Lian, and his fingers tighten in Hua Cheng’s t-shirt.

“Ah you don’t even know what I was going to say,” he scolds. “I could’ve said anything—“

“Gege,” Hua Cheng interrupts firmly, “yes.”

“Oh.”

He holds back a moment longer, his breathing finally settling into a natural rhythm. Hua Cheng waits, hands flat against the marley and gaze trained on Xie Lian.  Biting his lip, Xie Lian takes a breath and leans in.

Hua Cheng always feels cool—his fingers are often ice-like and his silk and Dri-fit tops stay sleek and chilled even out in the summer smog.

He doesn’t now. His lips are soft and warm when Xie Lian meets them; the mint of his chapstick stings against Xie Lian’s lips. Pressed this close, Xie Lian can feel the rabbit beat of his heart, the heat radiating from his chest. Pulling back slightly, Xie Lian releases a shuddering exhale and blinks his eyes open to find Hua Cheng staring up at him, hunger in his eye.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says.

“Gege,” he answers, gaze dropping back to Xie Lian’s lips before he drags it up again.

Xie Lian can’t help smiling, a sudden, heady rush cascading through him. It doesn’t feel like a distraction or disgrace. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to find how their bodies fit together in this dance, too.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, “say my name.”

Hua Cheng pauses a moment, watching Xie Lian with open hunger. His breathing has picked up again, and Xie Lian feels a smug sense of satisfaction. He did that. He did that with just one kiss.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng says. “Xie Lian.”

He curls up as he says it, hands finally leaving the floor to grip Xie Lian’s waist. There’s no hesitation in this kiss, and Xie Lian closes his eyes on a sigh as Hua Cheng takes the lead. He chases Xie Lian’s sigh, tongue slipping against the seam of his lips, and Xie Lian opens to him. For once, Hua Cheng is greedy with him, his hands mapping out Xie Lian’s back and sliding up to comb into his hair. He kisses as if he’s drowning and Xie Lian is a breath of life, and Xie Lian can’t help but cling to him, awash in pleasure and delight.

They’re both panting when they separate, and they’re still pressed so close that their breath is shared in the slim space between them. Hua Cheng’s eye is half-lidded, his cheeks pink and lips slick, and Xie Lian gazes down at him with slack wonder. His hands are still tangled in Hua Cheng’s t-shirt, tight enough they’ve drawn the fabric up to bare a pale stripe of his belly. Releasing one, he reaches up to brush Hua Cheng’s hair from his face, and his hand slides down the curve of his cheek to cup his jaw.

He leans in, gently guides Hua Cheng toward him, and kisses slow and long and sweet. The hand in his hair tightens briefly, and Xie Lian hums low in pleasure before it releases, slipping away from his nape to smooth his hair back from his brow. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes; he trusts Hua Cheng’s hands to hold him steady.

The strained elastic in his hair slides out with Hua Cheng’s absent combing, spilling his hair around them like a curtain, and Xie Lian can’t help giggling at the way it tickles his neck. He pulls back just a little, just enough to tuck the front section behind his ear. Beneath him, a grin dawns across Hua Cheng’s face—bright as sunlight, slow and sweet as spring. He reaches up to run his fingers through the length, knuckle brushing the side of Xie Lian’s neck, and a shiver runs through Xie Lian at the touch.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng murmurs, soft as prayer.

Smiling, Xie Lian shifts so that his forearms rest on the floor by Hua Cheng’s head and lowers himself to lay flat across Hua Cheng’s chest. The motion makes Hua Cheng’s breath hitch, and he grins even as he draws Hua Cheng’s hair back from his face and presses a kiss to his lips.

“San Lang,” he murmurs without pulling back. “San Lang, San Lang, I never knew kissing could be so nice.”

Hua Cheng laughs, his smile curling against Xie Lian’s featherlight kisses. His hands have returned to Xie Lian’s back and hips. Restless, they travel the breadth of his shoulders and knead the dip of his lower spine. Even now, they stay above his baggy t-shirt, rumpling the fabric and never slipping to the skin beneath.

“Only with gege,” Hua Cheng promises inanely, and Xie Lian laughs as he leans in to kiss the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose.

Reaching behind himself, he curls a hand around Hua Cheng’s wrist and guides his hand under the rucked up hem of his t-shirt. Hua Cheng stills, shifting back to look at Xie Lian searchingly.

“Gege?” he asks.

“I trust you,” Xie Lian answers, letting go.

Hua Cheng’s hand stays flat and still against his lower back for a moment, as if waiting for a trap to spring. Xie Lian exhales, lets his body go slack and heavy against his and kisses him soft and chaste. Finally, Hua Cheng seems to believe him, and his hand drags up the muscles of Xie Lian’s back in a long, light stroke. His fingertips are still cold, a startlingly contrast to Xie Lian’s overheated skin, and as they skate against Xie Lian’s back, a shiver chases after them.

Pressed together as they are, every little shift and brush sends heat pooling low in his belly, and for once, he can’t spare a thought to be embarrassed. He’s always thought this was something he couldn’t have—all of it, any of it. He didn’t mind, mostly, but a quiet, bitter part of him had been sure that this was yet another of his failings. When he thought of dating, it was always chased away by the spectre of looming confrontation, of his not being willing enough or experienced enough or being too shy altogether. He didn’t want to mislead someone, let them think he would want everything they did only to turn around and deny him.

But that shadow can’t endure Hua Cheng’s unyielding light. He knows, down to the core of himself, that if he pulled back—if he stood up and said that this was just an experiment and he never wanted any more—Hua Cheng would let him and wouldn’t leave him. He’d stay, and he’d never ask for it or suggest it or slip half a step beyond the boundary Xie Lian sets.

Xie Lian doesn’t deserve such care, but he presses into it and holds tight.

He loses track of time, tangled together on the floor. Hua Cheng’s legs have tightened around his hips, and his hands trace frostwork shapes against his skin, just enough to have Xie Lian’s whole body trembling with not-quite-enough. He presses down more firmly and swallows the low moan that escapes Hua Cheng’s lips.

The door creaks.

“Hua Cheng, the— Uh.”

Xie Lian freezes, eyes flying open. Under him, Hua Cheng goes suddenly stiff and still. His hands freeze where they’re spread across Xie Lian’s back, one trapped under his shirt and one just above the waistband of his sweats.

Behind them, Yin Yu clears his throat.

“My apologies,” he says. There’s the metallic squeak and quiet thud of the door swaying back into a body, like he’s turned away to give them some privacy. “The second company is all here.”

Mortification flushes Xie Lian’s entire face, and he retreats to hide in Hua Cheng’s chest. Hua Cheng’s hands slip out from under his shirt to draw him close in a protective kind of hug, like his arms can hide Xie Lian away when they’re blatantly making out in the middle of the studio floor.

“Go ahead and start warming them up,” Hua Cheng says after a moment. “I’ll be there shortly.”

There’s a small pause.

“Perhaps I should inform them you will just be joining us for rehearsal?”

“Yin Yu,” Hua Cheng snaps, tone a warning.

Based on the quiet laughter Xie Lian hears as the door swings shut, it’s not a very successful one. With his face still pressed to Hua Cheng’s chest, he tries to calm his heart and beat down the heat scalding his cheeks. Hua Cheng continues to hold him as around them, the quiet ticking of the studio comes back into his awareness. Beyond it, Xie Lian can hear distant chatter and laughter, the company as they prepare for class. The walls are thin enough here that they should have been able to hear the front doors opening and closing if they weren’t so distracted. His cheeks burn hotter.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng asks after a few moments.

“Hmrf,” Xie Lian mumbles into his shirt.

Hua Cheng waits. Dragging up his tattered dignity, Xie Lian finally pulls his face from Hua Cheng’s t-shirt, though he still can’t meet his eyes.

“Um,” he says. Swallows. “Ah San Lang, I’m sorry, that was—inappropriate.”

His stomach twists as he says it, shame finally catching up to him. He knows Hua Cheng likes him, cares about him. He doesn’t want to ruin what they have.

“Gege can be inappropriate with me,” Hua Cheng says. Xie Lian looks up, startled, to find a hint of a blush still lingering on Hua Cheng’s cheeks. “I liked it.”

“Oh,” Xie Lian says intelligently. His cheeks heat up again, but this time when he ducks his head, he can’t help smiling. “Um. I—me too. I mean, I liked it, too.”

A grin breaks across Hua Cheng’s face, and Xie Lian’s unease dissipates from the force of it. As the shame fades, he can’t help picturing Yin Yu, and he drops his forehead to Hua Cheng’s chest, laughing.

“Ah San Lang, poor Yin Yu,” he says.

“Serves him right,” Hua Cheng says sourly. “He could’ve checked the room first.”

Xie Lian snorts, his shoulders shaking with laughter. He can only imagine what they looked like, tangled together like two teenagers who were too desperate to get their hands on each other to wait for an appropriate space. He can feel Hua Cheng’s laugh escape him in a breath, and one hand sets to smoothing up and down Xie Lian’s back in long, easy strokes. He stays above the shirt this time, which is probably for the best.

“Ah, I should let you go teach,” Xie Lian says, even as he shifts to lay his head flat against Hua Cheng’s ribs.

His heart thuds steady and strong under his ear, and Xie Lian smiles at the reassuring drumbeat. Hua Cheng combs Xie Lian’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear.

“Mm,” he hums, noncommittal. “Yin Yu can deal with them.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian scolds, laughing. He sits up to look Hua Cheng in the face. “If you don’t show up, his imagination will run wild.”

Hua Cheng’s eye narrows.

“He better not think of gege like that at all,” he says, low, and a funny sense of delight chases down Xie Lian’s veins at the possessive rumble in his voice.

Biting his lips, Xie Lian breathes out a laugh and finally scoots back to kneel instead of draping across Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng follows, sitting up with his arms folded over his knees. Xie Lian hesitates a moment, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

“I should let you go,” he says again, “but ah would you want to maybe come over tonight? I can cook dinner and we could just...hang out.”

He cringes as he says it, feeling like a middle schooler who’s never had a crush before. It doesn’t matter that he really hasn’t liked someone like this before. He’s twenty-five, he should be able to ask his—well, whatever Hua Cheng is to him—to come over without sounding so lame.

“How could I say no to gege’s cooking?” Hua Cheng replies with a smile that crinkles up by his eye.

Breathing out a laugh, Xie Lian reaches up to rub at the nape of his neck.

“Ah alright,” he says. “Yay.”

It escapes him weakly, but Hua Cheng’s grin grows. He looks so bright like this, so larger than life in his happiness.

“Yay,” he echoes. “It’s a date.”

The words send a nervy trill through Xie Lian, but he can’t help smiling back.

“It’s a date.”

[josiecarioca]

On Severus’ robes, wizard and muggle clothes and the importance of fashion in “Post War”

In my post about Evelyn's teenage crush and Severus wizarding robes (makes sense in context), @hayalee8 asked me wether Evelyn will, at some point, wear wizarding robes.

Imma just take this opportunity to ramble a bit about fashion in “Post War” (because I was supposed to be doing something else, so this is what I´ll do now).

Some of you may have noticed that fashion is kind of a big deal in this story. 

Evelyn- I have talked in another post about how Evelyn performs her “traditional” femininity as a way to assert herself. Basically she dresses to feel powerful, and in some ways to control how other people react to her,  She dresses up for business meetings, parties and events in the same way a warrior would put on a suit of armor to go to battle. When she has lunch with Pavel/Dmitri to discuss the book deal she wears a hyper tailored purple dress (purple being the color of royalty, and the meticulous tailoring as a display of power). In her two first “official” dates with Severus she choses contrasting outfits: a white lace dress with a pink princess style coat (she´s meeting him in a church on Christmas, and goes for something that looks angelic, and makes her look more approachable) and for Severus birthday she wears a form-fitting emerald green dress with a plunging neckline (green is his favorite color other than black, the cleavage shows off the silver-green crucifix on her neck, slytherin colors, and by then their relationship has taken on some sexual elements, so the dress is more provocative.  Through the story she wears bright colors, particularly shades of red, high heels and bold jewelry in stark contrast to Severus who wears the same simple shapeless black outfits. She’s like a force of life bursting in when Severus is trying to figuratively “remain dead” . In the chapters that take place in Spain (when she and Severus are in a established relationship) her fashion choices also change slightly, she still wears loads of red, but there´s less structure and more sensuality: bare shoulders, long sundresses, sandals, loads of stark white, splashes of orange and blue and loads of rich, flowy fabric and flamenco inspired cuts.

Severus- Severus’s fashions are much simpler but they also tell a story. He starts the narrative wearing mostly slacks or jeans and turtlenecks, all in black (or very dark denim for the jeans). After the war,he´s left Hogwarts, and has lost much of his identity: he´s no longer a spy, no longer a teacher, and he´s hidding from wizard society, so in a way he´s no longer a wizard. But he doesn’t know how to be anything else, he´s built his entire persona on being a spy, a teacher and a wizard. Living among muggles he can no longer wear his robes, so he wears a “muggle version” of them, a sort of mockup. The black turtlenecks not only hides his neck scars, but they aslo serve as a simplified version of his teaching robes and figuratively keeps him “buttoned up”. The long sleeves and jackets hide the dark mark, but also cover him up in a way a cloak would have done before. When he leaves the house all he does is add layers, as if trying to protect himself from the outside world: scarves, jackets, boots. All black or grey, all clunky, shapeless and heavy. Is like he´s trying to turn himself into a shadow, to disappear. The first subtle change is the jumper Evelyn’s mother gives him as Christmas gift. It´s a moss green woolen Aran sweater with Evelyn´s family pattern on it (each family has its own knit pattern and this is an early indication that Severus will be part of this family soon). Originally it was meant for Evelyn´s father, but he died before it was finished, so in a way this foreshadows that Severus also symbolically steps into his shoes as  a male presence in a family that currently has none (as all men in the family passed away). From there on Severus receives small, subtle additions to his wardrobe. As his relationship with Evelyn grows closer the turtlenecks are replaced by button-up shirts or boatneck long sleeved shirts. Navy blue, lighter greys and different shades of green start to appear. Sometimes he rolls up the sleeves, leaving his forearms bare. Then, much like it happens to Evelyn, we get to the Spain chapters and his style changes significantly. He switches his color palette from dark blues, dark greens and dark greys to lighter blues, lighter greys and blueish greys. The Black is still there (pants, shoes, belts), but now there´s the final addition of white. It starts with white shirts and t-shirts, but then there’s *THE* white linen suit. This is Snape in all white. This is Snape ready to transition into a new life and come clean about his past. It´s a rebirth of sorts.

Soooooooooo...when he goes back to wearing wizarding robes, It IS going to be a big deal. Because this will be Snape reclaiming his old identity, but under new terms. He´s not a spy or a teacher, he’s a war “veteran”, a hero, and now he’s inequivocally one of “the good guys”. Also, with Dumbledore gone, he and Minerva are as close to a moral leadership as the trio and te former Hogwarts alumni have. More importantly, he´s the man Dumbledore trusted literally with his life. In a way, Dumbledore’s near “sanctity” has rubbed off on him a little. He won’t be wearing teacher robes, instead he´ll be wearing regular robes which have more color and richness to them. He doesn´t need to hide in all black now. He´s not Dumbledore´s shadow anymore. He is himself, finally with his own independent identity.

Which brings me back to @hayalee8 ´s question: Will Evelyn ever wear robes? 

Evelyn’ s persona, her sense of self is expressed through her clothes. It´s an important part of how she build her identity, and how she feels safe and confident to move in life. And those clothes are and have always been muggle clothes. That´s what she wore her whole life, it´s the “suit of armor” she´s comfortable with, and she knows exactly how to use and manipulate it to her own advantage. She *KNOWS* clothes and their impact, be it color, cut, lenght, pattern...So getting her into wizarding robes would be complicated, at least at first. It´s too foreign to her, too unlike what she´s used to, and the fact that her body is a huge part of her self-expression would mean that hiding it under yards of fabric would throw her off at first. HOWEVER, the magic world is also part of her ancestry, something she´d been chasing after her whole life even without knowing and her relationship with Severus reiforces the fact that this is her world too. She descends from wizards and witches, and she´s in love with a wizard. She can´t *just* be a muggle anymore. And as I said, Evelyn KNOWS what looks good on her and what impact she wants it to have.

So to answer the question: Yes, she will wear robes, but they will not be what an average witch would be wearing. They´ll be tailored to her, to the cuts, colors and patterns she knows work best from her experience with muggle fashion, and they´ll have a lot of muggle elements to them. 

[hngrylikethewoolf]

London Calling || Errigan

IN WHICH...Errol and Ratigan have a discussion in the middle of a crowded London café. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None that I can think of

Backdated:  July 25, 2021

@professorofcrimeratigan

ERROL:

Errol was a werewolf. 

No, the irony of that statement was not lost on him. 

The first thing he'd done upon being bitten and treated was limp his way back to his hotel, blood burning in his veins, a fever hanging over him, and passing out in the rented room, clunky gauze and bandages catching the blood that sluggishly seeped from the closing wounds. He had been explicit when they worked on him, told them to wear proper gear, didn't care that he wasn't their boss, he took the pitch of Ratigan's voice and used it to his sluggish, half-advantage. He burned everything when he awoke, a new sense of being shifting around in his chest, a secondary something there that hadn't been before. 

He had been debriefed about Shifters, knew of them from his work overseas and from a former Army Ranger he'd befriended that had been bitten by a lone wolf during a mission, at least a decade ago now, maybe more. They still kept in contact, and he was the first person Errol had called, the beast shifting around in his chest, testing out the cage. They needed to learn how to work together while he figured out his next steps. 

The conversation he had with his friend helped, if anything, to calm the tidal wave of emotions he could feel tugging at him. The wolf was with him now. Panicking about it would make the transition all that more difficult. 

Errol had also just been shot, had a man digging around in the meat of his thigh to close an artery that would have killed him if not for the help of the bite. It was still there, still healing, but it wasn't deadly. He deserved a few days of recuperation, to wrap his head around it all. 

Pedram Ratigan was a werewolf. 

Somehow that information didn't surprise him as much as it should. It had saved his life, after all. The other information he had received that day was telling, but it made no difference to him at this moment. Pieces of things he'd observed, things that now made more sense, he would keep tucked away. Could examine later, once he had a more firm grasp on his wolf and the place they now had in the world. 

Errol had information to hand over, after all. He had no time to wonder, though he wanted to. He'd barely scratched the surface of who Ratigan could potentially be. He would focus on what he knew, what they both were now, and go from there. 

That started in a nondescript café at the heart of the city, surrounded by people in a way that created the perfect veil of anonymity. Errol had a feeling they would need it. 

RATIGAN: 

Clean up of the situation had been taken care of. Bodies disposed, blood mopped, evidence picked up. Had anyone entered the warehouse they would never have known of the violence that had taken place there. 

The ambulance had been left elsewhere, also cleansed of any evidence linking back to the three people who had been inside it last. 

One would think that was the worst part of it, the clean up. Having to make sure that nothing had been left behind for even the smallest chance of being caught. Ratigan had shared the same sentiment as soon as he realized he was now somewhere in the system. Back when he’d been nothing there had been no fear, no need to wipe his prints or panic when his blood had been left behind. There had been no way to find him, no place to follow his growing trail back to. 

It had been a flaw in the system and Ratigan had used it on his campaign to the head of the table. Anyone within his network would have access to cleaners. (They had quickly become, without a doubt, the biggest source of income.) 

But there were still loose threads to deal with— one of them being the sheriff. 

Ratigan had returned to a safe house and contacted Fidget who had not done as he was told. The sheriff had walked free and was roaming the streets of London. All that work and now he was having to rely on word alone that he would be given what he wanted. 

He met where the sheriff wanted but planned ahead— best not to leave anything to chance when he did not have to. He was already seated at a table when the sheriff arrived, a cup of tea sitting in front of him. His attention was on the crossword puzzle of the newspaper he was leaning over. It wasn’t until the other man was seated that he spoke. 

“Fine choice, this place.” His tone was light and conversational. It matched the tables around them along with the clinking spoons against the sides of mugs, fingers striking keyboards, creaking furniture as someone shifted in their seat. “Do you have the information you promised me?” 

ERROL: 

The fact Ratigan was already there when Errol showed up wasn't surprising. 

The sheriff took a second to reorient himself, eyes scanning the coffee shop as he unwound his scarf from his throat, considering all the exits and number of bodies in a matter of moments. All the noises and all the smells swirled around, heightened by the wolf. It was a tinge uncomfortable, having to adjust to it, but Errol barely let a flicker of it cross his face. A slight widening of the nostrils, a tilt to his head, but nothing more. 

He still had a job to do though and, now, a debt to repay. 

Errol sat casually, mindful of his leg, smiling like they were having a grand time, and nodded his head with a little laugh. "Mmm, aye. I do." An arm slung across the back of the chair beside him, and he shifted sideways, allowing himself to see the door in his peripheral vision. A gun sat, a heavy weight, just above his left hip. Where no one else but Ratigan could see; if he was looking--which he was,  Errol already knew--then he would catch it. Gauze and bandaging wrapped around his thigh beneath his clothes, unnoticeable but a necessary addition until his leg entirely healed. 

There were still people that were trying to kill the bastard, after all. And Errol never liked to leave anything to chance, especially when it came to someone's life, especially when it was someone that he knew. 

At this close a proximity to the other man, the scent of his cologne was sharp in Errol's nose, both familiar and foreign. It was distinctly Ratigan, and it made the wolf perk up its head, interested for the first time all morning. The sheriff bit the inside of his cheek, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as the beast stretched, waking. He breathed in deep to calm himself but it just pulled the scent further into his lungs. It made the wolf whine, and Errol grit his teeth, acknowledging it with a barely-there shift in his seat, a ploy to get more comfortable. 

See, they'd reached a bit of an understanding back in his hotel room, over these last three or so days. Errol knew he had him now and the wolf knew he was attached. They couldn't change it, could merely work around it, and they would. First, Errol just needed him to calm the fuck down about the person across from him. The pressure in his chest, now, was uncomfortable, a testing of bonds and an attempt to move closer. If Errol moved any closer, he'd be vaulting the table and sitting on the man. 

Just another werewolf, perhaps? Or the insane, but possible, notion that Pedram had been the one to bite him? 

Instead of saying any of that, Errol leaned down and pulled a folder from the old Army kit he'd slung to the floor upon arrival. He aligned it on the table, neat, straight corners, before pushing that and two others with it across the table. His smile turned crooked, almost amused. 

"'S t' extra I told ye about. It's all on the drive, too, but I wrote t' access information down. Figure ye'd want proof 'fore I jus' gave ye a drive." 

The wolf tested its bonds, found them to be solid, and Errol shifted in his seat again, ignoring the discomfort, focus never wavering from Ratigan's face. 

RATIGAN: 

He placed his pen down and leaned back in his chair, waiting. All of this was so tedious and annoying. He did not want to be there but of course there would have been such a great tantrum thrown had it not been him the information had been passed off to. At this point he knew that the sheriff did the things he did simply to spite Ratigan because, well, he must have nothing better to do being a police officer. It’s just what they did. 

The looming subject of what had taken place in the last moments of their previous encounter was ever present but Ratigan didn’t care whatsoever. It did not concern him whether the sheriff was taking well to his new normal or whatever (no doubt ridiculous) questions were at the ready to be asked should he give some sort of sign of acknowledgement. He refused. Whatever the sheriff was looking for he would not find it. 

“Thank you,” he said politely and even smiled. Finally. At least this massive headache will have been worth something in the end. Ratigan placed the files at the edge of the table. Seconds later the waitress passed by, picking them up. Neither acknowledged the other as she breezed by. 

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, we should address the elephant in the room, shall we?” He reached for the cup of tea to take a sip. There was no rush in his movements, he was the picture of leisure. “I fully intend to return to Swynlake and continue my life there. You’ve proven yourself to be��� puerile when it comes to some of your choices in how you go about things. I implore you, sheriff, to not continue this trend as far as your knowledge of me goes. You are only alive now because I allowed it. I can just as easily change my mind should you get the idea that I am someone you can ruin.” 

He shrugged. “But then, where would the fun in that be? If you attempt to take away what is important to me then rest assured I shall do the same to you. The only difference being that I will be able to rebuild— the same cannot be said for you. Or your family.” 

ERROL: 

Ratigan was smiling. Wasn't that a terrifying thought, given the circumstances? It was a nice one, though. Errol couldn't help but glance toward it, a brow ticking upward just as the edge of his mouth curled, rueful. 

It wasn't pleasant, but he thought it could be. Ratigan had a nice smile. 

Errol dipped his head in acknowledgement, eyes following the waitress for a moment as she tucked the folders beneath an arm. The Irishman snorted, amused. Of course Ratigan had people here. Errol would have too, if he could. He settled in to listen instead, head tilting to the side in curiosity. 

A bark of laughter escaped when Ratigan started threatening, a delighted little sound that curled around his eyes and lit up his smile. He knew the man was deadly serious, and something dark and dangerous and ugly flickered in the sheriff's gaze once his family was mentioned, but the amusement still clung to him, a shroud. 

"Ah, luv, ye dunne 'ave tah worry. Ye might fink 'm stupid, but I ain't. 'Ve got no reason tah say shite. What hurts ye, hurts me. 'S cute ye fink I might, though. Threatin' a diff'rent man's family might nah've ended yer way, but I like ye." He leaned forward, wide, sharp smile on his face, studying Ratigan's own. "So 'm jus' gonna tell ye once. They're mine. Leave 'em be."

He doubted the man took him seriously, but he should. Errol saw in him much of what had driven himself, still did. 

Ratigan was right about one thing, though. Errol was only alive because he'd allowed it, because he had needed the information Errol had. A moment later, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, drawing out a flash drive. He tsked, tongue clicking against the backs of his front teeth as the wolf squirmed, pushing the drive close across the table. "That'd be t' rest. It's got t' information fer everyone 'at came tah t' extraction an' yer mutineers." 

Errol grinned, sweet as pie. He had a copy of all the information. 

RATIGAN: 

He sighed, an eyebrow raising because no, he did not think this man was stupid, he knew this man was stupid. The evidence stacked against him was substantial and nothing he said would prove otherwise.

The laughter almost made him want to do something more to prove his point, that nothing about this was funny or amusing or some sort of game the sheriff seemed to believe the world was. 

“Please, sheriff, no pet names. We are in public and I think we are past the need to make me blush.” And perhaps that may have sounded different to the average eavesdropper but here it was another threat. This, above all else, irked Ratigan more than anything else— it was as if the man thought there was some sort of rapport between them, like he was allowed to address him as anything other than his name. Even the wolf recoiled against it, his emotions so heavy that it was pulled away from the excitement of the newcomer in order to protect what was important above all else. 

He gave a nod of understanding, as if he understood the concept of family on a personal level instead of just an observational one. “I do think that’s rather the point. They’re your family, and if you want them off the table then I suggest you do not partake in this game.” 

Ratigan reached for the flashdrive, placing it in his own pocket. 

“I will give you the opportunity to leave it be. This is no longer your concern, and to be honest it never was. If I were you, I would forget any of this has happened and return to your life as it was.” His fingers laced together, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “This is more than I would ever give someone of your—” His eyes flickered over the man, disgust coming and going over his expression but never leaving his voice, “—profession. Do not be ungrateful.” 

ERROL: 

Ratigan sighed and raised a brow and Errol followed the movement, mirroring it with one of his own. He'd leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed across the other at the knee, arm slack across the back of the chair beside him, a picture of repose. 

See, what no one else understood, Ratigan included, was that Errol had no reason to be afraid of him, not personally. Yes, he threatened his family, and the sheriff believed him when he said that he'd harm them if he thought it necessary, but Errol never had any intention of making it so. He knew the professor thought he was stupid, he claimed he did. 

But, then, that begged the question of why he had been used in the first place. Errol almost wanted to ask, except he knew it would do him no good. 

He focused on the droll looking the other man gave him when he asked not to be called by a pet name, that they were 'past the need to make him blush.' A few choice thoughts skittered across his mind, then, each of them worse than the last. Mirth colored his eyes for a second before it disappeared. As he had before, Errol dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement. 

"Noted, sir." There, should stroke his ego well enough. He dutifully kept away from the always-endearing moniker of "professor." While that was equally as neutral territory, it gave something away. The former did not. If he could hedge a bet, however, Ratigan wouldn't like that one, either. 

Refraining from saying anything smart or rolling his eyes at the heavy-handed threat, Errol reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet and a pocket knife, the latter of which he showed to the other man before setting it on the table, engraving up. He continued to exude nonchalance as he thumbed through a few bills, the Elvira winking up at him from the table. 

Perhaps such threats worked on his underlings, but Errol had dealt with people at Ratigan's caliber, and worse, for two decades. Granted, they were far less intelligent, but they were no less driven or full of themselves. 

This wasn't a game, even if Ratigan thought he believed it to be.

The quip about his profession did earn a grin and another nod. He understood. Hell, Errol often felt the same. It was why he'd clawed his way to the top in such a short time. If anyone could call a decade or so short. He didn't like being forced to take orders, orders he would disobey or orders that might not be entirely ethical in the sense of the job (his own personal ethics notwithstanding) so it'd made sense to become what he had. 

If you could become the head, you didn't have to cut yourself off at the neck. Had people who could protect you if someone tried.

Cocking his head to the side, Errol's eyes assessed Ratigan's face, his voice suddenly, deathly serious. "It was never a game. What I did 'fore all o' this...ye say anyfin' an' yer dead. 'S t' same fing 'ere, more or less." 

He flicked the pocket knife toward the other man, then, and nodded at it. 

"'Ere's yer promise. Type 'at intah t' military database an' ye get yerself a bit o' an easier access tah me redacted files." 

RATIGAN: 

Ratigan’s temper was running thin. This man had no idea what he was talking about— he had only had eyes on this for so long. Ratigan had been at this for years. This was not even a scratch at the surface, it was barely a brush of a finger against it. There was nothing that could be said here that would be able to convince Ratigan that this man, the same one who had gone into a situation with no back up, no plan, and every intention of dying with the way he had been trying to fight his way out of the corner he had basically walked himself into and sat there, waiting to see what would happen and then continued to press his back against the walls as he was attacked, knew what he was talking about. 

He gave the knife a brief glance as that was all it was good for. 

“That’s very generous of you, sheriff,  but if you think that I don’t already know everything that the government has on you then I think that says enough about your role here.” 

It had taken longer than Ratigan had been happy with, but he had been able to find the files the sheriff thought were protected. The government may have had the best in the business, recruiting those from criminal backgrounds in order to fight back against those wanting their information, but Ratigan had better. 

All that to say, Ratigan was not very impressed by what he had seen. Again, his dog’s record outshone him. If anything, it irked Ratigan all the more. Police were bad but the military was worse, in his opinion. 

“Enough of— whatever this was supposed to be.” He gestured to the knife with a flippant hand, eyes widening briefly with perfectly placed annoyance. “What is it that you want?”

Because surely he must have wanted something. Everyone did. Otherwise he would not have shown up. (Even if it was something as simple as to sate his naïve curiosity.) 

ERROL: 

Errol's grin was triumphant this time, self-satisfaction evident. He'd managed to get the confirmation he wanted. It did not surprise him. As he had quickly started to learn, Ratigan was well-prepared for everything. He didn't take things at face value, yet he tried to make it seem like he did. He was contradictory yet made it seem like all his ducks were in a row. 

It was fascinating and strange and something that Errol wanted to poke and prod at and toe the line of until he found it all out, even now. Saddled with a new burden and threatened, nearly killed. He had been truthful before when he said he liked the other man. For all his prickly, sharp outer edges, Errol did like him. 

A small sigh escaped and Errol tapped his knuckles against the tabletop, chewing on his lip, trying to think of a way to get the other man to understand. He didn't know if he ever could, to explain why the knife was important. Why it meant something, the one sliver of a show of loyalty, of acknowledgement that he could give. 

Maybe it was playing with fire, but Errol had never minded being burned. With the way things were shaping up now, he was very aware of the fact he couldn't stay in the job he was in, had already begun to spin the yarn that would allow him to leave it behind. It had been something he had been considering but this last nail had formed his coffin, driving the point home. 

Errol heard the annoyance and flicked his gaze up to Ratigan's face, brows lifting toward his hairline, a silent question. Does this bug you so much, just having a conversation?

Even if the conversation was layered, laced with threat and code and whatever other secrecy he could pack in then bubble wrap it from the outside world, it was still, to Errol at least, a decent one. He had always been comfortable in hostile situations, though. 

He didn't turn his smile charming, like he would with anyone else. Didn't try to coat his words with honeyed pleasantries or spin a yarn. No, Ratigan was too direct, so Errol needed to be, too. 

"Wanted tah talk tah ye. Wasna lyin' when I said I liked ye, before." Threats and all, actually, but that was neither here nor there, and something Errol could keep tucked very, very far away. "An' if ye fink I was givin' information about yer life tah someone else, ye woulda been wrong. 'S why I insisted, 'cause 'S important." To me, to you, whomever you want to believe. "Fer what 'S worth, anyway." 

He still hadn't figured out how to explain the knife. It sat in the middle of the table, heavy. Errol wasn't going to take it back now, though. He knew Ratigan didn't think he was smart. Knew he believed he had gone into that alleyway and warehouse without a plan, backup, or a care. Except he had been wrong. Though he hadn't been one hundred percent certain, Errol had known the person he needed the information would have kept track of him, possibly would have followed him, and he had been right.

Sometimes he forgot he wasn't a soldier anymore, that he couldn't just waltz into a hostile zone and expect to make it out mostly alive because people had his six. He wasn't that man, not entirely, not anymore, but he could also never make it go away. He'd done it for too long. 

"An' I wanted tah know how long ye've dealt wif --" he paused, wasn't going to say it. Errol was very aware of the secret they were both hiding now, what it did to people. But he was curious about the way the wolf was acting, curious to know if it was because Ratigan was another wolf or because they somehow knew. "I figure ye ain't gonna say anyfin', ain't gonna 'elp, an' I ain't askin'. Jus' that. No details, I don't wanna know how it 'appened or why or where, jus' that." 

Errol could say more, could mention wolfsbane or ask about shifts, but he knew no answers would come. Yet, this asking, it was easier, somehow. It wasn't curiosity (though it almost certainly was, he'd already shown more than enough of his hand, but that had been a calculated risk). His body language was calm, nothing defensive about it, all of himself open, head tilting to show neck, even, but a stare that was unwavering. 

RATIGAN: 

Curiosity it was then. 

Well, wasn’t that rather disappointing? Unsurprising, but with the display he had given so far Ratigan had thought that maybe— but no. He was just like all the rest.

And just like all the rest, he was going to try to appeal to what humanity he may have thought was within Ratigan. Perhaps he thought this because he had seen Ratigan as the university professor and the volunteer theater director and the everyday, normal citizen who lived in Swynlake. That was only a part that he played, the cover he had been giving the most time to. (There were countless others, but this was the one he lived most every day dedicated to.) Whoever the sheriff deemed to like was not real, only a costume he wore to fit in among the rest of them. He wanted to speak to him as if he was still that man, he could see it in his body language, showing Ratigan his vulnerability in the hopes he would be rewarded with the same.

The problem with this approach was that Ratigan did not have any humanity left to communicate with. There was no empathy or sympathy or emotion that could be tugged upon to be given any sort of opening. All of that had been purged from his person until he had become what the family had needed him to be. A weapon— unperfect but efficient. His brain, built to learn quickly and at the whole, had taken this in after it had been taught what would happen should it disobey and there the lessons had stayed through the years as it had led to his survival thus far.

Everyone always wanted something, and this man thought he was owed the answer to a personal question. Simple as it was, as easy as Ratigan could have lied, he didn’t want to put in the effort of it. As much as this man may have been truthful in his word to keep from asking any more questions Ratigan knew better. If he was curious enough to ask this question, one that had an inherent selfish wish behind it, then an answer may embolden him to ask another, may lead him to believe that Ratigan wanted to converse. He did not. He did not want this man to know anything about himself that could potentially help him in the future nor did he care to hear about whatever it was the sheriff wanted to say. People had a tendency to spit out the things they wanted people to listen to instead of what Ratigan wanted to hear. It was easier to find that information elsewhere so that he did not have to endure the torture of conversation.

“That is worth nothing to me.” He didn’t care for favors or pity or the like and that is what that seemed the sheriff was presenting, acting as if Ratigan should be so flattered at a gift like that. He didn’t need it. Even if the sheriff had been feeding information neither Ratigan or the network needed the help of someone like him. “And you would be correct. I promised you your life and you have it. You can expect nothing more from me— you may consider it a birthday gift.” 

He lifted his cup of tea to his mouth to drain the remainder of it. The ceramic touched back down against the table top before he pushed his chair back from the table, turning in it as he prepared to stand. “Thank you for wasting my time, sheriff, as always.”

Ratigan smiled and did stand then, buttoning his suit’s jacket. Before he left he reached over to pick his pen back up but left the newspaper behind, the crossword finished. True to his word, he offered nothing more to the sheriff and left the cafe. There was still work to be done. 

[juleswritesthis]

So I watched Dear Evan Hansen the Movie and yeah I didn’t think it was good. Undercut for spoilers and a pretty honest but very harsh review

Most the characters were unlikeable. They cut a major song which confused the heck out of me. There was some seriously questionable dialogue that annoyed me and some that kinda pissed me off.

I normally love Ben Platt but he was way too old to play Evan in the movie, he even looked older than his actual age. They really needed an actor that looked like a teen for this role. I liked Julianne Moore until it came time for her to sing, (my guess why they cut Good For You maybe?).

Kaitlyn I normally like too (loved her in Unbelievable), yet her voice though pretty just wasn’t powerful enough for the songs. Not to mention the way they wrote Zoe in the movie made her super unlikeable. That comment she made about her “winning“ because her dad died instead of leaving really pissed me off. Yes let’s joke about how abandonment of a parent is not as bad as death of one? WTH? Why is that something that was even equated? Not to mention her comments about how it sucked to be rich. Such a tone deaf script.

I liked how they gave Alanna a story but then they ruined it by what she did towards the end. Amy Adams was really good and the best part of the movie. Making the father a step father was an interesting take. Though again the script was bizarre with Connor supposedly remembering his bio dad who died but then it’s revealed he got a stepdad at 3. Yeah script writers not sure how much a 2 year old would remember. I was hoping the script would focus a little more on who Connor really was instead of the Connor that Evan made up but all we got was a list of his fav books and a song he sang (wrote?) in rehab.

I still love the soundtrack but some of the transitions into the songs was super clunky. I liked the new songs but will repeat Good For You should not have been cut. I didn’t like the way they shot Waving Through a Window, an extremely powerful song that describes Evan’s loneliness and isolation, yet it didnt have the emotional impact like the stage version. And I would say that for all the musical numbers really, the stage performances work but the way it was adapted to the movie didn't.

And god Sincerely Me, the way they had Connor laughing and dancing in the library with classmates and teachers smiling at him like he was this happy go lucky charmer really bothered me considering this was a boy that suffered from severe depression and maybe other mental illnesses & just took his life. It felt so callous and just wrong.

Honestly I would use that description for most the script not just their take on mental illness, but on socioeconomic issues, parent abandonment, and addiction to name a few. So yeah not a fan of the movie at all which is really too bad.

[mileycyprus-hill]

What the Water Gave Me

Arthur Morgan x Mermaid Reader/OC

Chapter 4– Exploration 

Thought I wasn’t gonna return, huh? Fooled you—and myself. I wanna thank everyone who’s been so patient with me updating new chapters for all my series since I know it’s been weeks since I posted a new chapter. 

You can find previous chapters on my masterlist which is available in my bio. 

Also found on AO3. 

Summary: Arthur returns to the beach after a hunt and is re-introduced to our lovely mermaid. I hope y’all don’t mind, I’ve switched my reader-insert into an OC, because writing in 3rd person with (y/n) kind of threw off my flow and felt clunky. So I created a name but kept most physical attributes vague to sort of keep it a reader-insert. 

Arthur's eyes twitch beneath his closed lids, his breathing shallow and quick. He lays upon a worn cot within the ruins of the old stone fort. The tall trees above him provide relieving shade over the small camp. The events of the past couple weeks seamlessly transition in his memory: Hosea's splattered blood upon the cobblestone street, Lenny's lifeless body on the rooftop, the rolling storm clouds beyond the sea's horizon. Arthur remembers the orange glow of the flames on the ship. The intense heat, followed by the chilling dark waters below. His heart beats hard and fast, thumping loudly in his ears like heavy drums of a battalion. Suddenly, his anxiety ceases and his breathing slows at the sight of a rising sun. Its yellow light shines with warmth as it breaks above a grassy hillside. The green prairie grass grows high as a tall animal crosses the dense field. It gently pushes through the grass, bowing its head to graze on the lush greens. Arthur begins to recognize the animal: a stag. Its rounded rack of antlers sit high upon its head, like a jagged crown of ivory. With a twitch of its ears the stag raises his head and turns to him, acknowledging his presence. But it doesn't startle. The stag gazes with its glassy eyes. They hold a beautiful amber glow that matches the sunlight. Arthur had never seen such beauty in the eyes of a beast, for he had only seen the pupils of their eyes stretch to black after their life had been taken. The sun flashes brightly and Arthur wakes with a deep, ragged breath through his nose. For a moment, he forgets his surroundings until his vision clears. He remembers the gun fight, the man named Hercule, Javier falling on the beach, and the strange woman. Arthur's worry returns at the thought of Javier and the woman surrounded by the soldiers in blue while he and the gang escape into the dense jungle. He hopes Dutch will come up with a plan to get Javier back.

He hopes to see the woman again, alive.

Arthur stands with stiff joints, the skin of his cheeks and forehead feel uncomfortably tight from the sunburn. He recognizes a dark figure crouched over the small fire in front of him. The flames and smoke are kept low to avoid alerting the local patrols.

“Mornin’ Hercule,” Arthur greets with a gravelly voice, “Or should I say, ‘afternoon’?”

He looks up towards the sky to gauge the location of the sun, bringing his hand to his brow to shield his eyes. The dense jungle trees make it difficult to determine the time, and the humidity this far inland makes it feel awfully hot. It feels much like Lemoyne, where the temperature doesn’t break until long after the sun drops and stays humid well through the early morning.

Hercule chuckles lightly and responds, “I’d say it’s nearly twelve o’clock.” He too, looks to the sky with squinted eyes.

His thick accent surprisingly gives Arthur some comfort. The man speaks confidently and coolly, as if he can foretell what’s to happen. He doesn’t waste words either—unlike Dutch who can cause the most eloquent man’s head to spin with such an exuberant vocabulary and lengthy sentences that seem to reach no point.

The man could be a politician if he chose such a life.

”You’re all low on food, my friend.” Hercule says, standing up and sheathing the machete he was wiping. “Might I suggest we go hunt?”

“Now?” Arthur asks, hinting at more important tasks at hand.

Hercule shrugs to him, “Unless you’d rather starve, then yes. I doubt you had eaten anything since you arrived.”

As if on command, Arthur’s stomach growls so loudly that he smacks a hand to his gut in an attempt to stifle its grumbles. He recalls his last meal was the bits of charred rat he shared with the men at the beach.

“Alright but...shouldn’t we focus on gettin’ out of here? Gettin’ our friend back?” Arthur asks hurriedly, attempting to mask his concern. He desperately wants to get off this island and back home—back to his homeland that he knows and understands. He feels helpless being here, like a lost child in an unfamiliar place. It’s an anxious feeling he hasn’t felt in years.

“Your friend Dutch is working on that at the moment with my comrades,” Hercule responds neutrally. “Come, there is plenty of boar on this island, and it’ll be much better with two.”

Hercule picks up the bolt action rifle next to Arthur’s cot and hands it to him after checking the bullets within the barrel chamber.

“You can keep watch for anything suspicious while I hunt,” Hercule says, grabbing a handmade bow and a leather quiver of arrows.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow at the simple bow.

“Think that’d be enough?“ he asks.

“Better to hunt quietly, unless you want that bastard Fussar to find us.” Hercule replies.

Arthur hums, “Good point.”

....

If it weren’t for the fact they’re wanted men on this island, Arthur could find this place rather peaceful. He can hear the shores in the distance as he and Hercule walk closer to the coast, tracking the boar. Arthur scans the area while Hercule walks in front, following the tracks in the sand and dirt. The vibrant colors of the tropical birds catch Arthur’s eyes and he watches them fly up into the trees. Their feathers stand out against the foliage: the bright blues and yellows and striking reds. They’re as large as eagles and far more beautiful than any bird he’s seen back home. Arthur hopes his journal is still safe at home. He wishes he could sketch them right now, while he can still see them. They reach the top of a small hill when Hercule raises his hand.

“There!” Hercule exclaims softly. He notches his arrow and draws the bowstring, aiming at the massive boar below the hill, straight ahead of them.

He looses his arrow and watches it strike the side of the animal with a swift thud. The carved stone arrowhead narrowly misses its heart. It squeals in painful terror and runs in the opposite direction, towards the coast.

“Damn,” Hercule curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head behind him, watching the broad palm leaves rustle and shake as the boar runs off.

The two of them continue tracking the animal, following the crimson drops of blood on the ivory sand. The air starts to feel cool from the ocean breeze as they walk closer to the edge of the island. The jungle brush grows thinner and the tracks turn from subtle drops to a bloody trail and become easier to follow.

Hercule speaks, “Finally. There it is.” He points to the animal lying dead on the beach. Its dark hide stands out against the white sand.

They approach the dead pig and start to field dress it: removing its hide and cutting the meat into various cuts and wrapping them in cloth. Hercule grabs his large bag and divides the cuts of meat, one half for him, the other for Arthur and the men. The process takes them close to an hour, it’s such a large beast for two men.

“These are for you,” he says, handing Arthur his half of the boar meat. It’s enough to feed the men for several days, and Arthur manages to stuff them into his temporary satchel. Arthur’s makeshift bag is stretched to its limits, holding the large cuts of meat inside its leather boundaries held together with crude stitches.

“The rest I will give to my people and sell to the villagers,” Hercule continues. “Many people are without food on this island.”

“Thank you, Hercule,” Arthur says, following him to the shore.

They walk to the water and wash the blood off their hands. It’s clotted thick on their skin like paint, but easily dissolves away once it touches the salt water. The crimson color fades away with the gentle tide and is erased from their skin.

“You are welcome, Mister Morgan. Soon we will find your friend and get you off this island.” Hercule responds, shaking his hands dry. He starts to head back towards the jungle before he stops.

“I’ll head into the village to sell this and see if I can find a captain who will take you home. I suggest you head back to your camp.” Hercule says. “Do you know your way back?” He asks Arthur, stopping to turn back to him.

Arthur looks to him and nods, “Sure. I remember the way.”

“Always be on alert, Mister Morgan. You can find me at the old fort, Cinco Torres. Not far from here.” Hercule waves a quick goodbye to which Arthur returns as Hercule quickly steps into the jungle.

Arthur now stands alone on the beach, rubbing his fingers along his cotton suspenders and feeling the loose waistband of his pants. He breathes a rough sigh before a harsh cough rumbles from his chest and scratches his throat. He struggles to catch his breath and bends over to rest a hand on his knee. It feels as if he’s still got sea water in his lungs until he finally hacks his throat clear. A thick, wet lump of mucus is coughed up into his mouth. In disgust, he spits out the bloody wad onto the white sand and wipes a trail of blood from his lips. Straightening himself up, he finds that he isn’t alone.

He sees her, peering from behind a rock in the water just several yards away. Arthur freezes in place, watching the strange woman and trying not to spook her. Like predators crossing paths in the wild, they remain motionless and wary, waiting for the slightest twitch that could send either one fleeing or pursuing. The woman remains at her spot, watching and waiting for Arthur’s next move. Her eyes are wide and glassy. Thin white membranes blink slowly over her eyes like cloudy veils and disappear behind her eyelids. Arthur tries to see the rest of her body that’s submerged in the water, but he cannot see from where he stands. He suddenly notices she’s still nude from the waist up, with her long hair covering her chest. The long, wet strands of hair lay plastered on her chest, conforming to her shapely breasts and structured shoulders. They both stay frozen in place, unsure of what to do next.

Her feminine voice softly croaks from behind the rock, sending a chill to Arthur’s flushed skin. “Your friend. The one called Javier?” She says, her voice calm. Her voice has a slight melody to it but, with a wet gargle. Arthur can only describe it as like the trill of a tree frog combined with the eerie, nocturnal warble of an owl.

”Yes?” Arthur responds hesitantly.

“He’s alive.” The woman tells him.

A quiet sigh of relief escapes Arthur’s lips and his eyes light up in a slight rejoice. The tension in his shoulders release only minutely. The woman in the water notices this and allows herself to relax slightly. The pair of them listen to the gentle waves splash on the shore during this quiet exchange of words.

Arthur asks her, “Where, uh, where is he?”

The woman’s wide eyes look down, away from Arthur as if in remorse.

“Held prisoner,” she answers solemnly. “On the plantation.”

Arthur breathes a disturbed sigh at her notification, rubbing his scraggly beard with a rough palm. Feeling brave, he decides to take a step forward in the wet sand.

The woman notices and tenses behind the small rock. Her webbed hands grip the rock tightly, ready to propel herself away. Halting himself, Arthur raises his hands up in surrender.

“Iss-alright. It’s alright,” he drawls in his accent, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Watching his every move, she waits behind the rock while he slowly removes his shoes and rolls his pants up to his knees. Like approaching the wild horses of the plains, Arthur steps forward into the foaming water with his hands raised just above his hips in assurance. The dazzling blue water gently splashes against his pale legs.

“What’s yer name?” He asks, stepping further in the water until it nearly reaches the fabric of his pants that reach just below his knees.

“(Y/N),” she answers, still guarded.

“That’s a nice name…(Y/N).”

“It was given to me by my tutor.”

“Your…your tutor?” Arthur queries with a pleasant smile, barely showing his teeth behind his lips. He feels a sudden inquisitive need: a curious desire for knowledge that needs to be satisfied.

“Yes. He gave me it. My real name is…Isopora.” She answers. Rarely has she given her true name to strangers, especially humans. But his presence feels non-threatening and oddly comforting. Though, she doesn’t know why.

“Isopora.” Arthur enunciated slowly.

They both smile at his utterance of her name. It rolls off his tongue and falls from his lips like the soft babbling of a stream. Its crisp, clear waters trickle gently over the rocks as it flows from its diverted source of the deep, dark river.

“My name’s Arthur…Arthur Morgan.” He states. His voice is warm and inviting with a rich, complex timbre that mirrors the guttural vocals of the seals from Isopora’s homeland. And that accent! Isopora can’t recognize it. It sounds funny, with his slight garbles and relaxed slurring of consonants.

Arthur reaches out, extending his sunburned hand to her in good faith. Isopora stares at his thick hand and calloused fingers, confused and unsure. Removing her webbed hand from the rock, she mimics Arthur’s pose to place her hand within his. She’s reluctant at first, twitching her hand away at the slightest touch, like a shy wild thing getting used to human contact. Arthur remains still, his arm still extended, until she finally rests her hand in the welcoming handshake. He wraps his fingers around hers in a gentle grip—firm, yet soft.

She expects him to clench his hand around her wrist in a trick and attempt to pull her ashore, but he simply shakes her hand. Her hand grips Arthur’s tightly in a small show of strength, and he notices. Isopora’s grip is firm and Arthur catches the muscles of her forearm contracting as she squeezes. He follows her toned muscles all the way up her biceps to her brawny shoulders.

She’s a work of art, Arthur thinks to himself, eyeing her well-knit body. Her sculpted arms, rounded shoulders, jutted collarbone, and sturdy midsection glisten in the sunlight. Her skin looks wonderfully smooth and her muscles stand out despite hiding beneath a generous layer of warm, protective fat. His gaze moves further down her curves as he steals a glance at her lengthy tail. It’s nearly camouflaged in the tropical blue water, but Arthur watches a bundle of silvery scales glimmer as they catch the rays of sun. Her feathery tail fin swishes against the waves to keep herself steady.

“So uh,” Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, still shaking her hand, “yer really a mermaid?”

An unexpected laugh erupts from Isopora and she bares her teeth in an amused grin. Her sudden joyful bark of laughter infects Arthur and he chuckles alongside her.

Minutes later, after a continued exchange of greetings, Arthur wades back to shore. Isopora follows close behind, but not too close. With a tired grunt, Arthur sets himself down onto the sand, allowing the tide to barely lap at his bare toes. Isopora remains partly submerged in front of him, resting on her stomach and elbows and softly swishing her flukes in the shallow water. A moment of silence passes for God knows how long. Arthur remains transfixed by her colorful form. His eyes examine the seam of her scales that perfectly mold into her skin just below her navel. Arthur expected all of her scales to be smooth and flat like a trout, but the further his eyes travel down her length, he notices the scales grow thicker and larger. Much like the textured scales of a snake, they cover her lower body in a protective armor. The glistening wet scales catch the rays of the bright afternoon sun and shimmer like tiny mirrors, flashing bright colors off her body like rainbows.

"Do you remember anything from the shipwreck?" Isopora asks him in a soft trill.

Arthur’s eyes snap from her tail up to her dark eyes. He furrows his brows in thought as he replays the memories in his mind.

"Sort of," he shrugs, "I remember Dutch waking me up, and there was a fire. And then..."

While Arthur takes his time remembering the incident, Isopora takes the opportunity to look over his features. She admires his tall frame, his broad shoulders, and barreled chest. He looks to be a man of great strength, conditioned by heavy lifting. Though his waist looks narrowed from starvation.

No doubt he's the workhorse of the family, she wonders, recalling the other men she had seen him chained to. She looks at Arthur's hands while he twitches his fingers and raises his arms to animate his story of jumping off the boat.

"...then there was this real high squealing, like a...hum or somethin’," Arthur continues, trying to articulate his thoughts, "And then nothin'."

Isopora hums in agreement, “I forget when I speak underwater, humans can’t quite understand it.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at her in a mix of shock and confusion, “Wait, that...that was you?” He points to her.

She smiles in embarrassment, cinching her eyes closed as she admits, “Yes. That was me.”

“So, you...you saved me?” Arthur points to her. The gears in his head continue to turn as he recollects his memories.

“That’s why you washed up there with me.” He finishes.

Isopora looks behind her towards the water and turns back to Arthur with a playful look. “Would you like to hear?” She offers.

“Shoar,” Arthur drawls. Like a curious child, Arthur scoots a bit further up on the sand, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Isopora’s smile grows wider and she begins to drag herself further into the water. “Okay,” she says, “Stay right there.”

Arthur watches her enter the water. Her blue-green scales disappear under the ocean as the gentle waves splash upon her. With a soft kick of her fin, she swims backwards until the water rises up to her chest. Her eyes stay fixed upon Arthur, who waits curiously on the sand. Arthur watches her smirk and dip silently below the water’s surface. He watches her disappear into the water and slows his breathing so he could listen for her sounds. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Until, an eerie howl echoes from the water. The hairs on his arm stand on edge, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Her high-pitched moans and howls continue and Arthur listens attentively. It almost sounds like singing, he thinks to himself. It’s both haunting and ethereal, like the echoing wail of a loon. Her various pitches become littered with clicks and pops that are so sharp, Arthur could feel the sounds vibrate in his ears. Arthur breathes a small chuckle of amazement at her beautiful song. It lasts for only a minute and finally ends as he watches her break the water’s surface.

She returns to him on the shore, her thick hair wet against her silky skin and the cloudy membranes on her eyes retreat back under her lids. Her naked breasts remained covered by her long hair. Isopora smiles humbly at Arthur while he softly gives a clap of his hands.

“Beautiful,” he says, “What were you singing—er, saying?”

She answers, “The same thing I was trying to tell you that night.”

Arthur looks at her in confusion.

Biting her lip, she explains, “You were struggling and I swam up to help, but when I went to pull you up for air, you started thrashing.” She hesitates for a moment but continues, “I tried telling you ‘it’ll be alright’, but you were so scared.”

Arthur finishes for her, “And that’s when everything went dark,” he says.

“Yeah,” Isopora cringes, “I’m sorry about that...I had to, uh, ‘knock your lights out’. So to speak.”

“What?” Arthur asks in surprise.

”You were thrashing so badly when I grabbed you!” She defends, “I wasn’t trying to keep you under like you thought I was. I was trying to help. But I should know by now that when trying to save a person from drowning, expect to be dragged down with them,” She chuckles.

“Well, that explains why.” Arthur laughs, “No hard feelings, I guess. Ain’t the first time someone did that.”

The smile wanes from Isopora’s face and she looks at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her tone serious.

Arthur shrugs in response, picking the sand beneath his fingernails.

“Well,” he sighs, avoiding her gaze and looking past her shoulder to the sea behind her. It extends far beyond the horizon like a blue void. The ripples of the surface waves look like textured glass with bright yellow colors of the sun merging with the ocean blues.

“I tend to find trouble or trouble finds me. I ain’t a good man…I do bad things and bad things are done to me in return.”

“Like what?” Isopora asks, suddenly fearful for her own safety.

“I’ve robbed…killed people. Run with a gang of people like me,” Arthur answers, unsure as to why he’s suddenly opening himself up to a stranger. A creature that should only belong in fairy tales, no doubt. Why is he so talkative all of a sudden, he wonders?

He continues regardless, “Used to be that we’d only steal from the rich and give what’s left to the poor but…seems so long ago now. Now we’re shootin’ up towns in the name of survival. Tryin’ to find a place in the world.”

He speaks with such uncertainty and dread for the future, that whatever choices he makes are fruitless and inconsequential. All forked roads lead to the same inevitable end. Perhaps this is his time for confession. An opportunity to repent one’s sins, with no risk of judgement. There truly was no one else he could speak to about these things—no human being that is. Why not unveil them to this woman? This creature that, realistically speaking, could just be a figment of Arthur’s imagination?

“What made you change?” Isopora asks.

Arthur looks to her eyes with a cold stare, “Weren’t us who changed,” he states defensively, “The world’s changed. Civilization’s movin’ in. And there ain’t room for people like us no more.”

Isopora hums, as if in agreement. “Those men you were chained with,” Isopora recalls from memory, “they’re your people? Your gang?”

Arthur nods.

“That boat,” Isopora continues to pry, “Where were you going?”

“We were headed to Tahiti, initially.” Arthur answers.

Isopora gives him a confused look.

Tahiti? That’s on the other side of the world.

As if hearing her thoughts, Arthur explains.

“Our boat was supposed to go to Cuba. We were runnin’. Hopped on the boat from America and…ended up here, I guess.”

An American? How exciting, Isopora thinks to herself. She’s met different characters throughout her life, but never an American. She’s only heard about these wild, free-spirited, gun-toting creatures with a thirst for adventure.

Isopora laughs dryly, “You’re a long way from Tahiti, my friend. That’s all the way in the South Pacific…We’re essentially in the Caribbean.”

Arthur looks to her inquisitively. He never gave it much thought as to where Tahiti actually is. At this point, he thought it was a fantasy island made up by Dutch to keep spirits up. Isopora guesses that Arthur isn’t quite familiar with world geography, outside his own familiar territory. After all, she doesn’t even know that he’s only ever stayed on land. Never travelled across the sea.

“Well,” Arthur states. “Accordin’ to Dutch, it’s supposed to be an untouched paradise.”

“Kinda small,” Isopora replies.

Arthur gives her another confused look. “You been there?” He asks, almost excitedly.

She shrugs, “Oui. Une fois, il y a longtemps.”

Another blank and confused stare is painted on Arthur’s face in response to her foreign reply.

Isopora smiles, “It’s a French colony. It’s been…decades since I’ve traveled there, and it was only once. But…how do you know there’d be room for you there?

Arthur bites his inner cheek in thought as he huffs, “Hmm…you got a point there.”

“To be honest, it’s better you’re shipwrecked on the way to Cuba than Tahiti. There’s a lot more open ocean to be stranded in the Pacific.”

“You’re a hell of a world traveler, ain’t’cha?” Arthur smirks.

“One could call me that, yes.” Isopora answers with a similar smile.

“Well, I ain’t much of one so, I’ll take yer word for it.”

Isopora opens her mouth to respond until she catches movement from the corner of her sharp eyes. Narrowing her gaze, she sees two men on patrol, heading their way.

Fussar’s soldiers.

Arthur notices her chest falling and rising rapidly.

Following her line of sight, Arthur asks, “What is it?”

Without hesitation, Isopora grabs his hand and tugs him towards the water.

“We must hide!” She hisses in fear, pulling him in with immense strength. She drags him with her as she swims behind a large bundle of rocks. Three large stones stand tall above the water, with a small gap in the center— enough to hide one of them out of sight. The middle stone stands tallest, with the other two standing parallel to each other.

The gap is tight and the water is high. Arthur holds onto Isopora tightly by her waist as he feels his toes float freely in the water, unable to touch the bottom. He struggles to hold himself against the slick rock with his wet hands slipping at each attempt. Isopora’s naked breasts press against his chest as she helps him stay above the water against the waves. He tries his best to avert his eyes, turning his head awkwardly to peek at the oncoming patrol.

Idle fingers start to involuntarily caress Isopora’s smooth scales. A palm lies pressed against her hips, keeping Arthur safely close to her while the other hand tries to brace himself against the rock. His fingers cannot help but examine on their own. The sensation transitions from slightly coarse to velvety soft with each subtle rub on her scales and up to her skin. A pair of voices grow louder as they near the spot Arthur and Isopora once rested. Their words are unfamiliar to Arthur, but he can detect the casual tone of their chatting.

Until he hears a surprised exclaim from the beach and Arthur suddenly remembers.

He left his shoes behind.

His eyes grow wide and he looks up to Isopora. She mirrors his look of terror and listens to the patrolmen talk excitedly.

She understands their language clearly, hearing them talk of where this mystery person could be.

“They must be in the water,” one says.

“Let’s look,” the other replies.

With their chests pressed together, their hearts drum rapidly in sync. Despite the adrenaline surging through his veins, Arthur keeps his breathing slow. He clenches his eyes shut as he silently scolds himself for being so foolish. When his eyelids open, he nearly jerks away in alarm. Isopora remains close to him, but her entire body has now changed color. An arm is slightly outstretched above Arthur’s head with Isopora’s hand pressed against the rock behind him. Peppered with splotches of gray, black and white, her skin has turned into the same pale shade as the stones surrounding them. Her once smooth arms are now textured with raised bumps and edges that mimic the stone. She covers Arthur’s body with her camouflaged form and remains still like a statue. Her eyes turn black and the cloudy membranes of her lids cover her obsidian orbs.

Time passes slowly while they remain as still as can be. The rifle on Arthur’s back painfully presses into him, but he doesn’t dare to adjust himself. He feels Isopora’s hand gripping his side tightly, her arm wrapped around his lower back. The tips of her fingers squeeze his flesh and her body presses against him completely, covering him in a protective cocoon. Arthur’s chapped lips nearly brush her shoulder as she towers over him closely, keeping his face hidden in the crook of her neck.

Isopora’s eyes dart to her left. A man in blue stands at the edge of the tide, less than a hundred feet away.

Rifle in hand, he leans forward to peer towards their hiding spot. It’s as if he’s staring right at them, unaware.

Arthur’s eyes remain on Isopora, fearful of making the slightest movement that could give them away.

Isopora stares at the blue soldier with unwavering eyes. She watches him examine the rough pillars of stone with his own dark eyes. She can feel him follow the curves of her body that’s almost merged with the rock. Arthur stays hidden within the small gap. He squeezes his arm around Isopora’s waist for dear life.

The unseen second patrolman calls for his companion, and the man turns away to look. Isopora’s eyes follow him as he walks out of sight. She hears the men speak as they hopefully assume whoever left those boots is now drowned far away from shore. Isopora listens closely as the men leave and resume walking along the beach. Their voices grow faint until she can hear them no longer. Gradually, the splotchy pale camouflage disintegrates and Isopora’s natural tone reappears in a smooth cascade. Like the blush in Arthur’s cheeks, her beautiful color flushes to her skin. The two remain in a quiet stillness, barely feeling the other’s heartbeat under the gentle waves that splash over them. The waves push and pull in a gentle rhythm. Isopora’s body softly pushes against Arthur’s before pulling away. His own body follows towards her as the wave pulls them back, moving their hips in an almost aquatic dance.

“Come,” Isopora finally breaks the silence, drifting away and extending a hand for Arthur to follow. He lightly grasps her hand and swims alongside her back to shore.

“You think it’s safe for you to head back?” Isopora asks, looking to him with her unveiled eyes.

His clothes drenched and heavy, Arthur stands and walks up on the sand.

“I dunno,” he says, staring blankly in thought, “This island seems t’be crawlin’ with ‘em. I don’t know if it’s safe anywhere.”

An idea breaks in Isopora’s head while Arthur slips on his boots.

“There’s a cave,” she tells him, “Not too far from here, behind the waterfall. Meet me there when you can.”

Arthur’s jaw goes slack and he raises an eyebrow in question, “How do you—”

“There’s a channel that leads to it,” she explains, “I can easily go through it and it leads to a small pool on the other side.”

Arthur nods before looking up towards the sun. It’s still early in the afternoon yet; plenty of sunlight to find his way back.

“Okay. How do I find it?” He asks.

“Just follow the river upstream. You’ll see it. Climb behind the waterfall and follow the cave straight ahead. Follow the gaps in the ceiling. The light will show you the way. You’ll reach the end of the cave that opens to a clearing.” She answers.

Another nod and Arthur turns to face the jungle. He feels exposed on this empty beach with no canopy of cover to hide in, but to enter the hanging vines and broad ferns of the dense forest fills him with dread. What lurks in the dark corners of this humid labyrinth? A single step in the wrong direction could lead to doom.

“Arthur?”

He looks back over his shoulder to Isopora with his bright, blue-green eyes.

“Be safe.” She tells him.

“You too.” Arthur replies in a near whisper.

He steps forward into the trees, shoulders tense and eyes scanning his surroundings. Isopora watches him from the shore until he disappears into the thick and shady foliage.

[artnerd1123]

Among Us: CR3WM8TS

Updates Required (part 2)

——————————————

With the ship launched and crew settled, it’s time to get to work. Which, for Bunbun, means updating. How smoothly that goes depends on the crewmates in charge… Bunbun’s hoping she’s in good company.

Featuring appearances by Junior, Laser, and Rose!

Among Us archive/askblog Fic chapters post

——————————————

Ok so originally I wanted to keep all this together, but decided it’d be better to chop it into pieces. That way I can keep my momentum, keep posting for y’all, and still intro y’all to the crew as things get moving! 

Yes, I’m aware this chapter is coming out 3 days after the last one. I do not control the will to write but my motivation knows no bounds rn! Enjoy the fruits of my hyperfixation labor lskjfsdf

                                                   ===+===+===

Mission Log 4

Ship Model: SKELD D34-H120 Designation: SUPPLY TRANSPORT, EXPLORATION AND DOCUMENTATION OF SECTOR G PLANETS Crewmate Count: 9 Crewmate Colors: DARK GREEN, WHITE, PURPLE, DARK BLUE, YELLOW, RED, LIME, BLACK, PINK

Location: SECTOR F Ship Status: IN TRANSIT Course: PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G Systems:

Navigation: COURSE INLAID / STABLE / UPDATES NEEDED

Engines: UPPER - ONLINE, TANK 0.98 / LOWER - ONLINE, TANK 0.97 / ALIGNMENT UPDATES NEEDED

Reactor: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

O2: STABLE

Electrical: CALIBRATOR OFFLINE

Communications: ONLINE / UPDATES NEEDED

Shields: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Weapons: TEMPORARILY OFFLINE  / FUNCTIONING N/A

Security: CAMERAS ONLINE / ALL FUNCTIONAL

Administration: MAP OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / CONNECTION SECURE / SHIP FILES UP TO DATE / ALL CREW ACCOUNTED FOR

Medbay: EQUIPMENT OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / FUNCTIONAL / CREW FILES UP TO DATE

Supplies: FULL

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

Notes: Many systems functioning on reserve power temporarily, as updates are needed. PINK identified systems in need of updates. PINK has commenced updates under DARK BLUE supervision. Updates still in progress. RED has been admitted to medbay for minor injuries. Other crew performing normal activities.

                                                  ===+===+===

The soft thump of boots on metal accompanied two crewmates as they meandered down the hall. Bunbun trailed after River, taking a look at her task list. The tasks from Reactor and Security glowed green. Five other tasks still remained white. More updates in one day than she’d prefer, sure. But she’d had a nice send off by the reactor monitor. Lemon’s kind words were only a minute behind her. And, if Lemon was right, she and River were off to meet his son. Hopefully he was just as friendly. 

River reached upper engine first. If his disgruntled huff was anything to go by, it meant there was company. He got himself settled near the doorway as Bunbun caught up to him. She stepped into the room nervously. Amid the hissing and noise of clunky machinery, she could just hear someone shouting. It took her a minute to locate the source- half hidden by the steam, a crewmate in a lime suit was waving near the system monitoring panel. Bunbun waved back hastily, moving closer to make out their words. “-ey! Hey! Over here!” the crewmate called, waving steam out of their face. “Got it! I’m here!” Bunbun shouted back. Squinting, she did her best to swipe away some of the steam, stopping next to the stranger. From the shock of red hair she saw through bits of fog, she had a feeling he was Lemon’s son. Though she did wish she could see him better. And hear him better. It was so loud and so misty in here. “One sec! Let me just- set this thing on low for a minute-!” He coughed, tapping at the monitoring panel. “All good! You do what you need!” Bunbun replied.  Soon enough, the clanking and roaring of metal died down to a low rumble. The mist cleared out as the noise quieted. Once it faded, Bunbun got her first good look at the crewmate. He had a bright green suit- lime, as HQ called it- and a brown paperboy’s cap. His large square glasses were still unfogging with the room. He had a smattering of freckles across his peachy skin, especially over his nose. The square of gauze taped to his cheek had a couple dark fingerprints against it. Oil, if Bun had a guess. As she’d noted before, his hair was just the same shade as his father’s- though it was longer and more tousled. He took off his glasses to polish them, giving a glimpse of dark blue eyes, and a brief glance at heavily pierced ears. He was definitely on the younger side for a crewmate. If she had a guess, he was out doing field work for space academy. He flashed a nervous smile at Bunbun, fidgeting as he pushed his glasses back on. 

Ah, she knew that look. Seems she’d found her fellow timid crewmate.

“Er- hi, sorry about that,” he chuckled sheepishly. “Things get pretty hectic in here, a-and i’m not used to other people doing engine maintenance…” “It’s ok,” Bunbun said, “I know how that gets, believe me.” “Eheheh, right… I’m, uh Lemon Junior by the way. But you can just call me Junior.” Holding out a hand, Junior tried for a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, uh…?” “Bunbun,” Bun replied, taking his hand for a gentle shake. “I take it you heard about the updates I need to do?” “Yeah, uh, I did,” Junior nodded. “Lemon sent me up here to help out after we finished refueling.” Gesturing to the panel, he looked to her uncertainly. “If, um, I’m allowed to ask… what kinda updates are you… y’know… gonna do…?” Bunbun was sensing a theme with the engine monitors on the ship. “Just a couple things to make alignment reports more accurate,” she explained. “The engines are a little old, so giving them an update just lets the records be more accurate. Helps HQ make sure they won’t need any big fixes.” Junior nodded along as she spoke. Relief shone on his face. That made Bunbun relieved too. Any soothing she could offer in the ways of tech was nice. “Yeah, ok. That’s ok. You can, um, do what you need to,” he sighed, stepping back. “Just let me know when you’re done updating here.” “Of course!”

With that, Bunbun settled in, once again, to take care of the software. She could feel Junior watching her as she worked. It wasn’t… horrible. It didn’t feel like how river watched her. More like those curious interns she encountered sometimes. A glance over her shoulders said Junior was keeping more of an eye on the screen. He looked away quickly when he saw her watching, looking like a kid caught with the cookie jar. He must have an eye for software, she thought fondly. Kid after her own heart. She moved to the side nonchalantly to give him a better view as she worked. She could see him smile out of the corner of her eye. One of her own tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe they could talk code later. That would be nice. Across the room, River was grumbling to himself. When he wasn’t staring holes in the wall or his fellow crewmates, Bunbun could hear him shuffling around impatiently. Engine aligning just took a little longer. The patch would have to be replicated exactly, after all. Can’t be too careful. River’s grumbly restlessness was more of a nod to his lack of patience. From Junior’s nervous fidgeting, he’d taken notice. “... um… you can wait outside… if you want…” Junior called hesitantly, looking to River. “Can’t,” River said bluntly. “Oh- why?” Junior perked up. “Did you need something?” River shook his head with a grunt. “Gotta watch the newbie.” “Er… oh.” The lime-suited crewmate seemed to deflate a little. “Ok. Just. Thought I’d offer,” Junior mumbled. “Whatever,” River snorted. Bunbun just bent her head lower over her tablet. The green upload bar ticked forward at a snail’s pace. Though the process only took a minute or two, it was still the worst part of working with tech. Not to mention the sooner she left, the sooner she could get River out of Junior’s hair. He was fidgeting with his hands enough that she knew he was self soothing. C’mon, c’mon… almost there… she begged internally. 

When the green finally filled the bar, she let out a long sigh. “Ooookay, upper engine’s all done,” she reported. “Thank the lord,” River drawled, exasperated. “All of it?” Junior blinked. His face lit up with awe. “Sheesh, that was fast!!!” “Well, yeah,” Bunbun chuckled, hiding a smile, “I wouldn’t be so highly recommended if I was slow.” “Fair ‘nuff, fair ‘nuff.” Humming contentedly, Bunbun turned back to the system monitoring panel. Oh yeah, she’d definitely talk code with him later. For now, she leaned forward to study what she’d just done. Now came the tricky part. Reuploading the exact same fixes on the other engine. How to go about this…? “Hey, Junior?” She asked, waving her crewmate over. “I have a quick question before I head out.” Junior tilted his head to the side, hat nearly slipping off his head. “Head out?” he echoed. “Well, yeah, I’ve gotta do the same thing down at lower engine. I just wanted to know if-” “Oh! Oh, nonono, lemme save you the trip-” Junior broke in. Rushing to her side, he reached for the manual alignment slider. “Y’see, I figured out this little loophole awhile ago- just a sec-” Bunbun watched with increasing confusion and concern as he expertly centered the slider, eyed the screen, and gave the slider a rather rough slam with his fist. The monitor sputtered a minute, and so did she. What was he doing? Where had her work gone??? “Wh- what did you-?” she managed to squeak, falling silent as her tablet made the distinctive thrum of a task finish notification. The screen stabilized a moment later. Junior pulled back, looking quite pleased with himself. “Aaaaaand- there!” he chirped, smiling. “I just sent your code down to Lower Engine. No need to walk down yourself.” “... how in the world did you… find that?” Bunbun wondered, baffled. “I-it’s an old system,” Junior replied meekly. “It was a bug my dad found out on accident awhile ago. We just found a way to make it useful.” “... huh.” Bunbun nodded thoughtfully. Useful bugs. An old idea, sure, but it worked just fine here. “Fair enough. Thank you!” “‘S no problem, glad I could help,” Junior beamed. “You ready to go now?” River called. “My legs are gonna give out if I stand here much longer.” Bunbun and Junior shared a look. They may have properly met a few minutes ago, but… well. They’d both seen enough of River. “Coming, coming,” Bunbun sighed. Waving at Junior, she plodded after her dark blue crewmate. “Hope the engines behave for you and lemon!” “Thanks, miss! Hope the systems behave for you too!!!” 

Behind her, the engine slowly started roaring back to life. Its noisy growling echoed off the walls as she followed River once again. It might’ve just been her optimism, but she thought the sound was smoother now. Meanwhile, River seemed to have chosen a path for her this time. They were headed straight to Medbay. The noise didn’t necessarily decrease as they approached. It just changed from machinery to voices. Bunbun could only make out the conversation once she got close. River had parked himself outside of the door, looking inside a bit warily. Bunbun hung back uncertainly. What was he waiting on? “Will you please sit still?” a voice begged, clearly exasperated.  “I’ve been sitting still for five minutes now!” another whined, equally as annoyed.  Curious, Bunbun edged around River to peek in the room. The medbay looked as it usually did- four beds and equipment in the back. The scanner and computer monitor looked a little old, sure, but they’d been polished so well they looked new. Movement from the back right bed caught her eye- it was the source of the voices. 

Sitting on the end of the bed was a crewmate in a red suit. Her pack was leaned against the footboard, a pair of red and black headphones sitting atop it. Both objects nearly got kicked over as the crewmate squirmed. Her straight dark hair was cut a little above shoulder length, a long swoosh of it nearly covering her right eye. Her brows were furrowed over her earth-toned gaze, expression quite put out. Her skin was a tannish beige, with plenty of bandages littering her face. Evidently, she was not a stranger to Medbay. A black choker was visible as she shifted again, grumpily trying to free her hand from another’s grasp. It’d been stripped of its glove, revealing some painful, blue tinted blisters. The one hanging onto the crewmate’s hand was wearing a white suit. Her long coppery hair was partly tied up in two buns, the rest of it spilling fluffily past her shoulders. Her bangs hung so low they almost covered her olive green eyes. Of course, the heart shaped glasses she wore did a better job of that. Bunbun admired how they matched her earrings, though- pink hearts adorned the crewmate’s ears. A flower pin was rooted near the right side of her head. She looked somewhat annoyed by her patient, but not angry. She was doing her best to maneuver her gently, giving her all the care of an electrician fixing sparky wiring. 

“Five minutes isn’t enough for me to examine your hand,” the one in white pointed out. “Rose, babe, come on,” the one in red groaned, “it’s nothing serious, just a little plasma burn!” “You may think so, but you’re not the medic, are you?” White retorted. “But- I- you-” Red sputtered. White raised a brow. After a minute or two of stumbling over excuses, Red’s shoulders slumped. “Ghhh. Fine,” she grumbled, “have it your way.” “That’s what I thought,” White said smugly. “Now, about that hand of yours…” 

A knock from the doorway drew everyone’s gaze instantly. River hadn’t moved from his spot, though his hand was now raised. He rapped his knuckle on the doorway a few more times. “Hey. Rose. Laser,” he nodded to white and red respectively. “Mind if we come in?” “Oh! River! And- you’re Bunbun, right?” Rose asked hesitantly. Bunbun nodded, giving a tiny wave. “Er, yeah. That’s me.” “Well, I wasn’t expecting either of you today!” Rose said, head tilted. “Come right in. I’ll be finished here in a little bit.” “Just don’t take the bed next to me,” Laser huffed at River. Rose gave her a look, and her patient stuck out her tongue. 

River walked almost cautiously into the room, going over to stand by the left side beds. He stood straight and proper there, hands by his sides. Bunbun trailed after him. She got herself comfortable leaning on an empty bed close to the group. Rose busied herself wrapping Laser’s hand in some gauze. The two whispered to each other- something about dinner plans- as she worked. Once all was said and done, the medic straightened back up. “Now! What can I do for you two?” Rose asked them warmly. “Nothing for me today,” River replied, nodding in Bunbun’s direction. “I’m supervising Bunbun. She can give you more details.” Bunbun blinked a bit at the sudden and calm introduction. That was the most polite response she’d heard River give all day. It honestly caught her a bit off guard. Scrambling to compose herself, she held her tablet close to her chest. “Um- yeah, I’m just g-going around the ship to update some systems,” she explained timidly. “Your ship is a little out of date, but i’ve got plenty of patches and software updates to help out.” “Ah! I was wondering when HQ was going to send someone here,” Rose sighed softly. “About time, if you ask me,” Laser snorted. “We’ve been needing someone to help this bucket of bolts for lightyears.” Rose gave laser a little pat in agreement. Even River seemed to nod, albeit he rolled his eyes a little. “Yeah, so, I’ve just got a couple updates to do in medbay. I’ll try to be quick, but… y’know. No guarantees,” Bunbun continued. “That’s ok! And entirely understandable.” One finger tapped her chin thoughtfully, her gaze bouncing around the room. “What needs to be updated in my little corner?” “Ooone sec-” Bunbun mumbled, opening her task list. There were two tasks listed in medbay. “It looks like just your scanner and computer monitors? If that’s alright?” “I don’t see why not,” Rose hummed. “Go right ahead, miss. Let me know if you need anything.” “Will do, thank you,” Bunbun replied. She’d hardly taken a step towards the monitors, though, when Laser broke in. “Whoa whoa whoa- hooold on a sec there-” Laser burst, holding up her hands. The action made her wince, but she made no other signs of pain. “You’re here for updates, right?” “U-uh-” Bunbun stammered, confused and alarmed, “y-yes-?” “Are there any updates assigned to Weapons or Shields?” Laser pressed. “Let me… check…?” Bunbun said warily. Looking down at her task list, she gave it a quick scan. Surprisingly, they were both absent from her tasks. Huh. Well, that’s odd, she thought. Out loud, she answered Laser’s query. “No, there’s n-nothing for Weapons or Shields.” “Yes!” Laser whooped, pumping her bandaged fist. An action she immediately regretted. Hissing in pain, she still managed a wide grin. “I told you guys updating your stations often was a good idea!!!” “You did say that, didn’t you, firecracker?�� Rose chuckled softly, a gentle smile on her face. “Mmmmhm…” River hummed, lips pressed tightly together. “W-well, it does keeps the systems running up to HQ code, not to mention upping their efficiency,” Bunbun explained timidly. Laser gestured to her enthusiastically. “You! I like you!” Laser grinned, “cuz you get it!!!” “Don’t mean to interrupt, ladies,” River spoke up- almost gently, giving Bunbun another momentary bluescreen- “but Bunbun does have a job to do.” Luckily, Laser and Rose’s voices snapped her out of it. “Oh. Right. She does, doesn’t she?” Laser echoed. “Sorry bout that, Bunbun.” “Indeed she does,” Rose agreed. Smiling apologetically, she nodded towards the scanner and monitor. “They’re all yours for as long as you need, Bun.” Giving the two a grateful nod, Bunbun strode towards the scanner. “It’s no problem,” she replied, pulling up her code. “I’ll be done in just a tick…”

                                                 ===+===+===

The updates in medbay took much longer than expected. Around thirty minutes in total. There was a lot to get to. Not only did Bunbun find herself tripping over incorrectly stored files from previous medics, but the outdated medical system kept trying to override her new input. The whole thing was confusing, frustrating, and very difficult to work with. 

Fortunately, she found herself in good company. 

Rose’s level head and gentle tone helped keep her distress down, and she knew all the work arounds for the computer. Laser offered plenty of encouragement. River, to his credit, actually stayed quiet. He added input only once- when a security bypass code popped up. Other than that… nothing. He just sort of. Stood there. It was odd. But Rose and Laser were enough to distract Bunbun from it, and enough to keep her on task.

When she finally pulled back from the equipment, the other ladies gave a little cheer. “Good job, hon! It’s running like a model made yesterday,” Rose beamed. “You wrangled the hell out of that code!” Laser grinned. “That’s a perfect job in my book.” “Thank you, thank you,” Bunbun laughed, waving a hand. “You’re too kind- both of you!” “We do our best,” Laser winked. “Anytime!” Rose hummed. “... yeah. Glad you got that figured out,” River finally spoke up. Bunbun gave him a quiet nod of thanks. Was he just… warming up…? She really hoped so. Shifting in place, River jerked his head towards the door. “You ready to head out, Bunbun? Just a couple more stops.” Bunbun paused. Holding up a finger, she flipped up her tablet. Both the tasks she’d had for Medbay now glowed green. Perfect. She nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied. “M’kay. Let’s get a move on,” River sighed. “See the rest of y’all around.” He turned to go, pace a little slower as he left the room. Bunbun waved over her shoulder to Laser and Rose. The two smiled and waved back, free hands gently entwined as they gave their well wishes. The sight left Bunbun smiling all the way down the hall. 

The more of her crewmates she met, the more at home she was starting to feel. It was… nice. Really nice. A good assignment so far. She hoped it’d stay that way.

[puroresu-musings]

NJPW G1 CLIMAX 30 Day 5 Review (Sept 27th, 2020, Kobe World Memorial Hall)

Yota Tsuji vs. Gabriel Kidd  ***

A Block

Taichi vs. Yujiro Takahashi  **1/2

Jeff Cobb vs. Minoru Suzuki  ***1/4+

Kota Ibushi vs. Tomohiro Ishii  ****1/4

Will Ospreay vs. Shingo Takagi  ****1/2+

Kazuchika Okada vs. Jay White  ***3/4

photos.

This was one of the strongest cards of the tour on paper, and whilst it didn’t exactly reach its lofty anticipation, it was still a great show which was a breeze to sit through. Gabriel Kidd defeated Yota Tsuji in the prerequisite good Young Lion opener with his impressive Butterfly Suplex, which then gave us a match I was dreading in Taichi vs. Yujiro. However, I’m pleased to say that whilst this wasn’t especially good, it certainly wasn’t bad, so thats a definite plus. The crowd were into this late in the game, before Taichi hit a low blow, then scored the win in 11 minutes with the Gedo Clutch. The win makes Taichi undefeated thus far, but I can’t believe that will last much longer. Especially seeing who he’s got coming up in the rest of this thing. Hey, does anyone remember when Shelton Benjamin went on that inexplicable undefeated streak in 2014?

Minoru Suzuki defeated Jeff Cobb next in a match up that, whilst very good, was something of a disappointment (a theme will occur). It was very short for starters (9:24), and Cobb, who really hasn’t looked all that great in this tournament so far, sold for pretty much the whole match. Which is something he does entirely too much for my liking. I mean, he’s a big, athletic guy, who was a legitimate Olympian, and could probably shoot kill most guys in most locker rooms, but spends most of these matches getting his arse handed to him. I mean, fine when you’re talking about Suzuki, but would Dr Death have bumped all over and sold 80% of a match for Taichi? Would the Steiners? Or Kurt Angle? Anyway, you get what I’m saying. I just think he needs to come across more as a badass shooter rather than... whatever he is now. Which is literally “just a guy”. Regardless of my gripes, this was a good match (even if there were a few ‘clunky’ aspects), which Suzuki won after locking in a choke then transitioning to the Gotch Piledriver.

After a brief intermission it was time to go to war as Ibushi took on Ishii. These guys have had three matches previous to this, all of which were absolutely fab, so expectations were high. This was an excellent, heated, hard-hitting battle, but for various reasons, it couldn’t hit the heights of their previous bouts, and the most  obvious reason being that it’s incredibly hard to have an absolute blow-away classic in the current environment. Literally, there’s only been one in my book; the Naito/Tanahashi match from last week, and that’s it. Regardless, they still had a great match, beating the hell out of each other for 15:41 with hard chops, kicks, forearms headbutts and Lariats. Just as we’d all hoped they would. Ishii started chopping Ibushi in the throat, so Kota hit those scary throat punches in retaliation, then landed on his feet on a German attempt and scored a near fall with Boma Ye on the originators bestie. Ishii counters Kamigoye with headbutts, then a Lariat. They exchange hard strikes, Ibushi hits a high kick, then Kamigoye to take the 2 points and render Ishii winless in this G1. They continued beating each other up in the post match.

Next up was a rematch from the best match of 2019, when Shingo Takagi sought to avenge his BOSJ Finals loss to Will Ospreay. This really was a fantastic bout, but obviously couldn’t reach the heights of their match last year, but was easily MOTN, in the top 3 of this tournament so far, and amongst the best in the pandemic era. These guys work amazingly well together and it produces fairly amazing results. Their counter sequences alone are a thing of beauty. Ospreay got a near fall after a Corner to Corner dropkick and Shooting Star Press, before Shingo battled back with a Pumping Bomber and Made In Japan for near falls of his own. The Rampage Dragon hit his old Stay Dream middle rope Death Valley Bomb, but Ospreay kicks at 1. Shingo obliterates him with a Pumping Bomber which garners a near fall, and Last Of The Dragon follows, allowing Takagi to get his win back at the 22:03 mark. This was a really great match, and, look, people were tying themselves in knots trying to explain how Ospreay’s match with Ishii last week wasn’t very good (it was excellent), and I fear that these sort of views are because of how these people feel towards Ospreay personally. I’ve always tried to remove the person from the matches (I’ve often loved a Michael Elgin match, despite him being fundamentally loathsome in many regards), and thats my philosophy here. I get he’s a very divisive character, but he has great matches consistently. Anyway, thats all I have to say about that.

And in the main event, Jay White once again pinned Okada in a really good, though ultimately disappointing, encounter that couldn’t hope to follow its predecessor. Honestly, this Okada Cobra Clutch storyline is doing nothing for me. It’s even more alienating to me then the red-headed balloon bandit nonsense he had going on 2018. I understand the story they’re trying to tell; that Okada has ‘retired’ the Rainmaker in order to make this Cobra Clutch/Anaconda Vice thing his primary finish, and its all building to him using the Rainmaker again later down the road, but I just honestly don’t care. It just ruins the flow of his matches. You could work dramatic sequences around avoiding or getting out of a Rainmaker, or even trying to hit it, but this submission just isn’t hitting the same notes as far as I’m concerned. I’ve said since January that Okada just seems lost at sea when he’s not champion, and this is as glaringly obvious now as its ever been. White however has looked great since his COVID induced hiatus, and he looked really good in this one. This was marred slightly by too much Gedo involvement, who kept distracting Okada throughout. After Okada hit a Rolling Rainmaker, he locks the Clutch on for maybe the 7th time in the match, which prompted Gedo to distract Red Shoes whilst Jay hits a low blow (we’ve seen a ton of these in this G1 already, by the way, and we’re only five days in!), then tries for Blade Runner, but again gets caught in the Clutch. Dear Lord. White counters into a Sleeper Suplex, then hit Blade Runner to take the decisive win at 18:48. I mean, in terms of wins over Okada, this is almost as decisive as it gets. Switch Blade cut a promo in the post match, taunting the crowd and proclaiming the G1 to actually be the “Jay1″. 

NDT

[yastaghr]

Nest(l)ing

I've been writing this one for a while now. It's a hypothetical alternate universe to Grey where Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics are at play.

Summary: A serious of snapshots for Blue's nest building as an Omega, from his first nest as a child to his first nest on the Surface.

Characters: Blue = Underswap Sans, Stretch = Underswap Papyrus, Edge = Underfell Papyrus, Red = Underfell Sans, Underswap Gaster

Warnings: Homelessness, Domestic Violence, Implied Rape/Noncon, Bad Brother Stretch

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26583658

The Gaster of Underswap #832 was a lover, not a fighter. Well, in a way. Romantic or sexual love? No. Platonic love, especially parental love? Yes, please. He would happily talk about his amazing little 5 year old and his adorable little 14 month old to anyone who gave him the slightest excuse. Blue, at 5 years old, was so bright, a cheerful little thing that was always smiling about something. Stretch was still small for a 14 month old, but he was crawling around now quite easily.

Blue was coming up on his 6th birthday, so when Gaster walked into his boys’ room and encountered a roughly circular mess it wasn’t that much of a surprise. His family had always matured early. Still, he wished that Blue didn’t have to go through this so soon. He remembered his own transition, and Blue was going to be ridiculed when he started school and already had to deal with heat suppressants.

The hardest thing about heats, though, was definitely how they made you feel. Blue seemed to currently be in a down state. He was sitting in the middle of the mess looking frustrated and overwhelmed.

Gaster knelt down and held out his arms for his son, who predictably crawled right into them. He rocked Blue gently while his little star cried into his shoulder.

Eventually the tears dried up and Blue patted his leg to get his attention. “DADDY, I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE A MESS! IT JUST… IT FELT LIKE I HAD TO. I JUST NEEDED TO HAVE ALL MY SOFT THINGS AROUND ME, BUT IT JUST DOESN’T SEEM TO WORK NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I MOVE THEM.”

Gaster smiled softly down at him. “That’s okay, my little star. This is a special thing. I can show you how to do it while I explain it, okay?”

“OKAY, DADDY. WHAT DO I NEED TO DO?” Blue immediately said.

Gaster couldn’t be prouder of his little star. Blue had immediately taken personal responsibility for this. He was amazing. “Well, the first thing I want you to do is help me make some piles. We need to take all the soft things and make piles for blankets, pillows, and toys. Can you do that?”

Blue nodded and set about cleaning up his mess, his little blue tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. While he worked, Gaster explained. “Now, what your body was telling you to make is called a nest. Omegas like you and me always like to have a nest. It’s a vital comfort to our instincts. Remember, I told you about what being an Omega means?”

Blue nodded as he placed the last stuffed toy into a heap. “YEP!”

Gaster smiled at him. “Good. Now, the next step is to set up your pillows in a rough circle. Can you do that for me?”

Blue nodded, stuck his tongue out of his mouth in an adorable display of concentration, and arranged his pillows. The shape was more like an oval than a circle, but that didn’t really matter. It was rounded and that was all that mattered.

“Well done, Blue. Now the next step is to lay your blankets over the pillows so that the extra blanket covers the center of the circle. Does that make sense?” Gaster asked.

“UM… I THINK IT DOES? SO I MAKE THE INSIDE OF THE CIRCLE BE COVERED IN BLANKETS THAT ALSO GO OVER THE EDGE OF IT? LIKE… LIKE THAT TIME WE MADE PIE CRUSTS TOGETHER AND WE PUT THEM IN THE LITTLE BOWL THINGIES, RIGHT?” Blue rephrased what Gaster had said, a trick Gaster had taught him to help him make sure he really understood things before he jumped into doing them. He was proud of his son for remembering how to do it.

“Yes, exactly!” Gaster confirmed. Blue smiled his beautiful, shining smile and giggled. Then he got to work, covering the base of the nest just like Gaster had said. When he was done he turned to Gaster for guidance. The scientist and proud father explained the next step, “Okay, Blue. The final thing you need to do is take the soft toys and line them up just inside of the pillows. That way you’ll have something to cuddle with.”

Blue did as he said and arranged his soft toys inside the circle. He didn’t have many of them, but the few he did have he loved and cherished. Most of them were gifts from Gaster’s co-workers and boss. Gaster’s meager salary wasn’t enough to buy his sons very many things. There was one he had gotten for his son, a little stuffed skeleton that he'd found in the dump and washed thoroughly before giving it over.

“IS THIS GOOD, DAD?” Blue asked quietly.

Gaster blinked his way out of his reverie and smiled at his son. “Yes, Blue. It’s a beautiful little nest, and I’m very proud of you for building it so well.”

Blue beamed at him, then crawled into his nest and sat down. He patted it gently, getting used to the feeling of having it around him. Gaster left him to it. Your first nest was a very special place.

=====

Blue stared at the measly collection of semi-soft things he’d managed to track down in despair. There weren’t nearly enough to build the nest he wanted - no, needed to make. Without a nest this abandoned building he had found wouldn’t count as a home, and that would mean that the 6 year old Stretch would break curfew and become a rule-breaker like him. Blue would do anything to avoid that fate for his little brother. Anything.

Resigned to his task of building a makeshift nest, the 10 year old Blue grabbed the first ancient pillow he had pulled out of a dumpster behind a mattress shop and set it out. He used the remaining six to form a circle. It was a very small circle. There was no way that it was going to fit both of them. That was okay, though. After his stay in the hospital that had lasted for months as a kid he was already a rule-breaker, so he didn’t really need to be in the nest. All it needed to hold was his little brother.

After the pillows went down Blue lined the nest with the moldy towels and ripped blankets he’d managed to scrounge up. There were just enough of them to make it work. At least the small size of the circle allowed for that.

When that was done Blue set the handful of stuffed toys he had managed to save from their old apartment along the rim of the nest. He took extra care with the little stuffed skeleton. It was a gift from his father, unlike all the other toys. Blue didn’t know what had happened to Gaster in that accident, but he wanted to cling on to the few reminders he had that his father had once loved him.

He surveyed the finished nest with disappointment. It wasn’t nearly up to the standards of the ones he had built in the past during his heats; it was clunky, moldy, raggedy, and small. It would have to do for now, though, because Blue didn’t have any other supplies to make it better.

=====

The 18 year old Blue didn’t fight against his brother when he duck-taped him to the wall in his room in the house in Snowdin. He figured it was just a prank, and it didn’t seem that harmful. That idea was quickly shattered by Stretch’s own actions. The 14 year old turned an expression on Blue that he’d only ever seen on the faces of his rapists. Then he turned around and started methodically destroying the nest Blue had only just finished building.

“STRETCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!” Blue called out, distress evident in his voice.

Stretch turned on him the most condescending look Blue had ever seen. “destroying this stupid waste of space, bro. you’re a rule-breaker. you don’t deserve to have a nest like this. you haven’t earned that privilege with all the slutty behaviour you’ve been showing lately.”

“STRETCH, WHAT- I WAS IN HEAT! YOU TOOK AWAY MY HEAT SUPPRESSANTS BECAUSE YOU SAID THEY COST TOO MUCH. WHAT DID YOU EXPECT ME TO DO? ALL OMEGAS ACT WANTON WHEN THEY’RE IN HEAT, AND I WASN’T EVEN ACTING LIKE THAT AT ALL! I LOCKED THE DOOR TO MY ROOM AND DIDN’T COME OUT UNTIL MY HEAT WAS OVER. I DIDN’T EVEN TRY TO FIND A HEAT PARTNER! MAKING IT THROUGH A HEAT WITHOUT ONE IS-” Blue was interrupted in mid sentence.

Stretch snarled, “i don’t care about your excuses, blue! everyone in town could smell you. they were all ravening after you! i’ve never heard so many gross things in one week. if you’re going to cause problems like that you don’t deserve anything soft or comfortable. maybe if you have to sleep on the floor you’ll understand how not okay it is for you to make me that uncomfortable! now, shut up or else!”

Blue gulped and did as he was told as his mind raced to try and understand. He knew what Stretch thought he did wrong, but he didn’t know what he could have done differently. He’d done everything he could not to make his heat into a burden on others! Why did Stretch want to punish him for that? Pale blue tears dripped out of his sockets as he forced himself to watch Stretch rip, shred, and tear all of the soft things he’d used to make his nest. The drip turned into a torrent when Stretch found the stuffed skeleton. Blue cried out, “NO, STRETCH! PLEASE, NOT THAT ONE! DAD GAVE THAT TO ME JUST BEFORE-”

Stretch growled at him. “what did i say about shutting up? just for that i’m going to take my time destroying this one!”

Blue watched in horror as Stretch summoned a sharp bone and started cutting tiny pieces out of the “bones” of the skeleton. The pieces were no bigger than an ant, and he took his time to shred them and scatter them all over the mess he had made of Blue’s room. Blue closed his eyes, trying to save himself the anguish of watching this destruction.

“hey! if you don’t open your eyes right now i’m letting in the rabbit gang. they’ve been especially hungry for you this whole time. i’m sure they’d be overjoyed to know that you had offered to… satisfy their hunger.”

Blue knew exactly what his brother meant, and he opened his eye sockets in shock. Had his brother really threatened to- he had, hadn’t he? New tears flooded his vision. How could his own brother threaten to do something like that? Hadn’t he raised him better? Or had he raised Stretch right, and Blue really did deserve to be treated like this? It had to be that, right? He’d given up everything to keep his brother safe, healthy, and happy. Stretch was just giving him the treatment he deserved.

Blue forced himself to watch Stretch destroy the rest of the nest. It made him feel horrible, like the time he’d been forced to swallow boiling water by one of the gangs in Waterfall. His throat felt raw and inflamed, his hands were trembling, and the tears were pouring down his face. It felt like Stretch was destroying the only safe thing Blue had left. He just must not deserve even that.

=====

Edge stared at Blue with confusion that bordered on consternation. What was this weird little Omega doing? He could smell the beginnings of a heat on him and offered to go get him some suppressants, but that brother of his said no. Edge had accepted that. They were clearly in some kind of relationship, so, if he was his brother’s Alpha, he might have decided that Blue didn’t need the suppressants. If he wasn’t, he might know that Blue’s Alpha didn’t want him taking them, although why an Alpha would want an unprotected Omega off their suppressants was a mystery to him. Edge didn’t want to judge.

All of that made a certain amount of sense - right up until he caught Blue, half naked, washing his clothes and saw the lack of a claiming bite on his body. That changed everything. If Blue wasn’t claimed, why would Stretch get to tell him whether he could take the suppressants? Unclaimed Omegas got to choose that for themselves! Edge promised himself that he would ask Blue the first chance he got.

He did, but Blue’s reaction confused him even more. He’d looked at the ground in a haunted way and said, “IT’S NOT MY CHOICE TO MAKE.”

“NONSENSE,” Edge dismissed. “IT MIGHT NOT BE IN YOUR WORLD, BUT HERE, IT IS; BY LAW, WHICH YOUR BROTHER IS OBSESSED WITH OBEYING. WHY WOULDN’T YOU GET TO CHOOSE FOR YOURSELF?”

Blue still didn’t look up at him. “IT’S TOO EXPENSIVE, EDGE. WE CAN’T-”

“BLUE,” Edge reached out and tilted his skull up to face him, “THEY’RE FREE HERE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO PAY.”

“REALLY?” Blue asked, his voice shaking. “WE - I CAN TAKE THEM AGAIN? I DON’T HAVE TO LOCK MYSELF IN MY ROOM TO KEEP FROM BEING RAPED? I DON’T HAVE TO GET TAPED TO THE WALL JUST FOR GOING INTO HEAT?”

Edge gaped at him. Then he shakily held out his arms for Blue and knelt down on one knee to make them closer in height. “I… THAT’S… I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY. RAPE, HERE, IS ONE OF THE BIG 4. THAT MEANS IT’S PUNISHABLE BY DEATH IF THE VICTIM WANTS LENIENCY ON THEIR ABUSER AND A MAGIC CUFF FOR THE FIRST OFFENSE IF THEY DON’T. THAT’S WHY HEAT SUPPRESSANTS ARE FREE, SO NO OMEGA IS TAKEN WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION. AND… WHY WOULD SOMEONE TAPE YOU TO A WALL FOR SOMETHING YOU CAN’T HELP? YOU’RE AN OMEGA, AREN’T YOU? YOU HAVE TO GO INTO HEAT.”

Blue stepped back from him and put on a cheerful smile. Edge knew it was fake. He’d worn the same smile himself, many times. It was as fake as fake could be. He didn’t have the energy to press for the truth, though. Pressing was something that had been Red’s forte.

“WELL, IT’S A LITTLE TOO LATE FOR THE SUPPRESSANTS NOW, SO… I CAN GUARD YOUR ROOM SO THAT NO MONSTERS COME NEAR AND TRY TO HURT YOU OR TAPE YOU TO THE WALLS. I’LL ALSO GIVE YOU MATERIALS FOR A NEST. WHAT DO YOU PREFER, WARM MATERIALS, FLUFFY MATERIALS, OR MATERIALS THAT ARE EASY TO CLEAN?”

None of that seemed like it would be a reason to burst into tears, but that’s what Blue did. Edge went to stand up to hold him, but Blue backed even further away from him, so Edge sat back on his knee. “BLUE, I’M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU. I WON’T MOVE UNTIL YOU SAY. OKAY?”

Blue had backed himself into a corner. He was shaking from his skull to his feet. Stars, Edge thought, what had been done to this poor Omega?

“I’M NOT SURE HOW I UPSET YOU. WAS IT SOMETHING ABOUT THE MATERIALS FOR YOUR NEST?” The other’s nod was barely distinguishable from his trembling, but Edge had practice with that with Red. “WOULD IT FEEL BETTER FOR YOU IF YOU GOT TO PICK OUT THE MATERIALS YOURSELF?”

Blue, finally, found his voice. “I’M NOT ALLOWED TO. I CAN’T- I CAN’T-”

“YOU CAN’T WHAT, BLUE? YOU CAN’T PICK FOR YOURSELF? DO YOU WANT ME TO PICK SOME FOR YOU?” Edge asked.

“I C-C-CAN’T BUILD A NEST. I’M NOT ALLOW-W-WED TO. NO, NOT… NOT ALLOWED. I D-D-DON’T DESERVE TO. NOT AFTER WHAT-T-T I’VE DONE,” Blue sounded like that idea had been beaten into him. Edge needed to tread carefully.

“I DON’T KNOW OF ANY REASON WHY I WOULDN’T LET AN OMEGA BUILD A NEST. THAT WOULD BE LIKE STRIPPING AN ALPHA OF THEIR WEAPONS, OR A BETA OF THEIR TOOLKIT. IT WOULD BE TORTURE; PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE AS WELL AS PHYSICAL. I WOULDN’T EVEN DO THAT TO A CHILD RAPIST,” Edge said quietly.

That idea made Blue flinch. Interesting. He needed to talk to Stretch later on. Privately. That’s what he thought until Blue spoke. “IN OUR W-W-WORLD, ANY CRIME IS THE FAULT OF THE VICTIM FOR NOT TAKING ADEQUATE PRECAUTIONS. I… I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT TAKING ADEQUATE PRECAUTIONS. I’VE BEEN R-R-RAPED A LOT, AND I BROKE THE RULES, AND SO I DON’T DES-S-SERVE TO HAVE A NEST.”

Edge closed his eyes to hide his anger. That was so messed up he didn’t even know where to start. Who had taught Blue that? Why did they think like that? How long had this been going on? All he could think to say was, “THAT’S WRONG.”

Blue swallowed, trying to maintain that happy smile. “I KNOW, BUT I WAS JUST A KI- NO, THAT’S… SORRY. THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR LETTING THAT HAPPEN. I’M JUST GLAD I KEPT MY BROTHER SAFE FROM IT. HE WAS SUCH AN INNOCENT AND HAPPY CHILD. I DON’T THINK I COULD LIVE WITH MYSELF IF HE HAD HAD TO GO THROUGH WHAT I DID.”

“NO, BLUE. THAT’S NOT WHAT’S WRONG. YOU NOT DESERVING A BASIC PART OF YOUR NATURE BECAUSE YOU WERE THE VICTIM OF SUCH A BIG CRIME? THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG. YOU NEED A NEST. YOU DESERVE A NEST. I WILL DO ANYTHING IN MY POWER TO MAKE SURE YOUR NEST IS KEPT SAFE. PLEASE BUILD A NEST, BLUE. FOR ME, IF NOT FOR YOURSELF,” Edge said, clasping his hands and shaking them in the classic pose of pleading.

Blue eyed him like he was crazy. That slipped into thoughtfulness as he looked around like a cornered animal waiting for the attacks to begin. Then, as quietly as Edge had ever heard him, Blue said, “CAN I HAVE THE FL-”

“blue, what the hell are you doing out here? where’s your shirt? you’re flirting with our host, aren’t you? seriously? how disgusting. why don’t you just drag him into the bedroom and betray me completely?” Stretch’s scathing voice carried over Edge’s shoulder. Edge felt his spine stiffen and had to resist the urge to let his pheromones do the talking.

He turned around and glared at Stretch. “HE ISN’T IN HEAT YET, AND I DON’T SEE YOUR CLAIM MARK ON HIM. I DON’T SEE ANY CLAIMS ON HIM. AS AN UNCLAIMED OMEGA, HERE, HE HAS THE RIGHT TO DECIDE ABOUT SUPPRESSANTS, MATES, AND NESTS FOR HIMSELF. IT’S TOO LATE FOR SUPPRESSANTS TO WORK, SO I WAS OFFERING TO GET HIM THE NESTING MATERIALS OF HIS CHOICE. HEATS ARE AS UNAVOIDABLE FOR OMEGAS AS RUTS ARE FOR ALPHAS. I'M GIVING HIM MY PERMISSION TO TAKE OVER MY BEDROOM FOR THE DURATION OF HIS HEAT. IT’S THE SAFEST PLACE IN THE HOUSE. NO ONE CAN BREAK INTO IT ONCE IT’S LOCKED FROM THE INSIDE.”

Stretch glared back at him, flexing his pheromones and trying to seem like a big Alpha. Edge hated posturing like that. He easily overpowered Stretch’s smell and stalked him down. “YOU WILL LEAVE BLUE ALONE. YOU WILL WORK ON THE MACHINE. THEN, MAYBE, I’LL LET YOU TAKE HIM HOME WITH YOU, BUT IF I FIND OUT ONE MORE MESSED UP THING ABOUT YOUR UNIVERSE I WILL ADOPT HIM AS MY OWN FAMILY AND KEEP HIM HERE.”

Stretch slunk away from him, then ran out of the house. Edge sighed and turned back around. Blue was shaking so hard he was barely able to move, but he was trying to present to Edge like a good Omega. Edge sighed. “I’M NOT GOING TO CLAIM YOU, BLUE. NOT WHILE YOU’RE IN HEAT AND CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT. I WILL PROTECT YOU AND GET YOU THE FLUFFY NESTING MATERIALS, THOUGH. WHY DON’T YOU GO UP TO MY ROOM AND GET STARTED?”

Blue nodded slowly and crawled up the stairs to Edge’s bedroom. Edge sighed and headed for the shed. What a mess. Still, he’d managed to fix even worse conditioning in the past. Red had turned out okay, hadn't he? Edge could do this. He believed in himself.

=====

“okay, blue, i get that your world is weird. but how come you haven’t built a nest yet? is it just a thing for during your heats in your world, or do you need new materials, or what?” Red asked. Blue froze where he was chopping tofu for some tacos. Red just waited. He knew that stuff like this could be an unexpected minefield thanks to Blue’s past. He just hoped that this wasn’t going to be too bad of a pothole in the end.

“I… NESTS ARE MORE THAN JUST FOR HEATS. NESTS ARE AN IMPORTANT THING TO THE PSYCHE OF THE OMEGA. A HOUSE WITH A… PROPER OMEGA IN IT ISN’T CONSIDERED A HOME WITHOUT A NEST. AT LEAST, NOT IF THERE’S A CHILD IN THE HOUSE. THAT MEANS THAT THAT CHILD WOULD BREAK THE RULES IF A NEST WEREN’T MADE. AND NESTS CAN BE MADE OF ANYTHING, AS LONG AS THEY’RE ROUGHLY ROUNDED AND VAGUELY SOFT,” Blue answered him.

“then why haven’t you made one? is it because of some stupid thing about you breaking the rules?” he asked cynically. Most of Blue’s problems related to those stupid rules, sooner or later. Whether that was through the laws, the infrastructure, or that brother of his, his Queen was the real one at fault. She’d written those damned rules in the first place.

Blue carefully set down the knife, but Red could see how his hands were shaking. He ached to grab them and soothe them, but he didn’t want to cause more trouble like he had last time. “IT… IS. AFTER STRETCH FOUND OUT ABOUT WHAT I USED TO DO, WHEN WE FIRST MOVED INTO THE HOUSE IN SNOWDIN, I BUILT A NEST RIGHT AWAY. BUT, JUST WHEN I’D FINISHED BUILDING IT, STRETCH… HE TAPED ME TO A WALL AND MADE ME WATCH WHILE HE DESTROYED IT. HE EVEN D-D-DESTROYED THE LITTLE SKELETON DAD GAVE ME… HE SAID I DIDN’T DESERVE A NEST BECAUSE I’D CAUSED SO MANY MONSTERS TO GO WANTON WITH MY HEAT. I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

Blue gulped. His whole body was shaking now as he stepped further into the memory. “I EVEN LOCKED MYSELF IN MY ROOM WHEN HE SAID I COULDN’T GO OUT AND BUY MORE SUPPRESSANTS. BUT… PEOPLE STILL SMELLED ME. HE DIDN’T LIKE HEARING WHAT THEY HAD TO SAY, SO HE SAID… THAT IF I SLEPT ON THE FLOOR I MIGHT LEARN NOT TO MAKE PEOPLE ACT LIKE THAT. HE SAID… IF I DIDN’T WATCH, HE’D TELL THE RABBIT GUARD I SAID THEY COULD U-U-USE ME. AND I THOUGHT… I DID EVERYTHING I COULD TO RAISE HIM RIGHT, SO… IT HAD TO BE M-M-ME, RIGHT? I HAD TO HAVE DONE SOMETHING WRONG FOR HIM TO DO THAT TO ME… AND IF I REALLY DID SOMETHING WRONG, THEN I SHOULDN’T TRY TO MAKE SOMETHING THAT I DIDN’T DESERVE, AND HE SAID I DIDN’T DESERVE TO MAKE A NEST, SO… THAT WASN’T RIGHT, WAS IT?”

Red shook his head. “nope. he was being a jealous asshole of an alpha that wanted to control you. also, he was being a regular asshole, too. i’d never try to do that to an omega and i’m a fucking beta! especially with how rare they are.” Blue quivered to face him, just like Red thought he would. Blue had told them about the previous timeline, and Red figured he must have at least gotten to a heat, but the way Boss was he wouldn’t have wanted to put pressure on Blue if he was just going to leave. Red could relate, but Blue had decided to stay here, so he needed to know. “yeah, the birth rate for omegas here has been really low for a few centuries. they’re down to less than a eighth of the population. omegas who can carry a child to term? they’re rarer than moldsmaals.”

“THE OMEGA GENE ONLY MANIFESTS WHEN THE MOTHER FEELS COMPLETELY SAFE AND RESPECTED BY THEIR ALPHA,” Blue said monotonously. “THAT’S WHY THE QUEEN HAS RULEBREAKERS TREATED SO BADLY. SHE DOESN’T WANT THEM REPRODUCING.”

Red bared his teeth. “fuck that. we’ll take them all and treat them proper! starting with their nests. d’ya wanna go splurge on materials? boss and i’ve got a lot saved for this, and you deserve the best nest that money can buy. we can even find you a skeleton plushie, or maybe get someone to make you one. how does that sound? only the best for our mate.”

Blue hesitated. “IN THE LAST TIMELINE EDGE SAID HE HAD MATERIALS FOR ME TO USE. I DON’T WANT TO WASTE YOUR MONEY BUYING NEW ONES.”

Red felt safe enough now to press a kiss to Blue’s teeth. “are you kidding? those are from the public stocks. our queen made a giant stockpile for emergencies. you get to own your own nest now, baby blue. besides, most of what we’ll be getting is replacement clothes and blankets for edge and me. you’re our omega, so your nest should smell like us as well as you.”

Blue’s bright eyes filled with tears. Red could see the happiness in his face, though. “YOU REALLY WOULD LET ME USE YOUR THINGS?”

Red kissed him again, wiping those tears away from his Omega’s face with a smile. “of course, baby blue. now, let’s go raid our closet and get you some stuff to start with. then we can head out to the stores and get shopping!”

=====

The Gaster of Underswap #832 was a lover, not a fighter, and he found it odd that he found himself so much more at home in a world where people had once had to fight for a living than he had in the one he was born into. He still wasn’t into sexual or romantic love, but he had found a new form of love to enjoy after he and the other Omegas had been rescued; grandparental. He loved talking about his twin grandchildren to anyone who would listen. They were still just soulings in Blue’s belly, but he knew they were going to be amazing. After all, with parents like they had, how could they be anything else? He couldn’t wait to meet them.

Right now, though, he was content to help his son and his son’s datemates settle into their new home here on the Surface. He was amazed at how much stuff they had. Blue had 3 boxes; Red and Edge had 18. Considering that most of Blue’s stuff had been stolen back in Underswap #832, it wasn’t surprising that the ratio was so off. That just meant that Gaster got to take him out shopping like he’d always wanted to! Taking Red and Edge as well was a wonderful bonus!

Tonight Gaster had insisted that the others rest while he put away their purchases. When he was done he couldn’t help but check in on them. They weren’t in their bedroom, so the next place he checked was the room with Blue’s nest.

There, asleep in the nest lit only by the light of the moon through the blinds, were Red, Edge, and Blue. Blue was sandwiched in the middle of them, being hugged on both sides by his loving mates. His shirt had ridden up to expose his swelling belly. Two still-white soulings glowed through the light blue of his ecto. They flashed at him slightly, and he pulsed his magic back, then closed the door, smiling, on his son’s well-deserved peace.

[drsilverfish]

15x02 Raising Hell -  a map, a script, and another stage on the alchemical road..

Hey everyone, catching up British time as ever, so I haven’t jumped into your posts yet. Did you survive Bucklemming?

Honestly, with only twenty precious episodes to the final season, this was a “classic” horribly clunky offering from them (after their better episodes in S14).

Still, there are some key take-aways.

Firstly, we have a key part of the psychological road-map of the final journey, aka Dean is back on his father’s bullshit - a revenge mission - this time, against God. And he’s so focussed on anger (a cover for his grief about Mary, and Jack, and about the meaning, or lack of meaning, of their lives thanks to Chuck) that he is unnable to let love in - to hear Cas’ plea that what has been real in their lives is “us”. 

This dude:

Jack the Ripper (ugh - rapey Bucklemming bingo card check) functions as a kind of God-mirror/ John-mirror - symbolising the old, white, murderous patriarch still wrestling to inhabit the bodies of the living (i.e. the wills of his creations/ the psyches of his sons) so it’s perhaps not an accident that Dean thinks his appearance is “cool”. Because Dean is in a regressive state of mind.  

Despite all Dean’s progress in S14, in wrestling with, and expelling, the Ghost of John Winchester (represented by AU!Michael in his head), now, in the midst of apocalyptical stress and the recent re-loss of his mother, he is reverting back to the John Winchester script - emotionally harsh and closed off, a soldier. That is underlined by Belphegor’s deliberate appeal to that version of Dean. Notice Belphegor describes himself as “a good solider” (who just wants Hell back to the way it was) - a deliberate mirror for Goodsoldier!Dean from the past.  

Yes, Dean is still looking out for Sammy (injured by the God-gun) and still trying to hunt things and save people (i.e. stop the Hellmouth from blowing wide open) - both of these were always core parts of the Goodsoldier!Dean script his father drilled into him - but he’s barely able to function emotionally, most evident in his unreasonable behaviour towards Cas.

Ketch and Rowena’s flirting just felt like the most ridiculous shoe-horned in bit of unnecessary hetero-icing, although both actors played it for all it was worth.

It was left, as so often, to the set-dressing narrative, to signal that Dean is bi and likes “meat packing”. You don’t say. And, with Ketch in shot, there’s a subtextual reference to Dean’s own earlier history of hate-flirting with Ketch (before Ketch banged his Mom). The show, like Dean, is following an old (subtextual) script. I don’t know if that’s deliberately “meta” and we can look forward to a new script or not. But as you know, I’m a sceptic on full, unambiguous, textualisation. 

Wow Chuck, what an extra douch-bag, sending Kevin to Hell.

That’s a fascinating little detail, because the entire God-machine - Anubis weighing the deeds of the dead with his abacus - seemed at least to have a promise of Heaven for a life (on balance) of virtue, even if we know Heaven itself is a place where cruel torture can happen (Cas’ torture by Naomi). But, now, we learn Chuck breaks his own rules simply for apparently vengeful and petty reasons. He really is the villain of the piece. 

I’m not sold on Chuck being genuinely de-powered by the Hammurabi (revenge/ equaliser) gun. He made that thing, surely he calculated handing it to the Winchesters could get himself shot and he included a fix-it? 

However, I’m delighted to see Amara, the feminine God-principle, back in the narrative, here to call Chuck out for being “petulant” and “narcissistic”. 

Look at that detail of the Taj Mahal in the background - a monument to love lost. Which is significant because of the cosmic mirror Chuck/ Amara provide for the earthly one in the form or our heroes. 

Some US folks clued me in at the end of last season to the significance of Reno as US  “divorce capital”. 

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184580452909/chuck-and-reno

So here, we see Chuck and Amara getting “divorced” in Reno - a heavenly mirror for the TFW (Dean/ Cas) “divorce” already foreshadowed by the girls in 15x01 Back and to the Future discussing their parents’ divorce as they were attacked by Bloody Mary, but also earlier, by the break-up couple mirrors in 14x20 Moriah. 

Amara’s appearance also links to all the alchemical symbolism of S14.

If you followed my Jungian-themed S14 meta series,  you’ll know the show has been borrowing Jung’s re-working of medieval alchemical texts. Those texts used the mystical chemistry of trying to turn lead into gold as a metaphor for the soul’s journey to God. Jung suggested that journey could also be understood as a metaphor for the psyche’s journey towards self-integration. 

That fits perfectly with the Winchesters’ journey, which has always, in part, been about their struggle to emerge from the psychic trauma of their childhoods and the roles (Parent!Dean / Child!Sam - Good Soldier/ Rebel) which that trauma imprinted on them - mirrored on a cosmic scale by their supposed “fate” as the Michael and Lucifer vessels respectively. 

The narrative in S14 focussed a lot, in terms of Jungian and alchemical symbolism, on the encounter with The Shadow, which corresponds to the nigredo (blackening) stage in alchemy, and which means, in psychic terms, the confrontation with that which one has repressed (both positive and negative). 

 I’m sure @occamshipper​  will join me in being excited by Amara’s bright yellow suit. 

“Citrinitas” (or “yellowing”) is one of the stages in alchemy. It comes after the encounter with the Shadow (there’s a purification stage in between) and it represents the transitional stage before the final completion of the alchemical “Great Work” (lead to gold/ soul to God, achievement of psychic self-integration).

There is also, in alchemy, and in Jung, the related concept of The Sacred Marriage. This means, variously, the integration of the soul with Christ/ God, the conjoining of masculine and feminine principles in the psyche (we all have both, according to Jung) and from earlier paganism (and some forms of esoteric Christianity, particularly Gnosticism) the union of the God-principle and the Goddess-principle. The culmination of the Great Work. 

For now, of course, we have the opposite - the divorce of the God-principle, Chuck, and the Goddess principle, Amara, which foreshadows divorce amongst Team Free Will. But, as we wind round the final loop of the spiral narrative, we will return, I trust, to their union, externally and internally (which we’ve already witnessed on a Heavenly level in 11x23 Alpha and Omega).

We can understand Chuck and Amara as mirrors for the masculine (John Winchester) and feminine (Mary Winchester) imagos (images in the mind - not exact copies, but internal projections) within the psyches of their children, especially Dean (because he always had conscious memories of his mother, whereas baby-Sam was too little). Mary and Amara were of course, fundamentally linked in S11, as her return from the dead was Amara’s gift to Dean.

With Mary (apparently) violently killed again by a yellow-eyed supernatural being (Jack) Dean is “unbalanced” and the progress of his self-integration has been set back, hence his regression to the old John-script of Goodsoldier!Dean, mirrored on a cosmic level by the Chuck/ Amara “divorce”. 

Amara is essential to the end of the road, because as The Darkness (the destructive principle) she understands endings, unlike Chuck, for whom (as the creative principle) endings are “hard” (5x22 Swan Song). And because only by re-integrating the feminine principle (Mary Winchester, symbolising the softer “not performing” side of Dean) into the psyche can the Winchesters’ “Great (psychic) Work” be completed. Which is why I think we’ll see Mary Winchester herself again, before the end (you all know my spec by now that she was blasted into an AU by Jack, unbeknownst to him,  rather than killed).

So, despite Bucklemming’s clunky writing, we have a psychic road map (a regression and an old script to overcome) and another stage on the alchemical road towards FIN. 

[dailycharacteroption]

2nd Edition Pathfinder: My Thoughts part 3

Things I Don’t Like

 And so it begins. Today I’m going to look at the things that I just really do not like about P2E, things that have honestly killed my enthusiasm for the edition, at least until something comes along to reignite it. Some of these things are about the system itself, others are about how Paizo handled the buildup and release of the system.

 Honestly, aside from cantrips that actually scale with your level, giving you reliable yet low-power magic you can keep using all day (which they borrowed from 5th ed), I really do not like the magic system in P2E. The reason being is that not only did they also borrow the “use higher level slots to cast better versions of the same spell” thing from 5th ed, but they also made it worse by making it that you cannot do so freely. You actually have to learn the better versions of past spells to cast heightened versions unless you’re a prepared caster like a wizard. And no, learning a higher level version does not automatically give you access to all the lower level versions either. The game tries to offset this by letting spontaneous casters take a handful of signature spells they can use freely at any level they can cast, but for all other spells, it’s pretty much a waste to pick a heightened version of a spell when other spells that are actually of that level exist. The only times it makes sense is how they used spell heightening to consolidate long strings of related spells, like summoning spells (which they then split among individual creature types) and polymorph (similarly split, but completely lobotomized into a few basic forms). I’ll take spells that progressively get better based on my progress in the class, thank you, it feels like my character’s study into the mystic arts actually pays off, rather than just “pour more juice into the spell for a bigger boom.”

And while we’re at it, the fact that every true spellcasting class is a 0-10 caster now kinda fucks with what we understand of how much dedication goes into a casting class vs what they get out of it. Bards are supposed to be dilettantes, not true masters of the occult. Heck, the fact they get occult casting doesn’t even bother me. It’s neat, actually! But suddenly bards can, at sufficient level of mastery, cast a wish-equivalent? Let’s face it, bards get full casting because they wanted to show off a non-sorcerer class that got occult casting and they didn’t want to include the psychic this early. For that matter, how does this effect other classes that were partial casters before? What shall we do when they decide to implement the magus class, hmm?

They tried to fix that a little by giving certain minor casters like paladins “focus spells” instead, representing magical power that pales in comparison to true casters. Of course, they also consolidated other magical abilities of certain classes this way too, or outright killed the spellcasting of certain classes (ranger).

 Moving on, there are a good handful of places where the organization of the core rules just doesn’t make any sense. For example, I can accept that you’re arbitrarily going to make certain magical class features into “focus spells” using the new focus system, but if those special focus spells are specifically meant for a single class with no overlap so far, why are they in the spell section instead of the class section along with the rest of class abilities? And why are half the equipment options divided among two different sections. Yes, I get that the second set is craftable stuff and magical treasures, but that means alchemical stuff, both the new alchemical bombs and extracts is now divided up between minor stuff available to everyone and the things an alchemist might have on them or brew themselves? That could have easily been in a different section.

And while we’re at it, I have a bone to pick with the crafting system in this game. They merged the old alchemist formula book with crafting, requiring you to know a formula in order to craft the item. And that’s fine and dandy for the class balance for an alchemist, but heaven forbid you be a carpenter that doesn’t know how to make a chair! Frankly it’s a clunky system that’s focused entirely on how the current Paizo staff wants you to use it and no other way.

Honestly that’s a big part of the negativity I have towards this system. Even 1st editions core book and bestiary combo felt more flexible than this. The rules lend themselves to a very basic and typical adventurer.

This user unfriendliness even can be found in the bestiary. First edition’s bestiary included rules for building your own monsters. Not so with Second Edition. No, you have to wait another while for them to publish Gamemastery Guide for those rules, nevermind if you GM on a budget. You’ll just have to wait longer for one of the SRD sites to update, and hope that you can clearly find all the rules with how those sites are sometimes organized.

Also minor nitpick with me, while it’s easy enough to adjunct the creature creation ritual rules to do so, the fact that the bestiary outright has text suggesting that players not be allowed to craft or purchase advanced constructs like golems is another example of user unfriendliness.

 Some choices were also kinda bizarre and not in keeping with the past edition. For example, the elemental bloodline for sorcerers in the past had these sorcerers wielding one of the four basic elemental damage types depending on which element they favored. Fire for fire, electricity for air, acid for earth, and cold for water. However, in P2E, it’s fire for fire, and bludgeoning damage for anything else. I get it, it represents actually blasting foes with that element instead of using an energy type, but… why? Suddenly three different elemental options have to worry about DR instead of energy resistance with their focus spells?

Another weird choice is found in the special materials section, particularly with the starmetal referred to in the previous edition as horacalcum, a coppery metal with unique effects on the flow of time. However, in second edition, they go with another spelling of the legendary metal, orichalcum. Why? Especially considering that Starfinder, which only has about 2 years seniority on P2E, still uses the horacalcum spelling, this is particularly nonsensical.

 Really this edition feels rushed, like even with the years of prep time they had for this, it really feels like they weren’t done with the book yet. Given that we’re already getting 5 pages of errata for the system months after initial release, with more on the way, I’d say that’s fairly accurate.

 Throughout the buildup to P2E, at least once in the various AMA’s, panels, and questionnaires that Paizo put on to promote the system, they assured us that since this is merely a transition to a new system, and not a “Some big event or apocalypse has changed everything” sort of scenario that we’ve seen in other games, that your player characters, if converted to the new system, “Will not notice” the change. And I get it, that’s just their way of saying that many things remain the same, the system’s interpretation of it has just changed.

That being said, I think an alchemist will notice when their serum that allowed them to turn into a bear, or vomit up a swarm of spiders to fight for them suddenly don’t exist anymore. I think rangers will notice that they no longer have spellcasting knowledge.

I get what they meant, and suspension of disbelief (or something related to that) on the part of the players is involved in processing the more drastic changes to classes and monsters alike, but that’s a far cry from that claim.

 While there are things that I enjoy about the new system, there’s too many things I don’t like to want to play it as anything other than an occasional dalliance. Tune in tomorrow for more of my thoughts on what P2E means for the blog!