I love the QSMP. Not only has it introduced me to many amazing international creators, it's also introduced me to the French and Brazilian community, who are so sweet, funny, and chaotic in their own unique ways. I love seeing fans sharing their culture and learning from one another, and I myself have learned a lot this past year. I think it's incredible how QSMP brings so many different people together – all of us united in our love and passion for this project and its goals.
But passion can often evoke strong emotions, and these strong emotions aren't always positive.
The past few months, I have seen multiple waves of hate, bad-faith generalizations of communities, and racist remarks directed at fellow fans – especially those who are part of the French / Brazilian community. This kind of behavior is inexcusable, and is in direct conflict with the mission of QSMP, which is to break language barriers and unite communities.
We are a global community with a variety of people from different backgrounds. Miscommunications may occasionally occur because of cultural differences and/or language barriers, but we should use these moments as opportunities to learn and engage with other people rather than assuming the worst about them and starting fights.
Although certain issues can be resolved with communication, sometimes it’s better to block and move on. Avoid spreading negativity or hate, and save yourself the headache of interacting with people who are just looking for someone to argue with.
No matter what community we're a part of or what languages we speak, we're all here to have fun. Please remember to be kind to each other. We have more in common than we have in conflict.
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Prompt 120
Lancer hasn’t been in the business for years. He’d long since retired, having enough to live comfortably, to finally go to college, and to slip away from the scene like a ghost. Or perhaps not like a ghost, apparently they liked to make a racket.
But he was getting increasingly concerned about one Danny Fenton. He didn’t want to assume anything of course, but it was increasingly obvious that something was very wrong. Something familiarly wrong, even if he himself was never a part of that side of things.
He tries to tell himself that it’ll all be fine, he’s out of that life after all. But he can only see a teen getting shot at so many times. Can only try to convince himself not to get back into exercising and practicing his shot. He can only see that teen come into his class exhausted and bruised so many times without helping however slightly.
But then the GIW happens. The city gets stolen into another dimension. Everyone got dosed with ecto, everyone is at risk. Danny is just a kid, who shouldn’t have to deal with this. Whose curled up in his home with his friends bandaged and bleeding green.
It seems it might be time to call his old fling. So here he was, tapping his foot as he looked out his window far too late at night while waiting for the phone to connect. It felt like forever before it did, but that only strengthened his resolve.
“Hey Slade, hope you remember me because I have information about something you’ll really want to know…”
(I misspelled and it corrected to fling instead of friend but i am keepin that in lmao)
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ellie learns how to draw, and, if she might say so herself, gets pretty damn good at it, especially faces. it helps her ground herself to see happy memories physically stare back at her from her sketch book, her walls, the fridge, and wherever else joel puts up her drawings. he loves all of them, even the very first ones that aren't much more than vaguely human scribbles.
the first year in jackson is a pain, and she spends most of it holed up in their house, drawing, painting (she has no idea where joel gets all the paint from and he refuses to tell her), and once they make it through their first winter together, she feels comfortable enough to show them to other people, too. mostly tommy and maria, and in a weak moment she even gifts them a drawing she made of them and their baby.
she's over at their house a lot, it's a lot more lived in and settled than theirs but they're working on it, and notices some actual pictures, the kind you take with a camera, decorating the living room. it's obvious that they're prized possessions, framed and front and center on the walls. a handful of them show maria and what must have been her family before the outbreak, others are newer. jackson does have some cameras saved for special events, and there are two pictures of them on their wedding day, and even one from a few days after the baby was born.
she doesn't think much of it until their second summer in jackson when she notices the way joel stares at the baby pictures and realizes that all he has to remember sarah by is the broken watch on his wrist. the only tangible memory and it's one of pain and death.
ellie mulls over it a lot, it keeps her up at night and while joel picks up on it, he doesn't press the issue when she refuses to talk about it, though she assures him she's fine.
it takes her another two weeks after her realization to catch tommy alone one afternoon with joel safely away on patrol, oddly nervous and unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask. eventually she manages to explain her idea and the positively soft, distantly heartbroken look he gives her makes her breath catch in her throat.
do you think he would be okay with it?
i think he would love it, sweetheart.
they sit together for hours in his kitchen, ellie is determined to make it look exactly right and urges tommy to not hold back his criticism if something isn't accurate, and by the end, they have missed dinner and her wrist hurts like hell, fingers stained with pencil lead and color, but her chest is brimming with a warm sense of accomplishment.
tommy gives her a frame and she wraps it as well as she knows how to. he insists that she gives it to him alone, but ellie draws him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she leaves and hides her smile in his chest when he presses a hesitant kiss to her hair. family, she realizes, is pretty damn great.
the waiting is the hardest part. she puts her gift on the coffee table and paces the living room for at least half an hour while she waits for joel to return from his patrol, switching between chewing her lips and biting her nails. by the time he finally walks through the door, she has almost convinced herself to abandon the whole thing and just pretend it never happened, but then joel's there, gaze immediately softening when he sees her, and suddenly she can't wait to give it to him. it's a pretty big frame and the best paper she owns, rivaling some of her larger paintings on actual canvas, and joel has to sit down to open it without running the risk of accidentally dropping it.
i hope you like it.
the quiet tremor in her voice makes him stop halfway through unwrapping it, but she just gestures for him to continue, rocking on her feet.
tommy helped.
when the last of the paper falls away and joel sees her work for the very first time, they both hold their breath at once, even the summer breeze stilling, air brimming with something neither of them have the words for.
joel is looking at a vibrant water color painting of sarah, face at a soft angle as she wonders at a small purple butterfly resting on her finger, hand raised in front of her, eyes and smile shining brighter than the sun, hair a shimmering cloud of brown and gold. a frozen moment in time, sarah forever fourteen, capturing the love ellie feels pouring out of joel whenever he talks about her, a wave of affection and distilled joy that makes her miss a person she has never known.
i thought you might want a happy memory of her to look at, too.
ellie points at his watch, broken glass fracturing the light falling in, hand shaking.
i hope it's okay that i- if you don't want it-
joel's arms are around her before she can finish, cutting off her stuttered attempts, frame safe on the table as he hugs her so tightly her feet lift off the floor and she clings to his neck, relief bringing air back to her lungs. he holds her with his face buried in her hair, and ellie only notices he is crying when she can feel a few stray tears run down her neck. when he sets her down again, eyes glassy even after he dries his cheeks, her knees buckle under his gaze. they're both bad with feelings, bad with words, love shown through touch and gestures, through don't forget to eat, i'll stay with you until you fall asleep, fresh cups of coffee left on his nightstand before she leaves for school, hands searching for each other in the crowd again and again and again, never letting go.
love brought to life by a painting of the daughter that taught him how to be a father, made by the one that helped him find his way back to the light.
thank you, ellie.
they both know it means i love you, too, sarah immortalized on their living room wall where the morning sun illuminates her face with every sunrise.
more rambles in the tags
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