#feel free to send some challenges though!! i love going down the rabbit hole

[6-degrees-of-keroro]

Dorohedoro is 2 degrees away from Keroro Gunso

Todd Haberkorn and Takehito Koyasu voice Asu (dub) and the Melting Sorcerer from Dorohedoro respectively

Todd Haberkorn and Takehito Koyasu voice Keroro (dub) and Kururu respectively

#thank u anon for the easy ones LOL #feel free to send some challenges though!! i love going down the rabbit hole #6 degrees of keroro #under 6 degrees #request #keroro gunso #sgt frog #dorohedoro

[sailorsol]

I went and saw Frozen II on Saturday with a friend, and since then I’ve been unpacking a lot of feelings about it. I enjoyed the movie a lot, and I think I not only like it better than the first one, but it may be in my list of top favorite Disney movies. There were some absolutely silly moments (I laughed so hard I was crying during the power ballad), but there were also some really... amazingly deep moments.

Things I adored, in short form:

1. The little girl asking for a sextant. 2. Elsa’s little nod of approval during Charades. 3. All of the captain’s reactions during Olaf’s recap of the first movie. 4. The power ballad. I mean, seriously. 5. Two sides of a bridge. 6. The next right thing. 7. Anna validating Olaf’s right to feel angry. 8. “I’m here, what do you need?” 9. The guards supporting Anna once she explains herself, no more questions asked. 10. The delightful relief Kristoff has that Elsa is okay. 11. Kristoff’s reindeer buddy. 12. The choice made at the end.

Unpacking things further...

This movie felt a lot more mature than the first one. A lot more mature than many Disney movies. And I really liked that. Because this movie dealt so well with growing up and change and grief, and all of the complicated emotions that go with that.

I like that we see Elsa struggling to balance her own wishes and desires with the duty she has towards her people and her kingdom. How she knows what she has right now is good, but is it good enough? And she acknowledges the risk of going after something more, that she can lose all of this good that she has and not gain anything for it, but then makes the decision that she has to take that risk. I love the progression of her costume/appearance from the beginning of the first movie, when she’s wearing a high collar and long sleeves and gloves and her hair is in a tight bun, to the middle/end of the first movie, when we see her shedding layers of fabric and her hair is now in a loose braid, and by the end of this second movie, her hair is completely loose and she’s wearing minimal layers and no shoes and is finally free.

I like that one of the major motifs of the movie was about change, about how scary it can be, but also how there are some things in our life that won’t change even when everything else does. That change is hard, and it hurts, and sometimes you hurt the people you love in the process of finding yourself. That Anna validated Olaf’s anger at Elsa means a lot, especially since Olaf is very much painted as being a member of their family. You are allowed to be hurt by the actions of others, there is nothing wrong with feeling that way.

But a caveat on emotions that Kristoff did an amazing job of portraying; you are allowed to be hurt by the actions of others, but those are your emotions to deal with and sort through. For all that his power ballad is absolutely hysterical, what it is really about is his attempts to sort through his own feelings of betrayal and what that means about his relationship with Anna. So when he does meet up with her again, there isn’t an argument, he’s not accusing her of anything, literally the first thing he says to her is “I’ve got you, what do you need?” And that is such a powerful display of his love for her, the ideal of a relationship.

And Anna’s growth throughout the movie. At the beginning, she is still a child, in a lot of ways. As far as she’s concerned, everything is perfect and straight forward--she has her family, and her country is safe and happy, and life is perfect. But then we see her take on more responsibilities, more challenges. We have the scene where she essentially plays Big Sister to Elsa, putting her to sleep. We have her refusal to allow Elsa to go on her own, because Elsa promised they would face their challenges together. No matter how big or scary. She literally runs into fire after her sister, because she won’t leave her to do this alone, but she also pulls Elsa back from chasing after the rock giants because they still have a duty to their people. And her hurt and betrayal when Elsa sends her and Olaf away...

Which of course brings us to The Next Right Thing. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve listened to that song since Saturday. It is... a perfect summary of one of my favorite tropes. “This grief has a gravity, it pulls me down.” Anyone who has lost someone close to them knows this feeling, the weight of grief. And figuring out how to pick yourself up off the floor, not for anyone else, but for yourself. And it’s not easy, but it’s okay to take it just one step, one step more, one decision at a time because it hurts too damn much to look any further than that. But what choice do you have? Things change, but that doesn’t stop the world from going on, that doesn’t excuse you from doing the Next Right Thing.

This is a character trait I see in so many of my favorite characters. I’ve been way down the Star Wars rabbit hole recently, namely the Clone Wars (though Mandalorian hit me hard too), and I think this is the defining trait of my favorite character there. Obi-Wan has lost so much, been knocked down so many times, but he always gets back up to do the Next Right Thing.

That is the moment Anna becomes the queen. It’s not when she’s crowned later. She wasn’t even particularly thinking about that in the moment. She was thinking that she still had a duty, not only to the people of Arandelle, but to the people of the forest too. She knew her sister had sacrificed her life so that Anna would know the truth, and now Anna had to act on that truth, even knowing it likely meant the destruction of her home and the last ties she had left to Elsa. But it was the right thing to do, so she did it. And while the guards initially tried to stop her, they listened to her, they believed that she understood the consequences of her actions but had already reached the conclusion that it needed to be done anyway. No arguing, no dismissing her as a silly girl, no questioning her authority to make that decision.

So yes, when Elsa made the choice to stay in the north, it was easy at that point. Because Anna was already the queen of Arandelle. Because Elsa wasn’t abandoning her people--in some ways, she was accepting a duty to a new group of people that she never knew about. But here was her chance to finally be herself, in every way that it meant, but still do the best thing for everyone involved. That Elsa finally understood what it meant about not going too deep into the river, that she finally understood what Anna had tried to tell her about being everything for everyone. Because sometimes giving everything of yourself will kill you. Was it wrong that she kept digging for the truth? No, not necessarily. But it came with a price, and it Changed Things, and there was no going back from that moment.

I don’t want another sequel, but I do hope we get a couple of shorts at least, of Elsa visiting Anna for Charades night, of Anna and Kristoff going to visit Elsa, of something years down the road where Anna is singing the song to her own daughters so they understand the importance of it all.

I could go on, I’m sure, but... it all boils down to the fact that there were a lot of raw, realistic emotions in this movie, and it pinged on a lot of my favorite tropes and character traits, and while this story couldn’t be told without the first one being told, I still thing this one was better than the first.

#disney #frozen 2 #fandom #meta #fandom feelings #storytelling

[thatyanderecritic]

Hey we saw the ask Kai answered about XOBD. As things are, if you do post about the full game we’re gonna have to assume it was stolen and can’t let that pass. It's not cool. If the game has no value to you, please do something else instead. If it was a joke, that’s not great either. It could still make others think it’s okay to pirate the game. If you didn’t mean harm and want to make that known, feel free to message us. If you had talked to us we could’ve tried to get you an actual review copy

@gb-patch

I’m trying to control myself from being a sarcastic piece of shit but honestly, this ask didn’t put me in a good mood. So I’m just going to get my humor out of the way so I can be serious here: “Bold of you to assume that people would pirate your game.”

Firstly, my comment about pirating the game was a joke. 

And no, I’m not going to apologize for it since it was an obvious joke for a question that was barely even seen or linked on our masterlist. It took me 30 minutes to even find the post since tumblr is a god forsaken app. That being said, I know damn well the reason why you’re bringing up this passing comment was because I didn’t give your game a stellar “review” on my first impression piece. I’m pretty sure that it started with one person on your team seeing that post, reading it and getting salty over it, thinking: “This isn’t a fair judgement. It still a demo. That’s just nick-picking.” Ect ect. Maybe send it to someone else you’re close to on the team (who isn’t busy at the time) so you can gripe about it together. Either way, someone jumped down the rabbit hole that is our blog to valid your thoughts going “This blog doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They’re picky.” Whatever. Obviously you checked out if we made any other post about your game first (since that’s the most important thing here) and saw that I answered that question. Still salty from the not so great review, you picked up and over thought about a joke made on a random anon question. “*scoff* They don’t take our game seriously.” > “If they don’t like our game this might be an actual threat.” Not only over thought, this was an easy to “call us out” and take the high moral ground. It’s not that hard to think in the other perspective here. If I made a game and I saw not so stellar review on it, I would most likely do the exact same thing. But unlike you, I would address the review since that’s was the post causing my problem and not go at a different angle to make the reviewer look bad. Though, I have to admit, clever rat tactics to you good sir/miss/mx. I tip my hat to you for trying to put me in an ethical/moral checkmate.

And please, spare me about the pirating issue. With or without the joke, people are going to pirate. If it’s something illegal, pirates sure as hell don’t care about opinion much less a joke about pirating. And let me tell you about pirates… if they were pirating your game, they were never planning to buy the game or even planning the game for that matter. It’s the simple case of “You have to pay for this? No thanks, I rather pass… oh wait, it’s free?! Never mind, I’ll take it even though I was never interested.” And of course the other half of pirates are 13 year olds who don’t have access to their mom’s credit card. More often than not, the people who buy your game are the people who genuinely want to play the game while the pirates could give less of a shit (unless they’re kids with no credit cards). It’s not what most game dev thinks would happen when there’s a pirated version. If a person is gonna pay, they’re gonna pay. If a person won’t pay, they’ll never buy the game unless it’s free. How do I know? I was 13 once, with no mommy’s credit card. Quite frankly, pirating is a pain since downloads aren’t easy to find and you have a higher chance in bricking your laptop than actually playing the game. It’s way easier to just buy and most people do if they want to play a game their interested in. The minute I got my own money, I started paying for my own shit and haven’t pirated since. Really, game devs shoot themselves in their own foot by putting a spotlight on pirating and alerting everyone “Hey, my game has a leak/easy to leak.” What more, just like how people say “don’t feed a troll”: don’t challenge a pirate. A pirate loves nothing more than to see people salty. By making this ask, you’re the one encouraging pirates to pirate your game. Literally going against the point of this ask. Congrats, you played yourself.

Don’t even bother about the review copy of your game. I have my integrity being a critic. It’s one thing if a follower or a fan of our blog offers to buy us a game to review but it’s an entirely different thing when the game developers send a review copy. That’s shady and puts us in a moral dilemma of “we should give a nicer review because they made an exception for us.” YOU are having benefits by sending a copy. It’s free advertising and basically bribing for a nice review. It may work for other critics, but not here. We will only consume the same media as any other consumer to give an even leveled review. Save your words that “if you give us a copy, it’ll be the same as everyone else.” It may be the case but the fact you gave us a review copy will lose our credibility. It’s basically like a company sponsoring a youtuber. If they gave that youtuber free shit, of course they won’t say anything bad about it; meaning it’s not an entirely truthful review. But if we were to give a bad review and be brutally honest, then we look like a bunch of mutts who bites the hands who provide to them. Either way, it’ll be your win and our loss.

I was already planning to buy Blood Droplets to not only review but legitimately enjoy myself but honestly, fuck that now. Going to a store to buy bread just to be called a thief by the cashier right when I’m handing over the money doesn’t encourage anyone to buy your shit. Though I’ll admit, a part of me wants to buy the game so I can spread pictures around of my receipt and say “Does this look like a pirate to you?” You want me to post some pictures around that I also downloaded your free demo from your itch.io page (do you really think I would go to a third party site for a free demo???) for my first impressions post too? But honestly, I’ll look like a clown if I do that 🤡 I don’t know what I’ll do about your game yet. If you see my receipt floating around on tumblr during your full game launch, you’ll see that I made up my mind.

#answer #xoxo blood droplets #xoxo droplets #pirating

[wings-of-a-storm]

Guys, there has been so much good discourse about Martino’s season on here! So much so that it is hard to think of anything left uncovered. Still, in these long days since the season ended, I’ve found myself swimming in thoughts when watching certain clips.

I used to be blocked from the tag this post might not even make it in (cheers Tumblr) and was never able to really offer up my own thoughts at the time, but I’ve been writing some stuff down finally. So if any of you are interested in going back down the rabbit hole with me and immersing yourself in the artistic genius that is Skam Italia, then here goes with my first (of hopefully several) deep dives.

SKAMITA DIVE NO.1

To this day, there is one clip that I both love and hate watching -- to the point of never knowing which sensation is going to win out. Naturally I must take a deeper look at it to figure out why it has such power over me.

That clip is Ammucchiate (3.5).

So many things about this clip fascinate me. Seriously. So many things. In this essay I will look at:

1A) The Couch Scene. I seriously love/hate this clip. The whole tone felt like a departure from the og (and that isn’t a bad thing, it just raises very different emotions in me). In fact, it feels like the whole point of the couch scene was changed in Skam Italia. It makes for very interesting viewing.

1B) Niccolò’s emotions. Ie. how very differently Niccolò reacts to Emma compared to what I was used to with Even. I love a character study.

2) The supreme UST going on between Niccolò and Martino.

3) How the absence of Earl Sweatshirt references both changes and doesn’t change Martino’s interaction with Emma (and infatuation with Niccolò).

TONE REVERSAL OF THE COUCH SCENE

What absolutely fascinates me is how the whole tone (and perhaps point) of the couch scene felt reversed in Italia. In og, it felt like Isak had a fairly therapeutic experience with Even on the couch, but Martino’s experience with Niccolò felt rather unpleasant. It was such an interesting divergence!

Let me explain. In og, Even’s conversation with Emma about labels was so important for Isak to hear. This new perspective on the ‘gay’ label coming from a wise older boy whom Isak admires would have helped with some of Isak’s internalised homophobia (with the added benefit of showing Isak that even if Even was actually straight and Isak had just imagined his chemistry with him, Isak could still trust Even not to judge him). All up, it felt like a pretty positive moment for Isak on that couch. The way he listened so intently to Even’s wisdom was gorgeous.

In Italia though, Niccolò ended up using the debate with Emma as a vehicle to test Martino’s sexuality -- in a way that put so much pressure on Martino and came across as almost shaming him for being in the closet. It felt like Niccolò was maybe trying to tell Martino 'I know you're not as straight as you like to appear' while testing his reaction to make sure his hunch was right. But it felt so unkind to do that to Martino in front of Emma. Was Niccolò just so pressed that Martino was giving Emma attention, he tried to force the truth from Martino? To get Martino to admit that Emma was just a smokescreen, so Nico could feel better about his chances? It was so uncomfortable to watch, whatever the reasoning…

I mean, boy can you see the differences in Isak and Martino’s faces: Isak engaged in a healthy new perspective VS Martino disconnecting in discomfort:

I really didn’t like the way Niccolò was pushing Marti and even smirking at him, but I’d be lying if I said the changes to the tone of the scene didn’t fascinate me. If I had to sum it up, I’d suggest that in Italia, it feels like the couch scene was meant to be less about helping Martino deal with his internalised homophobia and more about being one long set of UST challenges between Niccolò and Marti. Or rather, Niccolò trying to challenge Marti (pick me not Emma!) and Marti not giving into him. That, and Niccolò being unable to contain his jealousy.

Let’s start with the jealousy.

NICCOLO & HIS EMOTIONS

Subjective fact: Even is cool and collected when dealing with Emma.

Subjective fact: Niccolò is a jealous force to be reckoned with when dealing with Emma.

For a clip that ticked off all the important scenes from og, it couldn’t be more apparent how different Niccolò is to Even in this clip. In og, Even catches Emma (who is very obviously immature) falling into the danger of making generalisations and draws her into a polite debate. He remains very calm and collected through it, so it comes across as him intrinsically wanting to call her out on a troubling mindset (one that would affect Isak) and show her a different perspective. (With the bonus of proving to Isak how much cooler he is than her.)

In Italia, Niccolò heard Emma make a generalisation and just kind of pounced on her. The tone he uses and the look he gives her is of such irritability. The shift in his emotions felt so immediate; he was ready to cut her down and even got into battle position. It kind of felt like he was pouncing on her for the sake of pouncing on her -- ie. the debate he instigated became an outlet for some of the bitterness he had been harbouring towards her as his rival. In other words, their debate felt more about him than about sending Martino any secret message.

I mean that “Hm” before getting into battle position! It was such a ‘hold my gloves’ moment. I was preparing to duck for cover because he seemed so pressed! At the time I was just like: Woah, my son, I know Emma said something dumb but this is not the way to call her out on it -- you’re escalating the situation instead of having a healthy discussion! But now I think it was a really clever way to demonstrate how Niccolò handles emotions/how his BPD might amplify his emotions/how mercurial he can be.

OR - because there are too many goddamn ways to interpret someone's reactions - was Nico trying to defend Marti? He knows (or hopes) Marti is in the closet and generalisations/labels like that from Emma would give Marti a harder time. Was Nico just being: YOU KNOW NOTHING, JON SNOW to her? Less likely since Nico added his own jab at the end, but possible.

Side note: I have to confess that even though Nico being a bit of an ass makes me uncomfortable, his ‘why the hell are you still here’ look when Emma keeps talking remains one of my favourite Nico expressions of the season. It makes me laugh every time. (That, plus going all Moses/red sea on them was A+.)

But why was Nico pushing Marti so much on the couch? Oh let me analyse you, complex clip of wonder.

MARTINO AND NICCOLO: THE ‘UST’ PUSH AND PULL

It kind of feels like Niccolò’s continual challenging of Martino’s self-image and sexuality on the couch was a way for Ludo to keep upping the ante of their UST and make us anticipate whether they were going to actually do something about it. The clip is called Ammucchiate/accumulate, after all. It felt at times like Niccolò was pushing Martino, daring him to drop Emma for him: ‘I know you aren’t straight, why are you bothering with her when you can have me?’ But Martino kept pulling back and standing his ground. And that became their alternating push and pull dance all night.

Let’s rewind for the full UST experience: Niccolò arrives at the party and basically hands Maddelena over to the girl squad so he is free to go find Martino. You can see the sly dog knew exactly where Martino was (did you see how quickly his head turned not just in the exact direction but to the exact friggen degree!). Here is where interpretations can get murkier though -- from that distance and with  Martino’s reflective glasses, it isn’t clear whether they actually make eye-contact (from Nico’s perspective, at least) before Martino grabs Emma and kisses her. Still, Martino suddenly launching himself at Emma wasn’t exactly subtle. It was a tad over the top, so surely Nico would have been at least a little suspicious?

It would mean that Niccolò has to decipher Martino’s actions though. Is it Martino just in the closet, trying to play the straight guy in front of everyone (this is coming off the cold reception Niccolò got in front of Martino’s friends earlier in the week, after all); is it Martino using Emma to prove to Niccolò that he isn’t some pathetic loser pining after him (but actually is); or is it Martino genuinely into Emma? Because although there had been chemistry between Nico and Martino, there might have been with Emma as well when Nico wasn’t around. Like ‘You were an option, Nico, but so was Emma and I’ve chosen her because you have a girlfriend’.

Nico would be hoping it is everything but the latter but the only way to find out would be to: A) get them to stop kissing (obviously the number one priority!) and then B) test Martino the first chance he gets.

So he goes straight to them and comes up with a line and excuse (karaoke -- but with all three!) to get them to stop kissing (because hell no!). And just in case the line isn’t enough, he enacts his fail-safe plan: physically separating them with his own body. I love that he was so thirsty for Martino (and perhaps territorial?), he also found excuses to actually touch his thigh, put his arm around him, do the eyebrow wiggle, and pat his shoulder on two separate occasions. What a pro. He does something similar in Halloween and you bet I’ll be doing another post on that because I looooove it.

The problem is Marti is standing firm on the anti-karaoke thing. And somehow this annoys Nico? You can see there was little mirth when Nico more or less accuses Marti of internalised homophobia/being in the closet (even though Nico tried to disguise it towards the end).

Did Marti’s refusal touch a nerve for Nico because he genuinely wanted to do karaoke with Marti and bond with him (and shut Emma out somehow in the process)? Did Nico panic a bit because it felt like Marti was pulling away from him instead of being up for anything like he was used to Marti being? Or was Nico just starting to feel irritable in general because of Emma’s presence and was losing his patience with the grey area between him and Marti? So he started to push Marti to get answers and didn’t stop at the in-the-closet accusations, going on to basically call Marti gay to his face. Nico seemed so smug after seeing Marti’s reaction to the ‘boring gay’ comment, like: ‘Gotcha! You are into me!’

I’m trying to figure out why Nico was pushing Martino so darn hard though. Did he think he would never stand a chance against Emma while Marti is in the closet so he needs to push Marti out of it? Or was he just being gelosa in culo because he was worried that Marti might actually have feelings for Emma and it’s easier to pick the pretty girl than the impossibile guy? So his jealousy got the better of him?

Of course, there is one other possibility. Nico might not have been annoyed-annoyed; he could have been concerned that Marti might have been rejecting a fun activity out of fear. In that case, his calling Marti out on that fear might have been him trying to help Marti be himself.

Either way though, Nico seemed to be challenging Marti on that couch to give up the pretense (and pick him).

But Niccolò’s meddling efforts are for nothing because the two of them leave him to dance together anyway. Nico lost the unspoken challenge he threw out to Marti (admit you’re not straight and drop Emma for me). I love the brutal shot of them walking away from Nico in favour of spending time without him. You really feel that sting as he sits alone on the couch. (He kind of deserved it though...)

The lost challenge means that Nico has to watch Martino and Emma make out AGAIN on the dance floor though. And he is so over it. His stare was so fierce! I can’t even tell where his jealousy at watching Martino kiss Emma ends and his ‘one day I am going to kiss you like this’ determination begins.

But Marti doesn’t stop kissing Emma despite their mutual eye-f---ing. He and Marti are having a thing but it’s a stalemate, so once again Nico is kind of losing. It’s incredible that we actually get to see the effect Martino kissing Emma has on him (which was missing in the og); how he and Maddelena actually stopped kissing because Nico was so vexed/upset/distracted. (I wonder if his insecurities were flaring up here: that maybe in the end he just isn’t good enough for Marti.)

Their mutual staring was obviously the peak of their UST/challenging-each-other game and I have come to accept that the dark lighting was a good choice to emphasise that tension/seduction. I still can’t get over Nico’s laser-beam stare or how Marti was the one to start the whole thing.

But then their lust battle is interrupted by Silvia’s Parental Crisis. And surprise surprise, Nico finds a way to get close to Martino again -- he just happens to be close by when Marti needs help carrying the garbage bags out. What a coinkydink.

So hallelujah and small mercies, it is finally just the two of them outside. Nico can try to breach that distance between them and, you know, try and bring back their flirty dynamic to deal with all the intense UST. But how to start that process? The best Nico can think of is an “Elio~” tease. That will break the ice and give Nico a chance to explain about Maddelena -- that their relationship isn’t working anymore (for him at least). But he can’t leave her... (Side note: I love how personally affronted Marti seems at that, like it should have been a done deal even though he and Nico aren’t actually together.) There is no way Nico can explain to Marti why he can’t leave Maddelena though; there is no way Marti can ever know about Nico’s BPD. The best he can do is disguise both of those truth bombs as a joke.

But the silly story/projection of his own fears ends and Nico is still stuck at square one. The distance has lessened but it’s still not where Nico needs it to be. He needs to find the courage to make a move before he loses this window of opportunity.

What could test the waters while making it obvious how Nico feels about Marti? A gentle stroke of his pinky. It’s innocent enough to explain away if things go wrong, but if it goes right, it can lead to more.

And it does go right. And Marti’s lips move into that brief pout as if he is subconsciously asking for a kiss. So finally, finally, after all that pushing and pulling all night, Nico can lean in to kiss him like he has been wanting to for so long. And Marti is smiling back at him; he wants it too. It is the best feeling.

Until reality intrudes again and they don’t get a catharsis to the UST. But it’s okay -- because at least Nico knows now that Marti is definitely into him. That will be enough for him until they can be alone again…

End challenge battle. Until Halloween.

But guuuuys, he chose a gentle pinky touch! After all the mean jabs on the couch and intense laser-beam staring on the dance floor, he goes for the sweetest, most softest thing. It stands out so much; like under all the bravado and lusty stuff, this is the precious, fragile emotion that was hiding.

I used to feel conflicted about how abrasive things felt at the party, but maybe it actually works if it helps emphasise the softness of the beautiful pinky-touching moment.

Before I leave this Ammucchiate analysis behind though, there is just one more change in the couch scene that I had thoughts on: how the lack of NAS/Earl Sweatshirt references does and doesn’t change Martino’s interaction with Emma (and infatuation with Niccolò).

ONE LAST CHANGE: MIA EARL SWEATSHIRT

In the og, my favourite part of the couch scene was actually Isak and Emma talking about NAS (yes, I liked it over the Even stuff even). I loved that it made Even present; that Even was there between them on that couch long before he physically joined them. That Even was always on Isak’s mind; that that was how much he had affected Isak. Because of course Isak had never heard of NAS before that day in Even’s bedroom, yet suddenly it was his favourite artist and how could Emma not know of his music? Isak wants to like what Even likes; it means they are connected. So even though Isak is trying to bond with Emma, it is still all about Even in the end.

I relate SO MUCH to that. I have done exactly that in my high school days. It felt like such an insightful demonstration of what being infatuated with someone can be like.

So when Marti and Emma were discussing their musical interests on the couch in Italia, I was disappointed (at first) that Marti didn’t nominate Earl Sweatshirt. I was waiting for his full blown infatuation to show, for Nico to be present without being present. But no, Marti stuck to his long-term favs (kudos to that, actually) and Emma knew who those artists were. Because she is also different to her og character and has far more in common with Marti than og Emma did. That ups the stakes for poor Nico and presents her and Marti as a potentially compatible couple.

I realised I liked that Ludo makes these small changes to make his characters different people. Sure it was a shame that I couldn’t have my ‘Nico is present without being present and that is typical infatuation’ moment, but Marti basically being on the lookout for Nico fulfilled a similar vibe and--

OH THAT’S RIGHT. Ludo was keeping it for another episode where it would actually HURT. (We can’t have nice things. What’s the fun in that? They always have to hurt!)

I’m of course referring to Marti listening to Earl Sweatshirt on his way to school in Assenze (6.1). AFTER Nico had broken up with him. AFTER he had caught Nico kissing his supposedly ex-girlfriend as if Marti meant nothing. AFTER feeling betrayed by Nico. AFTER a week of depression and self-imposed isolation.

I mean, wow. After all that, Earl Sweatshirt was Martino’s musical comfort; the artist that helped him find the nerve to get out of his house and back to school. I know Isak also used Even’s NAS to go back to school (such an iconic scene), but unlike og, we didn’t even know if Marti liked Earl Sweatshirt or bothered listening to him after Nico’s lounge-room introduction.

That is of course until we hear Marti listening to him after Nico broke his heart. And if that doesn’t pack a punch...

Like, had Marti been listening to Earl Sweatshirt all week? Had Marti actually been lying in bed, listening to Earl Sweatshirt songs because he so desperately wanted to feel connected to Nico? Because he wasn’t ready to let him go? Because he was missing him so much despite everything? And that is when he started to really connect with Earl Sweatshirt’s music to the point of using it to steel himself to go back to school?

My heart just cannot take this.

So yeh, I’m fine now that Earl Sweatshirt wasn’t referenced in Ammucchiate, but rather saved up for lethal detonation later on (I’m such a masochist, ugh).

And yes, another reason why we didn’t really need an Earl Sweatshirt reference in Ammucchiate is because technically we can claim a role reversal: that Marti was the one ever-present on Nico’s mind  because he came to the party in a Marti/Marty McFly-esque outfit. I was well fed and I didn’t even know it.

So that takes me to the end of my thoughts on Ammucchiate. I didn’t mean for it to get so long, but if you’ve read this and have your own thoughts please do let me know. :)

#Skam Italia #SkamIta S2 thoughts #Nicotino #my need to overanalyse must be stopped #this is seriously long son #Skamita deep dive #martino rametta #niccolò fares

[welllpthisishappening]

Hi, it's writer appreciation day and I just wanted to remind you that you're absolutely fantastic and I live for your writing. I always look forward to your posts and I am so mad that tumblr never gives me notifications when you update because I literally want to read everything you write, including your tags. You're wonderful and I could live in your Blue Line universe, all your Yankee!Killian universes and YPLAG universe, fuck, just all of your universes. I love them all. Seriously. Much love~

HELLO YOU ABSOLUTE DELIGHT AND MY FAVORITE!! So I don’t know if you know this, internet, but Ro and I are genuinely in love. It’s real. It’s true. CAPITAL LETTERS TRUE LOVE. I cannot tell you what Ro’s friendship has meant to me and she is the reason Blue Line got finished and the reason The PyeongChang Triple happened which means she’s THE REASON Matthew David Jones exists and she’s willing to join me down this Tyler Seguin rabbit hole. Look at him! LOOK AT HIS FACE! Anyway, nothing I write would be anything without @distant-rose to let me flail at her and send her snippets that are just walls of text. 

Earlier today we were talking about Matthew Jones (as we are apt to do) and talking about him getting his first tattoo and, like, this was real nice, so, uh, here’s some words Ro.

It hurt like hell.

A fact he was quick to point out – several dozen times, each one getting louder and more yelpier than the last and that was totally a word Lizzie came up with while she was doing a pretty pitiful job of not laughing in Matt’s face. And Peggy was doing enough laughing for all of them.

Combined.

For, like, the entire world combined.

“MD, this was your idea,” she said, another repeat and more laughter and Matt was pretty positive even the tattoo artist was starting to chuckle a bit under his breath.

“That’s why he’s so mad about it,” Lizzie mumbled. “It does something weird to his brain when he’s not right about every single thing in the world. He doesn’t know how to cope.”

Peggy appeared to be cackling.

“Mar, I swear, if you don’t shut up—“

“—You’ll what, MD? Please, tell me what you could possibly do. From Boston, that I’m going to find so intimidating.”

“Don’t you have something else to do?”

She shook her head, smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Not a single thing. I legitimately cleared my schedule for this.”

“What does that say about you?”

“Probably a lot of things I don’t want to acknowledge,” Peggy admitted, eyes flitting towards a clearly amused Lizzie. “You’ve got to stop shaking the phone though, Lizzie, it’s making me dizzy and Mom and Dad are going to know something is going on if Iike…I get vertigo or something.”

“You are sitting down, Margaret,” Matt seethed. He hissed in his breath when the needle passed over what appeared to be the single most sensitive piece of skin on his entire body, and both his sister and his cousin rolled their eyes in practiced tandem.

“Should we point out again that this was genuinely your idea, Mattie?” Lizzie asked. “And you researched this.”

“Almost too much,” the tattoo artist mumbled, and Peggy nearly fell off her bed in New York. Matt groaned. That didn’t have anything to do with the needle.

“Mar, seriously, I’m going to tell Mom and Dad about that time you nearly pushed Chris in front of a cab on Astor Place.”

Peggy stopped laughing immediately. Lizzie cursed under her breath. “Shit, Mattie,” she mumbled. “That’s intense.”

“And patently untrue,” Peggy added. “I refuse to agree that. I didn’t try to push him in front of a cab—“

“—Ehhh,” Matt interrupted. “He was pretty bruised and battered.”

“That’s not true either! Also, he was like six and really enjoyed running away from us and we weren’t supposed to be there!”

Matt widened his eyes, like that answered that, but then the needle moved again and it felt like his entire body was on fire and possibly drowning and he’d take being checked eight-thousand times, directly under the shoulder blades, if this ended quicker.

“God, you’re seriously the world’s biggest wimp,” Lizzie sighed. “Also can someone explain to me why you three were sneaking onto Astor Place and letting Chris run in front of cabs?”

Peggy growled, low and threatening and that was almost more intimidating than whatever the hell the needle in his arm was doing because Matt was well acquainted with that sound. It usually ended with her finding a stick and hitting him, no less than, six times in the ankles. On both feet.

“That’s not what happened,” Peggy promised. “MD is a giant liar who is totally overreacting about the pain of a tattoo in a normal tattoo spot that normal people get every day and worrying because he thinks Mom and Dad are going to be upset about this great, big enormous secret.”

“It’s a secret?”

“Again, because MD is an idiot.”

“And sitting right here,” Matt hissed, grumbling a string of words he’d learned during a particularly emotional game during that final Cup run and both Lizzie and Peggy whistled when they realized what he’d said. The tattoo artist looked confused. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “I know I’ve got to sit still.”

The tattoo artist hummed in agreement. Peggy had started laughing again.

“So, someone going to finish this story or should I hang up on you, Peg, and just go directly to the Chris-type source?” Lizzie asked archly.

“Oh my God, no, don’t do that either,” Peggy sighed. “He’ll just agree with MD on principle. The highlights—“

“—Or lowlights, as it were,” Matt interrupted, flashing his sister a smile when she flipped him off.

“Highlights,” she repeated. “It was like two days before Christmas, we kind of, sort of, didn’t get gifts for Mom and Dad, we didn’t want to go near Midtown and, well…it was crowded on Astor Place, Chris might have been hopped up on sugar.” She cut herself off immediately, head snapping towards Matt like she was challenging him to object and his smile felt as wide as it had since the needle had started pricking at his arm. It had to be almost over. “There was a lot of sugar involved,” Peggy continued. “And Chris was excited about Christmas and a tree and running and an almost run in with a cab. It was fine. He was fine. He just kind of—“

“—Fell over,” Matt finished. “In the street. A tourist nearly stepped on him.”

Lizzie looked equal parts stunned and horrified. “That’s the worst Christmas story I’ve ever heard.”

“We never guaranteed it’d be a good Christmas story.”

“What did you end up getting your mom and dad?”

Matt considered that for a moment, gaze flicking towards Peggy and she’d collapsed back on her bed at some point. “We got Dad a t-shirt jersey of his own jersey and Mom got some like…trading card thing of Dad that he signed for Steiner sports approximately twenty-thousand years ago.”

Lizzie laughed, shoulders shaking quickly enough that Matt was almost sure she didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping her right hand. “Wow, you guys suck as kids.”

“Ah, that’s not true,” Matt objected. “Something, something, it’s the thought that counts right?”

“And this is way better than any Christmas or birthday or anniversary gift we could have given them,” Peggy added. “Top-tier Jones Line sentimentality.”

“You’re not the one with a needle jabbing your skin, Mar.”

“And now neither are you,” the tattoo artist said, far too much joy in his voice, like he couldn’t wait for all of them and their very loud FaceTime call to get the hell out of his shop. “Done.”

Matt blinked. “Done?”

“Done.”

And, really, Matt knew his parents wouldn’t freak out about the tattoos. Or tattoo – singular, the first one, probably the first of man, but some of his earliest memories were his mom putting his dad’s wedding ring back on over the ink that wrapped around his left ring finger so he figured he was kind of free to do what he wanted.

But Peggy was right too and it was absurd and kind of sentimental and he hadn’t actually told anyone except Lizzie or Peggy he was thinking about doing it.

They didn’t notice at first.

That made sense too, his arms were covered by his jersey and he was on the ice more often than not and there wasn’t really time to come home during the season, but then it was the offseason and summer in New York refused to allow anything except short-sleeve shirts and it was only a matter of time.

As both Peggy and Chris kept muttering under their breath whenever Matt walked by them in the hallway for the few weeks he was home.

His dad saw it first. Figured.

“What is that?” he asked, sitting at the table in the kitchen with a mug in his hands and a pile of papers next to him that probably detailed the incoming rookies strengths and weaknesses.

Matt nearly tripped over his own feet. “What’s what?”

“Matthew.”

“Ah, you just…jumped right into serious, huh?”

He lifted his eyebrows, mouth set in a thin, straight line and he didn’t actually ever put the mug down. That felt more threatening. “Matthew,” his dad repeated. “What’s on your arm?”

“I feel like you already know the answer to that question.”

“And that’s a pretty God awful answer.”

“I figured you’d be cool about it.”

“I’m not uncool about it. I’m curious.”

Matt sighed, well acquainted with that tone of voice as well and he might have mumbled that’s not fair, hooking his foot around a free chair and sinking onto it with a distinct lack of grace. His dad peered at the ink on his arm, a string of black and he didn’t understand.

“Ok, ok, so I totally was going to tell you,” Matt started, already rushing over the words and there were few things he hated more than whatever his dad’s eyebrows did whenever he was trying to explain some sort of ridiculous situation. “But then I kept thinking about it and it’s honestly the dumbest thing I’ve ever done—“

“—I hate to tell you this, Matt, but it’s kind of tattooed on your body.”

“No, no, I’m not regretting the actual ink. I think that’s kind of cool, right?”

The eyebrows got higher. They defied gravity and the expectations of fatherhood. Matt tried not to slink in his chair.

“It’s kind of cool,” he mumbled. “And you’ve got ‘em, so…”

He trailed off, not sure he could finish that sentence without saying something else he’d regret and he probably wouldn’t if he just told his dad I kind of always want to be you, but neither one of them had actually finished their coffee yet. That felt like something to say while properly caffeinated.

“Anyway,” Matt continued. “I, um, I did a ton of research and talked to the artist about font choices and where to do it and it hurt like hell, but it’s—“

“—They’re coordinates,” his dad said suddenly, and Matt could almost hear the metaphorical light bulb. “Aren’t they?”

He nodded. “Yeah, uh, the longitude and latitude of the Garden.”

It took a moment to find enough room on the table for the coffee mug, and Matt wasn’t entirely prepared to be yanked across the kitchen floor in an actual kitchen chair, but his dad’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and caffeine was probably bad for him during the offseason anyway.

“I like it a lot.”

“Thanks,” Matt muttered.

“It hurt?”

“Like hell. Mar laughed the whole time.”

“Was your sister there?”

“You think Mar snuck to Boston to watch me get tattoos?”

“It honesty wouldn’t surprise me at this point. And there was a plural in there. Are there more than one?”

Matt shook his head, lungs feeling less pinched than they’d been a few minutes before and he grunted when Chris flew into the kitchen, jumping into his stomach and kicking both his legs in the process. “God, C,” he groaned. “Control your limbs.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” his dad laughed. “I think I still have bruises from you.”

“There’s only one tattoo.”

“For now.”

“Eh,” Matt shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it won’t hurt the second time around.”

“Next time you see Scarlet ask him how loud he yelled when we got the tattoos after the first Cup. I think there’s still video evidence of his inability to cope out there in the world.”

Matt laughed, tugging Chris further up onto the chair and it was only a matter of time before his mom showed up to remind them the chairs can’t hold that much body weight. “Can I get a tattoo, too?” Chris asked, two heads shaking in response and he, somehow, managed to kick Matt again.

“Wait a couple years, C,” Matt grinned, twisting to grab his dad’s coffee mug and grinning when he was met with a decidedly non-English curse. “Then we’ll talk."

#laura rambles #blue line rambles #cs ff #blue one one shots #blue line tumblr prompts #that's not really what this was #but for tagging sake #and the massive number of hockey related words i constantly spew at the internet #distant-rose

[imagine-it-ouran]

Secrets

Rating: PG13

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Trigger Warning: Self-harm, self-hatred, depression, anxiety.

Summary:  Kaoru knew what those wounds were from. How had he not been caught sooner? Why had it been Kaoru to find this out and not someone else? It might have hurt less if it had been anyone else. “Kaoru...”

Finally, a day off from school had come around. Kyoya could lay in bed all day and revert back to his usual state away from the public. He could sleep all day and blame it on being exhausted from a hard week in school and not from this crippling depression telling him there was no point in doing anything. The only thing that got him out of bed during the week was the overwhelming anxiety telling him he will never succeed and will amount to nothing if he didn’t just get out of bed and do his work in school. Of course, the anxiety still affected him during his days off, but he pushed it back into his brain and tried to just deal with it. Sometimes it was possible. Other times, not so much.

Today, however, the sun shone in through the blinds on his sliding glass door right next to his bed. He didn’t need the anxiety and stress to shake him awake. But whether he needed it or not, it still came around and poked at him like kids trying to wake an angry bear with a stick. A date had been scheduled today; a date between himself and his boyfriend, Kaoru. The one day he’d get to stay in bed and he couldn’t do that.

This always happened.

He’d make plans with someone and be happy with them. He would be excited, even, to go through with this plans later. But, no matter who it was these appointments were made with, Kyoya would dread them when the day came. It was like the eerie voice in his sick brain would tell him it would all go to shit and he might as well cancel. He might as well play like he was sick. But he couldn’t do that today. He couldn’t do that to this boy who seemed to be helping him a little. Kaoru was so good for him and he had no right to let Kaoru down like that.

So he sucked it up. Kyoya pulled himself out of bed, no matter how badly he just wanted to avoid everything by curling up under the sheets again. He had already woken up later than he was supposed to. It was already half past eleven and he had yet to shower and brush his teeth. Kyoya pulled it together, though, and he stalked down the steps in his room and to the dressers on the first level. The outfit he chose was blindly picked from the drawers, not much thought was given to them. Black pants with a casual button-up shirt. It was grey. Neutral and faded, even his clothes seemed to reflect the way he felt about the world. Indifferent and foggy.

After a hot shower and a poor attempt at making his hair look neater than the bedhead he had earlier, Kyoya grabbed his phone to see if he had gotten anything. Not surprisingly, he had. Texts from Tamaki, mostly, but one text from Kaoru that was sent at nine. It was simple; a good morning text similar to every other good morning text he had received from this new love of his. If you could even call it that. Their date was set for one in the afternoon at Kyoya’s home. Nothing too extravagant. It could hardly be called a date, really, they were just lounging around with each other. They had just wanted a lazy day together.

He texted back; another good morning text only this was sent a quarter past twelve. Kyoya wondered if it was too late to cancel. That gnawing urge in his brain made it hard not to just send something about feeling sick. He put his phone down, though. He felt empty and unmotivated to do anything.

There was always a way to cope with that deadening feeling. Sure, it wasn’t healthy, but it worked. The pain was a better feeling than feeling nothing at all and he could do anything to bring this feeling unto himself. Digging his nails into his skin, dragging a blade across his flesh in all sorts of places, punching into his leg when frustrated. There were little things he could do and he’d done them. It had become an addiction. How was it he had never been found out at this point? He didn’t have time to think about that, though. If Kyoya let his mind wander, he’d find himself too deep in thought over it to be able to focus on the younger twin. He couldn’t let himself get like that with Kaoru over. He couldn’t, he couldn’t he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Kyoya had to focus on something, anything, to keep from falling down the rabbit hole. In order to keep from tipping over an edge he’d been inching closer to day by day, he decided he’d try and pick up his already clean room. His brain was fuzzy as he made his way back into his room, floaty as he picked up any trash around the room. Empty water bottles that sat by his bed were tossed in the trash and any dust was wiped away until he heard knocking at his door. Before he knew it, it was fifteen past one and Kaoru was coming over. That floaty and tired feeling slowly lifting as he went and opened the door.

A smile and a chaste kiss on the lips brought Kyoya back down to Earth. They sat on the couch and Kaoru leaned on the elder teen. His rested on Kyoya’s shoulder and Kyoya swore he could breathe again.

“I like this,” Kaoru muttered after several minutes of suffocating silence. “I like being here with you. It’s so quiet and calming. Don’t you think?” Calming to Kaoru, a space for anxious overthinking to Kyoya.

The red-headed boy glanced up at Kyoya, golden hazel meeting glassy silver-tones eyes. Those amber eyes pulled the oxygen out of Kyoya’s lungs and all he could think about was how they could comfort him. He nodded slowly, unable to find the words to speak but fully able to find enough sense to lean in for another kiss. This one was longer, sweeter. This kiss was a thank you that was understood by both of the boys.

Small kisses like these showed each boy how grateful they were for each other. Kisses, hand holding, gentle touches on faces and shoulders; they were all little signs to tell they loved each other without actually saying it. They didn’t need to say it.

Their kiss soon separated and Kaoru went back to resting his head on Kyoya’s shoulder. His and Kaoru’s fingers were laced together and he watched as the younger male’s thumb ran over his knuckles. That calming feeling Kaoru had spoken about just moments earlier washed over Kyoya in this relieving wave. Numbness morphed into contentment. He may not have been fully happy but at least he felt something other than nothing or pain. He felt free. He felt free with his boyfriend as silence filled the room again. They were comfortable on the couch together, sat in quietness as the Earth felt still. Everything felt calm and okay.

After a while, Kaoru shifted. His hand slithered from Kyoya’s but the elder hadn’t thought of it. He hadn’t thought of it until his hand snaked around his waist, brushing a few bruises and new marks. Pain and soreness were two different things, two different reactions from Kyoya. Regrettably, Kyoya felt relief with pain. It was truly addictive for him. Soreness caused him to flinch, however. That flinch caught Kaoru’s attention, brought those amber eyes back to steel. Instead of admiration, Kyoya saw a strong hint of concern. “You okay?” He asked. So simple and short but the weight in his voice was heavy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Kyoya found his voice, as collected as always. It was eerily easy for him to lie like that to Kaoru. But it didn’t go undetected. Whether Kyoya was relieved by the fact or worried, he wasn’t sure.

It was obvious in those fiery eyes that Kaoru didn’t believe it. The way his lips turned down in an unconvinced frown and his brows knit together, Kyoya just knew he didn’t believe him. Anything more that Kyoya could do simply felt as if he was challenging Kaoru and he couldn’t do that. “No, you’re not.”

The words cut through brief silence while also cutting through Kyoya like a knife.

“Seriously, what’s up? Are you hurt?” All Kyoya could do was shake his head, once again having the words stolen from his mouth. “Then you won’t mind if I check? After seeing your dad slap you in front of an entire party, I don’t want to just gloss over something like this.”

It was getting aggravating, frustrating, really. The way Kaoru was pressing this, it was almost like he was trying to rip the mask off of Kyoya’s face. It felt as if he was forcing that facade that no one else was allowed to see through away. That vexation showed as Kyoya rolled his eyes at the request. “No. Trust me, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, show me.” Kaoru wasn’t letting up and it became even more apparent as he reached for Kyoya’s shirt. He had grabbed a hold of the fabric and the action had Kyoya’s heart beating so fast, he thought it’d burst in his chest. The elder tried grabbing at the smaller wrists but he could only do so much as his skin was shown. Fleshy pink scars that formed little hills on his skin and some new marks creating craters could be seen. It was like Kyoya was underwater. He felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

Those eyes, so happy and bright moments ago, were darkened and disappointed. Kaoru clearly knew what those wounds were from. How had he not been caught sooner? Why had it been Kaoru to find this out and not someone else? It might have hurt less if it had been anyone else. “Kaoru-” He tried to say something but he didn’t know what he was trying to say. An apology, maybe?

Kaoru sighed softly and Kyoya was sure he was going to get an ear-full. Instead, he was met with one question. “When did this start?”

He shrugged in response, still unsure of what to say. Kyoya opened his mouth to try and say something but struggled. It was as if he couldn’t breathe and Kaoru seemingly understood just how scary this had become for Kyoya. He felt Kaoru’s arms wrap around his waist again, a little more gentle this time. He felt the younger twin’s face buried into his neck and heard him sigh. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other tightly.

“I love you, okay,” Kaoru muttered. Kyoya didn’t feel much but he registered a bit of shock. “You shouldn’t be doing this to yourself, you don’t deserve it. And it hurts me to see this from you.” His voice was soft and soothing and Kyoya closed his eyes. He just needed this right now.

Kaoru was really good for Kyoya.

#ouran imagines #ouran high school host club #ouran headcanons #ouran #Tamaki Suoh #Hikaru Hitachiin #Kaoru Hitachiin #hitachiin twins #Haruhi Fujioka #Kyoya Ootori #kyoya imagines #kyoya #kyokao #ootori kyoya #ohshc #ohshc imagines #suoh tamaki #suoh

[iamyarnsquirrel]

Dear 2018 Self,

Okay, listen. Things are weird right now. She’s gone and you had to be there--no, you GOT to be there--for some of the most intimate and difficult parts of a person’s life. 

So the thing is, this will kind of fuck up your life for a little while. Well, it’s the beginning of the things that will fuck up your life.

In a month or so, you’re going to meet and do a show with a guy who’s lonely and talented, and you’re going to notice that he thinks you’re very pretty and funny and charming. And you’re going to lean into that, and you’re going to tumble down Alice’s rabbit hole for a little while. And you’re gonna hurt some people. You maybe even know it already. When you see him walk in the room, he is not traditionally handsome or threatening, and you think to yourself, “I just want him to fall in love with me a LITTLE bit.” You will rue the day you thought this.

It’s understandable. Everything feels sad and hard right now, and this person (who is in love with you, don’t pretend you don’t know it) is such a nice distraction. He tells you how funny you are, he challenges you, he is DISCOVERING you in a way you haven’t been discovered for a while. You and your husband love each other dearly, but there hasn’t been anything NEW for a while. And new things are exciting.

He comes to a cabaret you’re singing at. He records your song, and after you sing, he hugs you and kisses the top of your head. You drive him home, because he’s drunk and you’re not, and he tells you that “you’re dangerous, you know that? You didn’t used to be. You started out safe.” You say nothing. Well, initially you ask how you’re dangerous, but then you’re quiet.

Then there’s a night you ride with him to an audition an hour away, and lie about it. You confess later the same night, and your marriage, always so strongly woven, starts to unravel a little bit, the threads coming loose, showing their wear. You call him the next day and tell him you need to have a conversation about things, things you had previously not wanted to have a conversation about, and he confesses that he loves you. That he is in love with you. You knew this already. You say you love him, too, but it’s not the same, that you belong where you are. He says some pretty shocking things to your future self, though at the time you were so wrapped up and confused they didn’t seem as shocking as they do now: he tells you he wishes he could know what it would feel like to wake up beside you. He tells you he likes your husband, but he feels bad when he’s around him, like “Yeah, dude. We’re cool. Hey, did you know I fell in love with your wife?” 

You’ll meet him at a coffee shop, you say to pass along a piece of music, but also just to see each other outside of a rehearsal room. He cries there, and when you ask if he’s okay, he tells you it took him 39 years to find you, and he’s not going to be okay in a few days. You talk on the phone for hours when you’re husband is away. Your husband, who is so uncomfortable and sad he has started seeking his own mental health treatment to deal with his feelings, does his best to believe you--that this guy is a “regular” friend (he’s not) who has never told you how he feels (he has) and you don’t have any suspicions (you do). 

The theatre where you met wants you both back as leads in the next summer’s show. You balk, but your husband says he’s okay with it--you’re in a better place now than you were six months ago, and he wants you to earn a contract. You do the show. There is less of the intensity, but the connection is still there. After an opening show pool party, you stand outside your cars and chat for hours, you still in your swimsuit but wrapped in a cover-up. He tells you, “You’re not fair, you know that?” And you know what he means: that he wants to kiss you. He is leaving for New York at the end of the summer, and you’ll be glad to see him go. Your life has gotten so fucking complicated. 

You give him a going-away gift--a funny to-do list, a framed picture of the two of you, a flashlight with a poem about the end of things. You’ll wish later--like the Now You wishes--that you’d never given him these things, or the letter you wrote. It’s too much. 

He goes to New York, but calls you all the time, with audition woes and roommate woes and when he comes back to visit, he wants to see you. You decline. 

For New Years, he goes to London, and you go on a family cruise. It’s when you get back that you notice a change in his behavior. He’s not texting you anymore. He’s not interacting with your social media, or he’s being very curt. On his birthday, in February, you send him a video message telling him happy birthday, and he responds, but it’s so short and clipped just about anyone would think it was rude. 

This will be the last time you speak with him for a year. 

Now You carries this weight for a long time. He stops liking your shit, then you stop liking his shit, then he mutes you on IG. You count down the months from the time you last spoke with him. Your birthday comes and goes, and nothing, pretty telling for someone who once called you his “best friend.” 

You carry this burden for a long time, but tell no one. You write about it, but only in secret. You want to move on, so you act like you have. You think about unfriending him, but worry what people will say. People say such kind things to you, about how hard you work for your family, how you are hashtaggoals and whatever, and you silently think, “My god. If only you knew. I am a liar. I am so selfish.”

Meanwhile, you are dealing with the profound grief of your brother, and the constant stressors of raising children in a pandemic. You decide to resume therapy. You need it so badly.

You’ll tell your therapist about all this, laying things at her feet you have never shared with anyone. She asks why you haven’t unfriended him, why you’ve let him live in your head rent-free for two years, and you don’t have an answer. So you get off the call, and you delete everything: his facebook, his IG, his number. You are in charge of the narrative now. A little part of you is sad, another part of you wishes you could see his face when he realizes. 

You are finally putting your family at the center of things, and not just paying lip service to doing that. It will be a relief for you, you’ll see. You’re not trying to live in two realities. You are being authentic. 

Your therapist says Now You should try and forgive herself, but you laugh. It’s so hard. You have hurt yourself, and your husband. Your daughter notices things, asked you once if Your Friend LIKED you, because he acted like it. How you didn’t nip it in the bud then, Now you doesn’t know. 

Some lessons must be learned by walking through the fire. Some lessons can’t be learned without burns. 

I love you, 2018 Self. I can see how much you are hurting. How much you still hurt. You made mistakes. Your therapist even said the words “emotional affair,” but she said it with such compassion and with no judgment in her voice, and hearing the words said aloud was a profound relief. You knew it all along. 

But she also said she understood. That all these darknesses were tied together, that marriage is long and difficult, and things happen. That it’s time to set these things down. You don’t have to keep going back there in your head. You get to decide.

So maybe I won’t tell You not to go down that dark and brambly path. Maybe if you hadn’t, this would have manifested with someone else, and it would have been stickier and harder to untangle yourself from. (Maybe you’re not untangled all the way yet? But you’ve at least started the process, and that’s something. That matters.) 

There are dark days ahead, and the days you’re currently in are dark, but you are a bringer of light. You shine into other people’s lives and bring them beauty and grace and forgiveness. Bring that to yourself, too. You deserve it.

Love, 

2021 Self

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 13: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Graham awoke with a start and shot up in bed, before swinging his legs over the side. He put his head in his hands and took in deep breaths of air.

"Is everything okay?" Regina asked, as she rolled over.

"Uh...yeah, just a weird dream," he muttered. She gave him a long gaze and then got out of bed.

"Henry will be up soon. You should go," she suggested. He nodded and got dressed, as Regina went into the bathroom to shower. The weird dream had not been a lie, but it was more like a nightmare of things that didn't make sense. He hated waking up here, but somehow he had ended up here again, despite initially telling Regina no. He quietly hurried out the door, but stopped dead in his tracks, as he spotted a wolf in his path, staring at him intently. It seemed to look through him and then ran off, leaving Graham feeling oddly stunned with memories of the nightmare searing his memory.

Oz

Approximately 3 Years Before the Dark Curse

As Zelena sat upon the bicycle with Hades, she studied him for a moment.

"Am I that interesting, my dear?" he teased. She smirked.

"I'm just wondering why you're here romancing me. Aren't you married?" she inquired. He smirked.

"If you want to get technical," he responded.

"And your Queen doesn't mind that you're here, romancing another?" she challenged.

"She prefers it, I assure you. She doesn't exactly return my...affections. She never has," he confessed.

"If you don't love her and she doesn't love you, then why keep her around?" she questioned.

"There was a time, centuries ago, when I was quite infatuated with Persephone. And in my more volatile youth, I didn't take no for an answer. Persephone was fairest of all and so I made her my Queen. She was mine...then she betrayed me," he explained.

"She cheated on you?" Zelena asked. He nodded.

"With a mortal of all disgraces. And that wasn't the worst part. She gave birth to his halfbreed spawn and her meddlesome mother put a protection spell over the child, preventing me from laying a hand on the little wretch," he explained.

"How dreadful," she lamented.

"That's why I employed my loyal nephew to find the child. When she was born, Demeter took her and hid her away. Unfortunately, he has failed to find her and it's been over twenty-five years," he continued.

"And the only way to truly make your beloved Persephone pay for her betrayal is to destroy her child," Zelena deduced. He smirked.

"I do love the way your devious mind works. You were truly meant for me, my love," he cooed.

"I do not play second string to anyone, especially not some fairest goddess," she refuted.

"Persephone may be the fairest of all, but she lacks your wickedness," he purred and she giggled, as something he said struck her.

"Persephone is called the fairest of all, yes?" she asked.

"Yes...a term coined by her sanctimonious mother," he replied.

"Why?" he asked, noticing the pensiveness on her face. She smirked.

"It's just not the first time I've heard such a term. There is a mortal princess whom the same moniker has been coined for her. My sister seeks to destroy her for getting her true love killed. Perhaps such a moniker is not a coincidence," Zelena suggested.

"But Persephone's daughter would be half immortal…" he said, as he trailed off for a moment.

"Unless…" he started to say.

"Unless?" she questioned.

"Can you show me this princess?" he asked. She looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

"I have a way to see the Enchanted Forest from my palace," she confirmed. He smirked evilly.

"Take me there. We may still make chaos together yet," he said gleefully.

For the most part, Graham had been able to carry on his day as normal. He didn't really want to face Emma, having woke up again in Regina's bed, so he texted her, offering to take early patrol. The strange dreams played through his head though like a movie.

There was a forest and he was there, looking down at Mary Margaret. Except it wasn't Mary Margaret exactly. This woman looked exactly like her, but with long raven tresses and the most innocent face he had ever seen. He was horrified, for in his dreams, he was going to end her life. She forgave him and was waiting to die. But he couldn't do it and let her get away.

That's when he saw the wolf again, standing in the middle of the road on the back roads of town. He slammed on the breaks and stared into the wolf's eyes, as more flashes assaulted him. This time he wasn't asleep though, so how they could have been dreams, he had no idea. But they were becoming more clear and these new visions were frightening.

He saw himself enslaved to Regina, his glowing heart in her hand. Despite that, he defied her and helped the Prince escape his execution. Therefore, Snow White was awakened with true love's kiss and Regina lost.

But she wasn't about to accept her defeat and cast the Dark Curse. And this place they had been living in for the last twenty-eight years was that curse.

His eyes widened, as it all came rushing back to him like a stream of images in his head.

He remembered everything...because things were changing in Storybrooke and all because of the Savior. Snow and Charming's daughter...Emma.

"Emma…" he uttered, as he did a sharp u-turn and sped back toward the station.

After leaving the library, they stopped into Granny's for something hot to drink to take with them on their walk. They still drew a lot of attention when they entered the diner together, her hand hooked on his elbow. There were whispers, but Mary found she was able to pay them less mind than before. They could talk all they wanted, because what she and David had was between them.

"Well...if it isn't Storybrooke's newest item," Granny mused, making Mary blush.

"What'll it be?" she asked.

"Two hot cocoas with cinnamon," David replied. The elderly woman smiled at them.

"Coming right up," she said, giving them a cheeky look, as she went to make their drinks.

"You'd think they'd have better things to do than stare at us," she muttered.

"People love gossip," he agreed. It was true in this land it seemed, just as it had been in their land. The other royals and nobles of the court loved to gossip, especially about them. A marriage based on true love in royalty was an anomaly. He and Snow had begun a trend though. They were one of the first royal marriages in many years that was not arranged and based solely on true love. Thomas and Ella followed their example, though King Christopher was a bit more open to this kind of thing. Abigail and Frederick had been next, though Midas was reluctant. Frederick wasn't a royal, but being that he was a Knight, the King allowed it, though Charming doubted Abigail would have let her father stop her.

While Thomas' kingdom had accepted a former peasant as their Queen, Charming knew that Snow's much more conservative court, still loyal to the long dead Leopold, might have put up much fuss if they had known he was not the real James.

He knew Snow would never allow them to tell her who she could or could not marry, but he was well aware of the uproar it might cause if it were to become public that he was raised as a poor shepherd.

It seemed not much had changed in that respect. They were still under scrutiny, though they had never let it bother them. They had always been too absorbed in their powerful, passionate love to let the opinions of others factor into their lives. And he was determined to keep that trend, as he leaned down and kissed her, probably with a little more heat than was appropriate in public.

She gazed up at him in surprise, as their lips parted.

"What was that for?" she asked. He smiled.

"We might as well give them something to stare at," he replied. She bit her bottom lip, a clear tell that she was turned on and leaned her head against his arm, just as Granny returned with their finished drinks.

"Thanks Granny," he said, as he paid her. She smiled at the pair. There was definitely something about them. Together, hot cocoas in hand, they joined their free hands and left the diner for their walk. Wilby had waited outside and now trotted alongside them.

Regina unlocked the box and picked up the glowing heart inside. She had been keeping it locked in her office, but stopped there to get it, before coming to her vault. She was too paranoid to leave it unattended any longer, especially after her jarring run-in with a defiant Dr. Hopper.

She decided to come survey what little magic she had left, for her curse was unraveling faster than she could ever have imagined. She had to keep Graham close. She had a very big problem in Emma Swan. Add to that, those two idiots were so ridiculously in love, it made her sick. She had heard all the gossip how David Nolan was shacking up with the pretty, shy schoolteacher and literally sweeping her off her feet.

And if that wasn't irritating enough, there was Gold, who was far too cocky with his little bookworm around. Belle was the leverage she had been keeping for a rainy day and with that gone, it gave him far more control than she was comfortable with.

She needed a triple strike against all of them. If she was lucky, sending Damon after the two idiots again would take care of that problem. In addition, as soon as she knew all there was to know about Emma Swan, she'd be able to proceed with destroying her. That just left the bookworm and a devious smile spread across her face, as she opened her potions cabinet.

"You may have prevented me from putting David and Kathryn in a fake marriage by manipulating the false memories I gave her, so I would say turn about is fair play," she hissed, as she picked up a matchbook from the Rabbit Hole and picked up a blue vial of potion. She put a couple drops on the matchbook and smirked gleefully.

"Let's see how smug you are when your precious Belle becomes a trashy barfly," she mused. She pocketed the matchbook. Of course, first she would need someone extra to plant doubt of her identity in Belle, before she planted the false memories. And that would require a visit to a certain flower shop owner. Yes, she was feeling very good and so she picked up Graham's heart and then dialed his number.

"Not now Regina," he answered.

"Excuse me, is that any way to talk to your Mayor?" she asked.

"I'm busy," he said.

"And I don't care. Meet me at my house," she ordered.

"No...I have much more important things to do," he replied, as he hung up on her. Regina's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He had never so blatantly refused her. Even with his heart in her hand, he was resisting. And the last time he had refused her so utterly had been...back in the Enchanted Forest. When he had his memories. If he was remembering, he could ruin everything in one fell swoop.

But how was he remembering? It wasn't possible...was it? She pursed her lips, her rage barely contained. All the recent problems with her curse could be traced back to one Emma Swan. She hoped to hell that Damon came through with that information. She needed to know why one woman was unraveling everything she had worked for. But if Graham was remembering, then he now a very big threat. A threat that had to be neutralized. She hurried out of her vault and to her car. She had to get to the station.

Emma jumped in surprise, as Graham ran in, practically crashing through the door at the station.

"Where's the fire?" she asked, as she took in his appearance. His eyes were wide with wonder, as he gazed upon her. He was disheveled and looked like he hadn't slept much in days.

"Emma…" he uttered.

"Yeah...what's going on with you?" she asked.

"Emma…" he repeated and she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes...I think we've established that I'm Emma. Me Emma. You Graham," she teased, with a smirk. But he seemed too distracted to be amused by her joke.

"I remember…" he stated.

"What?" she asked.

"I remember...and this is going to sound nuts...but you're the Savior," he replied. Her eyebrows were in her hair at that point, but it was her turn to shock him.

"Yeah...daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. The Savior, destined to break the curse," she stated, in a matter of fact tone. His eyes got bigger, if that was possible.

"You...you know?!" he exclaimed. She smirked.

"Long story...but yeah I've known since I was old enough to understand. You really remember?" she asked, hope in her voice.

"Everything...I was the Huntsman. I...I tried to kill Snow White," he said regrettably.

"My Mom tells it a bit differently. She says you made a different choice and defied the Queen, knowing very well that you were probably forfeiting your own life," Emma replied, enjoying his surprise even more, as he closed the distance between them.

"Regina...she has my heart," he uttered.

"I know...I've been trying to figure out a way to get it back. I think she's keeping it close to her," she replied.

"I...I can't believe you know…" he stammered.

"I'll tell you how, but first I think we need to get this," she replied, as she touched the spot on the center of his chest. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other for several moments.

"Regina...I never…" he started to say, but she stopped him.

"She forced you...I know that now," she replied. And with that, he closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips to hers.

Unbeknownst to them, Regina glowered at the picture of them from outside the window of the station. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but their body language spoke volumes. And then when their lips met, the rage burning inside her became too overwhelming for her to ignore. This woman...this interloper was ruining everything and she had to teach her what happened when you crossed her. She extracted the glowing heart from her pocket and thought about his rejection. If he was remembering, he was a very big threat, but his rejection is what stung the most; that he would choose this woman over her. He had defied her for the final time and he had to pay. With no more hesitation, she squeezed his heart and crushed in into diamond dust that floated away in the wind, before stalking away. The gloves were off and she was declaring war on her enemies. When she finished, nothing but dust would remain of them all if she had her way.

Their lips parted and they shared a smile.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about," Emma mentioned. He smiled. They did, but he wasn't too interesting in talking at the moment. He leaned in, about to kiss her again, when he paused.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked. The pain was sharp and excruciating. Instinctively, he knew what was happening and he should have known all along that a happy ending was not something in the cards for him. It nearly broke him, but he knew she'd go on without him. She was destined to break the curse and defeat Regina. She would avenge him. So he said the only parting words he could.

"I love you," he uttered and then collapsed to the floor. Emma cried out and crashed to her knees beside him. She shook him violently, but she knew what had happened.

"No...no...no...no…" she cried repeatedly, as she searched for a pulse. But he wasn't breathing and would never again, for she knew his heart was now dust. The Queen had done this...she had killed him. Emma sobbed against his chest, her fists clenching his shirt. Her eyes glistened with fury, as her shoulders racked with sobs and her expression was pure rage...rage for the woman that had caused all of this.

She had terrorized her parents, cursed them, forced them to give her up, forced her to grow up without them, at least when she was awake. She had her son and would do anything to keep him away. She had sent a monster after her parents and would do so again. She had killed a man she was falling in love with; the first man she had let close to her since Henry's father. The gloves were off and she was declaring war on the Queen. And when she finished, Regina would finally lose, once and for all.

She sniffed and tried to wipe her eyes in an attempt to gather herself. But it was no use. She needed the only two people that could possibly comfort her in any way right now. She picked up her phone with shaky hands and dialed her mother.

Mary Margaret leaned her head against his arm, as they walked through the woods and over the Toll bridge. Wilby was ahead of them, but not too far, quite enamored by all the wilderness and wildlife. They stopped in a clearing and were stunned by the sight of a mother deer and its baby. The doe looked at them curiously for a moment and then relaxed when she decided they weren't a threat. He gazed at her, loving the awe on her beautiful face.

"Such a beautiful sight…" Mary uttered.

"Yeah…" he agreed, though he was referring to a different sight of beauty.

"You are not even looking at the deer," she teased, as she nudged him in the ribs.

"Sorry...they are beautiful, but definitely the second most beautiful thing I've seen today," he replied. She looked at him, almost in disbelief, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. As their lips parted, Mary gazed up at him and the love in his eyes took her breath away.

"I keep pinching myself to make sure you're real," she mentioned. He smiled.

"Maybe I should pinch you," he teased and she gasped in surprise, as he pinched her rear. He chuckled at the look on her face.

"David…" she said, as she blushed.

"What? You can pinch me too if you want...in fact, I'm sure I'd enjoy that," he replied, as he wriggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

"Maybe I will…" she challenged.

"By all means, Ms. Blanchard," he challenged back, as their lips met passionately.

"Mmm...there is so much more I want to do than pinching right now," she purred. He smirked, as she took his hand and started leading him back over the bridge.

"Come on Wilby…" he called, as he slipped his arm around her waist and she smiled up at him, her eyes shining with love. As they reached town again, they decided to pick up take out from Granny's, but that's when Mary's phone rang.

"Hi Emma," she answered. But a stifled sob made her frown.

"Mary?" she asked.

"Emma...what's wrong. You're crying," she said in alarm.

"Um...it's Graham. He's dead," she sobbed.

"What?" she asked in disbelief, as her knees almost buckled. Luckily, David was there to hold her up.

"Where are you?" she choked out.

"The station. The ambulance is on its way...but it's useless. He's gone…" she said.

"We'll be right there," Mary said, as she hung up and looked up at David with a tearful gaze.

"Is Emma hurt?" he asked, as fear seized his heart. He had to try and remember that to everyone else, Emma was just his friend. But if his baby girl was hurt...he didn't know if would be able to keep up that charade.

"It's Graham...he's dead," she cried, as he took her in his arms and held her, as she cried.

"Emma needs us…" she sobbed. He nodded and they changed their direction toward the station. He huddled Mary close to him and knew her tears were still falling, as they hurried to the station. Emma needed them.

By the time David and Mary arrived at the station, Emma had already called the hospital to tell them she needed the coroner, but they hadn't arrived yet. So David and Mary found her knelt beside Graham's body and it was a heartbreaking sight.

"Emma…" David said, as they knelt down on either side of her. Mary gently pulled her into a hug and David rubbed her back.

"What happened?" Mary asked. Emma sniffed and looked at her father over Mary's shoulder. He knew what had happened, but she couldn't exactly tell Mary that the Evil Queen had crushed his heart.

"He...just suddenly collapsed," Emma said. It wasn't untrue, as it had happened in a blink of an eye.

"I'm so sorry," Mary said, choking back a sob. Emma held onto her tightly and then pulled back, as the paramedics arrived. She quickly started wiping her tears away. Mary and David sat with her, while Graham's body was loaded into the Coroner's van.

"I know there's nothing we can say to make this better, but why don't we go home?" Mary suggested. Emma nodded.

"I'll run to the diner and be right behind you. I know grilled cheese and hot cocoa won't make it better, but it will at least be something warm in your stomach," he said. Emma managed a nod, as he saw them off toward Mary's apartment, while he headed for the diner. He took out the phone in his pocket and found a text from Emma. It read words that Emma couldn't tell him aloud.

Graham remembered everything. He told me and then he died.

That stunned him, but if he had been remembering, then it meant it worried Regina enough to eliminate him.

He went to his contacts and picked the number he wanted from the names Emma had programmed into the phone for him. He pressed the green button and then put it to his ear.

"Hello," Jefferson answered.

"Graham's dead," he said bluntly. He heard Jefferson blow out of low whistle.

"Let me guess...she finally did it, didn't she? She crushed his heart," Jefferson said.

"I think so. Emma said he just collapsed and was gone, just like that," David replied angrily.

"She's getting scared," Jefferson said.

"Emma told me he remembered. She must have thought he was enough of a threat to kill him," David replied.

"Yeah, because a healthy man his age just doesn't keel over. Even the hapless people in this town might ask questions," he mentioned.

"Too bad they'd never believe the truth," he said with a sigh.

"We need to be careful. This is just her first strike, you know. She's probably busy plotting away right now," Jefferson warned.

"I know...I need to get back to Mary and Emma. Can you call Gold? He should know," David replied.

"Sure...be careful out there," Jefferson warned.

"You too," he said, as he hung up and went into Granny's.

Regina crinkled her nose, as she stepped into Damon Tromera's club. She hated this place; this eyesore in her town. Sleazy was being too nice when used to describe this establishment. The carpet in the whole place was blood red and tacky as hell, but then Damon didn't remember exactly why he had such a penchant for red. It was late and there were only a few patrons, drinking and they paid her no mind, for the scantily clad girl on stage held their attention. She barely looked legal and under normal circumstances, not even she would let this kind of thing go on under her nose. But Damon was her means to making her stepdaughter truly pay.

"Madam Mayor...welcome. Can I interest you in a drink?" Damon asked, without taking his eyes away from the girl on stage. It was no wonder why he had hired this one. Long raven curls, green eyes, red lips and fair skin.

"This isn't a social call. I'm here, because you have yet to hold up your end of our deal," Regina said. He smirked and put his drink down, before retrieving a file from underneath the bar.

"Oh, I think this will satisfy you," he said, as he handed it to her. She eagerly opened the folder and started reading. And what she took in made her blood run cold, but suddenly made frightening sense.

"This is legitimate?" she asked. He nodded.

"Seems she was abandoned on the side of the road as an infant, not far from here. Quite a coincidence," he replied. Oh, but the Queen knew it was no coincidence. It all made perfect sense now. Emma Swan wasn't just an ordinary orphan. She was the Savior...daughter of her enemies. Her protectiveness of those two idiots was no longer puzzling. She had found her parents and was chipping away at her perfect revenge, day by day.

"Now that you have that, I expect you to return the favor," Damon said.

"Mary Margaret and her...coma patient have been frequenting walks in the woods lately. Getting the drop on them shouldn't be that hard, but that's up to you," Regina replied. He smirked.

"That's excellent news," he said. But she ignored him and took the file with her, as she left quickly. Her curse was in more danger of unraveling than she originally thought...

#Snowing #Charming family #season 1 AU #Snowing fanfiction

[iridulcentdays]

I keep thinking of the line "Raise your glass to Freedom" from Hamilton's "Story of Tonight". Maybe set during the American Revolution, talking about Russia's involvement (or non-involvement as the case may be). Extra challenge might include England, for whatever reason (maybe?).

Hah! Here we finally go! Again, I am avoiding packing because I’m a terrible procrastinator and don’t be like me kids. Also I had a blizzard today. And, here you go. I wrote a few different versions of this but this is the one I love. Hope you like it dear. You always leave such lovely comments, so this is a thank you as well. :)

[RusAme]  With Love, A

Rated T for violence and historical inaccuracies, 4k 

I,

Today I’m working on finding Arthur. I hope I can come home soon. I miss you so much, it hurts. Winter is coming soon, I can already feel it in the air. I know you would say how thin blooded I am, but it’s hard when you don’t have the right shoes. Supplies are scarce here right now, so I can’t even get the right boots. But hey! Perks of being me. Frostbite isn’t permanent.  Anyway, Orion’s high in the sky, and it always makes me think of your eyes. You’ve got starlight trapped in them.

I guess it’s good you’re never going to read this. This is way too sappy.

I hope you’re okay.

Love,

A

                                                         …***…

Alfred sat at the tavern table, finishing his letter before shutting the journal closed. He took a long sip of his beer, and listened to the chatter of the room. It was dark out. The deep maw of night. Alfred watched the British soldiers in the corner and watched the barkeep’s daughter collect glasses. The officers were mostly quiet, chatting to themselves, but Alfred had caught one of them watching the girl far too closely for his liking.

They went an hour later without a problem. Alfred brought his empty glass over to her. Watched her hands shake. “Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, a petulant frown on her lips. “They make me so mad,” she muttered. Her eyes flickered to his sling. “How is your arm?”

Alfred shrugged, ignoring the flare of pain. “Better than the horse,” he said with a wry grin. He’d hurt it being thrown from his horse when the animal had been shot by a British soldier. He’d managed to get away, but now found himself trapped in the city, waiting for any of the redcoats to put it together that he was the spy they were looking for. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “Good night Elise.”“Good Night, Alfred,” she said and busied herself with cleaning.

Alfred walked the rickety tavern staircase before getting to his room. He unlocked the door with a heavy sigh, tossing his journal to the bed and looked out the window. It was a moonless night. Alfred turned to the room, glancing around before he dropped to his knees and tied a floorboard loose. Silently pulling the wood away, he pulled out his iPhone and wallet, staring at the two anachronistic items. The battery was long dead, but Alfred kept the two items. He ran his thumb along the rounded edge of the phone.

Hoofbeats echoed across cobblestone at a frantic speed. Alfred stood up, items at hand and looked out the dark window. British soldiers were coming towards the inn. Alfred cursed and shoved his stuff into his rucksack, grabbed the journal, and bolted out the door. He made his way to the roof, quietly easing out of a window before making his escape on the closely bundled buildings of the city.

                                                        …***…

I,

Do you remember that time we talked about what a modern miracle sanitization and healthcare had become? I really miss it. I don’t think we really remember how awful smallpox is. Also pain killers. Really miss that. No, don’t worry. I’m not sick or injured. Well, not that bad. Okay, so I’m in the hospital. But don’t worry! It’s not bad. I’ll be out soon.

I miss you.

With love,

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred had been shot through the arm during his escape. The musket ball had lodged into his bicep and had to be surgically removed. The whiskey was hot down his throat as he got ready. It took two men to hold him still–and that was with him holding his strength back. The wound of course became infected. How could it not? Alfred had demanded that the needle be sanitized over the fire, but apparently that wasn’t enough. He spent a week in the basement of a church, caught in fever and wanting to die. Every day they took out the dead and buried them in the churchyard adjacent to them.

The fever broke just as the doctor was deciding to amputate his arm or not. Alfred, stuck in the fever’s grip, couldn’t explain properly that that was a dumb idea because he would heal on his own, just give him time. Luckily he didn’t have to fight off the doctor and his saw and was out three days later with a new pair of used boots from an unlucky soldier who had died the day before.

Alfred looked up into the warm blue sky. He was going to kill Arthur.

                                                        …***…

I,

I’m sorry. I never got to tell you that, did I? I let you hang up angry. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to tell you, but I am sorry. You make me so mad, some days, that I can’t even think straight. And it’s over stupid shit! Things that mean nothing.

It’s been five months. I don’t know if time moves the same for you, but I hope not. You must be worried sick. Are my people okay? Are you okay?

It’ll be over soon. I know where Arthur is. I’ll make him fix this.

I’ve taken to carrying a bow and arrow again. It’s silent and has more fatalities than musket shots. Also I can make the arrows for free, since I learned that as a kid. I’ve been staying in the forest. Foraging is easy right now since it’s mid autumn, but I’m worried about winter. The reds know what I’ve been doing and there’s a bounty on me, so I can’t spend time in the city unless it’s free of the Brits. Of course, since Arthur’s staying with his troops, I have to go into enemy territory.

Do you remember that night we took my truck and drove out into the desert? And watched the stars? I think about that a lot. You fell asleep on me and drooled on my sweater. I teased you about it the next day and you kept turning red.

I’ll be fine. I love you,

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred sat in a tree, watching the underbrush haphazardly as he divided his attention between the ground and his arm. The scar of a musket ball was bright red, puckered and shiny in new healing skin. Alfred sighed and brought his sleeve down. He rested his head against the rough bark of the pine tree he sat in, eyes scanning the gray clouds spreading through the sky. He watched two British soldiers walk through the thicket. Alfred took a sip of water from his canteen. He straddled the branch, took his bow and notched his arrow. A breath. Pulled back. Aimed.

                                                        …***…

I,

Good news, I found out where Arthur is. Took a little digging is all. I know I said I knew where he was, but turns out he decided to head towards New York instead. Doesn’t like what Howes is doing I guess. It’s weird, knowing what’s going to happen, but not knowing at the same time. I keep slipping, saying things I shouldn’t. And I know! I can hear the lecture, but sometimes things get stuck in your vocabulary. Like, ‘best thing since sliced bread’. Guess what. I sound like an idiot. There is no sliced bread. Not for a while, at least.

I think I should of gotten rid of the stuff that came with me, but what if future archeologists find it! Actually, that might be pretty funny. Maybe I should bury it and see if anyone finds it. I won’t get rid of my wallet though. You gave that to me a year ago for Christmas. There’s a photo of us, too. I should burn it. Photos don’t exist yet. But I won’t.

Somedays I think I’m forgetting what you sound like. I sound like an idiot, don’t I? It’s only been 8 months. We used to go years without seeing each other. Do you remember how we would send tape recorders of our voices to each other because international phone calls cost too much? I would give you a monologue for an hour, but when I would get your tape, I would go to my bedroom and lay in my bed and just listen to you. Sometimes I would fall asleep to your voice and dream of you.

It’s the dead of winter right now, so I’m glad you taught me how to make fires with snow damp wood. All ten fingers thank you. I caught a rabbit yesterday and have been eating that. I don’t have enough salt to make it into jerky, but I think I can boil the bones with some dried veggies and sop it up with Jonnycake. I stopped at a farmhouse the other day and the daughter let me stay the night with the horses. She’s the one who gave be the extra food. Guess I won’t have to go on that diet after all, huh?

I’m sorry I’m not home just yet. Keep waiting for me, okay?

I love you so goddamn much.

A

                                                        …***…

Alfred watched the British camp from afar. He was holed up against the tree line, curled up in a deep gray coat. A musket sat in his hands. The fires in the distance smudges the sky and Alfred envied their warmth. He waited for dusk.

In the distance Alfred watched a man on horseback ride past the sentry of the encampment. White tents lined the country side in neat rows. The horse stopped at a large tent near the center and the rider climbed off, heading inside.

Alfred turned to the men hiding in the brush behind him. “Tell the General that Lieutenant Colonel  Williams didn’t come back. He’s off to support Howes.” The men nodded, slipping off into the forest. Alfred turned back to the camp, watching the large tent carefully.

England.

Alfred knew the war was still a point of contention between them. He tried to not bring it up, and he didn’t invite England over when it was near July. Which was a shame, because his country was beautiful in July. Usually he had a big party, and recently Russia would come over and spend a week with him. Alfred loved it. They would go fishing and sailing and eat too many burgers and watch the sky explode in color.

Alfred would always kiss him under the stars. Ivan would always hold him through the night, fingers entangling in his hair, lips brushing against naked skin, whispering his name until the world dissolved into the singularity of them.

It was heaven on earth for one great night.

But this year, something had happened between him and Arthur. Arthur had gotten drunk, Alfred was called to go get him before he did something stupid. France was sick and didn’t want to get out of the hotel bed and get him. So Alfred went, ready to carry the moping nation back to his hotel room. Instead, Alfred got spitfire. Words were said. Regret was instant. Alfred had let go of him in an alley, ready to give Arthur a piece of his mind when the world dissolved into crimson fire.

Alfred awoke in a field, surrounded by blue cornflowers, staring at a pale gray sky. In 1777, as he would later find out.

Alfred shifted his musket, crouching low as he melted back into the shadows of the woods.

                                                        …***…

I,

I’m going to do something stupid.

I’m not perfect. I know I do and say bad things. I hurt you. Sometimes I say things even though I know they’ll hurt you. I don’t deserve you.

But I’m glad you were mine, no matter how short the time.

I’ll rip this page out if I make it, but if I don’t…well.

I love you.

(I wish I had one more day with you)

Love always, 
A

                                                        …***…

Alfred’s hands were tied behind his back, rough rope scraping his wrists raw. He glanced to the other soldier caught. A knife wound over his eye bled onto the rugs of the tent. No one had tried to stop the bleeding. He’d loose the eye, but Alfred felt that they wouldn’t be worrying about that in a few hours.

The officer sat in a chair, reading a document he had taken off the other man. Alfred’s journal lay out on the desk as well. Alfred was glad he had buried his phone and wallet in the woods, just in case. He stared at the journal and back to the officer when he cleared his throat. “These documents clearly mark that you have eschewed your country and spies against England. You have been sentenced to death and will be shot at dawn.” Cold eyes stared down and them unforgivingly and he turned to the soldiers guarding Alfred and his compatriot. “Take them to the prison.”

“Wait,” Alfred said. He looked at the Colonel and added, “I know Arthur Kirkland is here. Tell him you have Alfred F. Jones.”

The Colonel frowned. “He will not grant stay of execution.”

“Sure,” Alfred said. “Just tell him, please. A last request.”

He nodded and then turned, a clear dismissal. Alfred and the other man were forced up and marched out. Alfred glanced back, looking at his journal before he walked out of the tent.

                                                        …***…

He was tied to a pole, kneeling in mud as he waited for dawn. He fell asleep, arms screaming against their bonds.

                                                        …***…

Alfred awoke when a boot kicked his leg. The moon cast a pearly hue to the world and he stared into green eyes, confused.

“You are not Alfred Jones,” came the cold hiss.

Alfred blinked, sleep trapping his tongue. He glanced around, and then back to Arthur’s furious face. “Yeah, I am,” he finally said.

“I know Alfred, he’s a lot younger than you,” Arthur muttered. He crossed his arms.

“in ’27 you gave me a silk rabbit for my birthday. I played with it outside and dropped it in a puddle getting it all muddy. I thought you were going to yell at me so I hid in a cabinet until you found me crying. You cleaned up the toy, dried it by the fire and put me to bed without a single chiding. There’s still a water stain on the left side.” Alfred watched Arthur’s eyes sharpen. “Christmas ’02 I gave you a spoon I carved out of horn. It had a flower cut into it. You said you use it for sugar back home.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Because I’m Alfred,” he said slowly. He hesitated and added, “And I need your help.”

Silence. Then, “Bring him to my tent, but make sure he’s thoroughly restrained. I need to speak with him.”

“Sir–”

“That is an order, lieutenant.” Arthur turned and walked away.

Alfred was released from the pole and roughly hauled to Arthur’s tent.

                                                        …***…

Alfred was sure they weren’t trying to insinuate anything, but he was tied to the foot of Arthur’s bed. He shoved as his body got warm again and looked up when the tent flap opened. Arthur pulled off his gloves, not looking at Alfred and walked further into the interior. He sat at a small chair, looking at the papers littering it. Alfred recognized the documents as the same ones the colonel had looked at earlier. His journal sat on the corner of the table.

“Why are you so much older?” England asked. 

America frowned, trying to decide what to say. He settled on as much truth as he could. England  always seemed to know when he was lying. “This isn’t my time. You cast a spell on me and I woke up 240 years in the past.”

“The past?” England glared at him, clearly not believing him. “What do you mean?”

“We got into a fight and you cast a spell on me. Next thing I know it’s 1777 and I’d really like to go back.”

“A fight?” England stood up and walked so he was standing in front of Alfred. Alfred tilted his jaw up defiantly. “What were we fighting about?”

Alfred hesitated and said slowly, “My attempt at independence.” just saying attempt felt rancid on his tongue, but England’s lips curled in pleasure.

“Ah, so that ends up quelled then?” Alfred said nothing. England continued, a faint smile on his lips. “Of course it will be. Your attempt at rallying your people has been pitiful. You are my colony, and always will be.” Alfred bit down on his tongue. Hard. “I do hope it’s over soon though.”

“Afraid not,” Alfred said dryly.

“Hm. Ah well.” England walked back over to the desk and tapped the journal. He picked it up, thumbing through the entries.

“The spell?” Alfred offered.

England sighed. “I am afraid there’s nothing I can do.” He carded his fingers through his hair, a grimace plain on his face.

“Sure you can. Magic me back.”

“No. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Alfred growled.

England sat on the bed, pointing at him with the journal. “Because the spell only works for sending back. You can’t go forward.”

His heartbeat quickened and Alfred’s mouth went dry. “What? Just rewrite the spell or whatever.”

“Clearly in 240 years I never explained magic to you,” England said. He curled his fingers and a soft green light appeared. Alfred stared at it. “I can only follow the old laws. These spells have existed longer than spoken word. I can’t just create one out of thin air.” The light disappeared and England crossed his arms.

Alfred stared down at the ground. He listened to paper rustle and said, “Please don’t read that.”

“Why?”

“They’re letters. To someone back home.”

England stared at him and closed the journal after a long pause. Alfred sagged in relief, and in doing so, found himself touching the sharp head of a nail. He stilled.

“Someone back home?” England repeated in confusion. He looked down to the journal again, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah,” Alfred said. He began to rub the rope against the edge, ignoring when the nail cut his palm instead.

England continued to flip through the pages. “I’m going to send you to England, I think. I can figure out what to do with you after the war. And this way you can’t try to change anything. This little rebellion will still fail.” Alfred sawed through the rope. He tensed his arms, ready to snap what threads were left. “And then we are going to set things right.”

Alfred took a breath and broke the ropes, launching himself at Arthur at the same time. They struggled, and Alfred managed to pin him to the ground despite a jab from his bony elbow that broke his nose. Blood streamed down. “Sorry, Arthur, I really am. We’re pretty good friends again, but Christ you’re a dick this era. And you know what? Little rebellion doesn’t fail. And one of the most popular plays of the time is about this little rebellion, okay?”  Alfred huffed, grabbing his journal and placing into his pocket all of two seconds before Arthur flipped him over, fast like an eel.

“You’ll pay for that, boy.” England snarled, fingers circling his neck. Alfred scrabbled for a weapon. He found a canteen and crashed it against England’s face.

“Cheers, mate.” Alfred said, getting to his feet as England lay dazed on the ground. Alfred took a swig of the water and raised it up. “Raise a glass to freedom,” he half sang and tossed the canteen to the floor as he slipped out of the tent.

Alfred dabbed at the blood on his face and chest, walking between the shadows of the tents as he attempted his escape. When he tripped into the lantern light of the patrol, he knew it was over. The alarm was sounded, and he swerved to avoid a gunshot to the arm.

Instead he got one to the chest. Alfred stumbled, listening to the cacophony of the camp. The exit of the camp was in sight. He was so close. Blood bubbled on his lips and he fell to the wet earth. Alfred took a painful breath in, coughing as his chest seized. He didn’t know what would happen to him. He shouldn’t die, but he wasn’t a personification of this nation. That was for the young boy training in Valley Forge. No, his nation was that shining beacon on a hill, far off in the future. The world was closing in, gray clouding his vision, as England shoved his way to the front.

“Christ,” he said.

“Sorry,” Alfred mumbled. His fingers slipped uselessly on the journal, half pulling it out and staining the edges of the pages red. He looked up at England. “Tell Ivan, sorry.”

He shut his eyes.

                                                        …***…

A car screeched loudly and there was a scream. Alfred coughed again, squeezing his eyes shut against bright light. “ What the fuck?!” A woman screamed. “Call 911!”

                                                        …***…

Alfred awoke to soft beeping and the familiar and bitter smell of antiseptic. He blinked, looking about the room. He was in a hospital. Alfred turned his head, groaning at the slight throb in his chest. Fingers curled around his knee and Alfred jolted.

“Sorry,” he heard. “You surprised me.”

“Arthur?” Alfred asked in confusion. He stared at the other nation who had recoiled from his bedside.

They fell silent, staring at each other before Arthur stood. “I should go get a nurse to let them know you’re all right.” He made no move to leave. Alfred let him stand in silence. Arthur cleared his throat. “I– Apologies Alfred. I know…I know this is my fault. I–”

“Do the others know?” Alfred asked.

“What? No.” Arthur paused, shame creeping up his face. “No. Ivan knows. He banned me from seeing you, but he had to go to the hotel and sleep. So, no. He’s the only one.”

“Then let’s keep this between us. I’m not forgiving you,” Alfred elaborated. He was still pissed this happened in the first place. “But I don’t think anyone else needs to know everything.”

England stared at him in surprise and nodded. “Thank you. I– I should go and, uhm, get the nurse.” He walked out slowly and paused at the door. “I gave Ivan your journal, you know.”

“What?” Alfred stared at him. He rubbed at his neck, the movement sore.

“You gave me the journal before you, well, disappeared. I gave it to him when I realized what had happened.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

“I mailed it to him. I’m not daft enough to be within swinging range.” Alfred chuckled and stopped when the pain flared. England tapped his fingers against the door frame. “I couldn’t watch you get shot twice, you know. That day. I saw you die the first time.”

Alfred looked up. England left.

A nurse came in and examined him and by the time she was done, Alfred was exhausted. He laid down on the bed, looking up when a shadow was casted by the dull orange florescent light. Alfred blinked. Watched as Ivan walked in and quietly closed the door behind him. “Babe,” Alfred breathed.

Ivan crossed the room and stood at Alfred’s bedside. Alfred held his hand out, smiling when Ivan’s cool fingers wrapped around his. His thumb swept over the ridges of his knuckles. “You were gone for 8 and a half months.”

“Damn.” He’d hoped time had moved differently.

Ivan pulled out the journal from his coat pocket and waved it slowly. “The letters helped. I read each entry.”

“Yeah?” Alfred asked, blush warming his cheeks.

“You take too many chances,” Ivan murmured, and leaned down to kiss him. Alfred smiled when they parted and Ivan kissed his hand. “Do not do that.”

“I had to get back.” A loopy smile crested Alfred’s face. “I had someone waiting back home for me.”

“I am glad you are back,” Ivan agreed. He kissed Alfred again, this one slower and more intimate. God he missed him “but do not get shot in the chest again.”

“I’ll try. Not my favorite pastime.”

Ivan gave him a wry grin and sat down. He pulled another book out and placed it on the small table next to the bed.

“What’s that?” Alfred asked.

“My journal.” Ivan turned and looked out the window when Alfred gave him a questioning look. “These are my letters to you.”

“Oh my god you big sap,” Alfred said as his cheeks burned. Ivan looked affronted and Alfred chuckled. “I love you so much.”

Ivan huffed. “I love you.”

“Read me them? My eyes hurt.”

“No.”

“Babe!”

“I am not that big a sap.”

“Aw, come on,” Alfred said. He shut his eyes, squeezing Ivan’s fingers. Ivan huffed, and began to talk. He didn’t read the letters, but told Alfred about everything he’d missed. Alfred fell asleep to the sound of his voice.

#rusame #amerus #iridulcentwritings #iridulcent answers #revolutionary war setting #tw:violence #historical innacuracies #up the wazoo

[dawnstruck]

dust and devils on my conscience

FMA RoyEd Pacific Rim 'verse. Non-linear story telling. [Read on AO3]

Mankind, like cockroaches, are tenacious little beasts.

i.

A kaiju is a fearsome thing. Vast and vicious and near-on invincible.

But mankind, like cockroaches, are tenacious little beasts.

They thrive, they survive. Even if many of them die. Even if Death, for some, is a promise.

xviii.

The first tentative step a Jaeger takes is always the most exhilarating. Like a roller-coaster ride, only that you are the loop, the sky, and gravity all at once.

Roy used to love this. He thinks he might be able to love it again.

The water crashes around them and then they move forward.

v.

Two truths. Roy wasn't in love with Maes and Maes wasn't in love with Roy.

That doesn't mean it hurts any less.

xiv.

“Revenge?!” Edward snaps. His metal fist beats against the metal wall to his right, just once, but it seems to set the entire room and everything in it ringing. “You honestly think this is about revenge for me?!”

The gleam in his eyes is furious. Roy does not flinch. He has faced down monsters. A mere boy does not intimidate him.

“Al and I have saved millions of lives,” Ed continues, “We've gone out there again and again, just like you and Hughes have, and you dare belittle me by simply calling it revenge?!”

It would be easy to make a quip about Edward's height then, but his rage is a curious thing. It makes him appear larger than he is and yet there is still so much of a child in him.

“If anything,” Ed adds and his voice is merely a whisper now, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, “You should get some revenge yourself.”

vi.

It's a strange feeling, to mesh your mind with someone so intricately and then have it ripped away within what is little more than an exhale. It's hurts and then it heals and then there is still that frayed edge, forever there at the seams of your conscience.

Roy resists the urge to pluck at the lose ends so he doesn't come undone.

xv.

“Sir,” Riza says, “Permission to speak openly?”

“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” Roy says, tiredly.

“Brigadier General Hughes enlisted to protect his family,” she says. She does not pull her punches, but she gives him a moment's notice to brace himself. “You owe it to him to continue doing so.”

Roy knocks back the whiskey and tries to drown the truth. But, like his nightmares, it swims.

viii.

The Elric brothers are the golden boys of the Jaeger program. They are young, handsome, congenial. Their sob story appeals to the public, both of them orphaned when a kaiju attack laid wreckage to the Australian coast line.

Their accents are as broad as their smiles and, all over the world, boys and girls alike collect posters and action figures of them.

Their Jaeger goes down somewhere close to Kyushu and, though official sources report them to be alive and stable, they do not appear in any morning shows for quite a while to come.

vii.

Riza outmatches him in the compatibility test. It's no surprise, really, but Roy cannot find it in himself to be disappointed. He's not sure he wants to let anyone into his head anyway.

It doesn't work with Jean or Heymans either. General Grumman pinches the tips of his mustache but does not concede defeat. He keeps sending other candidates at Roy, new recruits and seasoned pilots, but none of them are Maes, so it doesn't matter anyway.

iv.

Originally, they enlisted because it was the right thing to do and they took the test because they were curious. They hadn't known each other for long, barely enough to really call each other friends instead of comrades, so no one expected them to be drift compatible.

Their Jaeger is called Pyro Polaroid, a beautiful shiny thing, all gold and navy blue. Maes makes a fuzz after every battle, lamenting the scratches in the paint job as one would with a beloved old-timer.

Later, in his more macabre moments Roy thinks that maybe it was a good thing that Maes died because at least this way he didn't have to witness how Roy quite literally single-mindedly dragged Pyro Polaroid back to the shore and let her collapse against the cliffs. He didn't have to see her be decommissioned and ransacked for spare parts. He didn't have to watch Roy break just as efficiently.

ix.

The rumor reaches Roy when its subjects are already there. Then again, it's kind of hard to miss a giant Jaeger being flown into the base.

Roy doesn't have to guess who it is. The flaming red paint and black markings are enough of a giveaway.

Fullmetal Alchemist, despite the extensive damage she must have sustained, was a younger model and had thus been deemed worthy of repair. Similar things can be said for her pilots.

Alphonse Elric is being carted around the uneven floors of the base in a wheelchair, but his handshake is strong and his smile genuine.

“Looking forward to working with you,” he tells Roy as though it weren't unlikely that he'd ever walk again.

“Where on earth has Ed gone?” a young woman behind Al huffs. She has her hands on her hips and grease smears all over. She must be one of Fullmetal Alchemist's engineers.

“Probably making sure his baby is parked correctly,” Al replies, rolling his eyes. To Roy he says, “He's very particular about who gets to touch her.”

Who's going to co-pilot her then, Roy wants to ask but doesn't because the answer sure as hell is not Alphonse.

xi.

Edward fights as though he were participating in an illegal street fight, not looking for a drift partner. He's got his opponents on their backs in a matter of seconds and impatiently taps his bo staff against the floor mats as he waits for his next challenger.

“Come on,” he drawls. His skin glistens with sweat underneath his black tank top but morphs into scar tissue on his right shoulder. Somewhere in the crowd someone mutters how the automail gives him an unfair advantage. But drift compatibility is not about brute strength. It's about chess.

“Was that really it?” Ed asks now. His face is turned toward Grumman but his eyes are on Riza and her neat clipboard. She hesitates.

“There is one,” she says and when her gaze cuts over to Roy, Ed follows.

xxv.

The sunrise is made of seven colors, dyeing the sea and the sky. But the sun, the sun itself is bold and golden and almost bright enough to hurt Roy's eyes.

He does not look away.

xix.

They lose Arctic Briggs in the waves and Greed is rendered useless when Lan Fan is injured.

Ling gets her out, barely, and she survives, barely. Her remaining hand is red with her own blood as she clutches at Doctor Rockbell's bony wrist.

“Automail,” she grits out through the pain, “I can still fight. Give me automail.”

It took three years to get used to automail, one if you were as determined as Edward, but everyone knows that they only have days.

And yet, amid all the chaos and the destruction, it's easy to read Lan Fan's stubborn spite as hope.

“All right,” Doctor Rockbell says and gives a tight nod.

“Set the clock to zero,” Grumman orders and the bleak metal walls of the Shatterdome reflect his words like a mockingbird's song.

xxi.

Ed kisses like their staff fight might make one expect him to. Looking for openings, for weak spots, just this side of dirty. Roy matches him, kiss for kiss, and this is like their fight, too, this feeling of being alive, of being equal, of being in the right place at the right time.

xii.

Izumi Curtis coughs red blood into white handkerchiefs and observes Roy with narrow eyes.

Like him, she had once managed to pilot a Jaeger on her own. Unlike him, she had ended up with physical ruin instead of mental one.

“I found the boys in the rubble, hidden under the corpse of their mother,” she tells Roy what he has already heard on various radio shows, “I saw them grow old enough to enlist and I saw them nearly die at Kyushu. At some point you have to learn how to prioritize the world before your own fear.”

“I'm not afraid,” he says.

“Not of the kaiju,” she agrees.

xiii.

Roy tells himself he is merely embarrassed when he goes down the rabbit hole. He blames it on being unfamiliar with Fullmetal Alchemist and with how long it's been that he's been inside of a Jaeger at all.

He manages to jerk himself free, vaguely aware of the frantic voices breaking through his headset, only Riza's calm and reasonable. He does not look to his left to see Edward's face. He does not want his pity or his scorn. He does not want to think about how that boy has been inside of his head.

“I'm done here,” Roy croaks and runs away once more.

ii.

Roy flirts with show hosts, takes selfies with fans and ruffles little children's hair. He gives autographs and press conferences, wears tailored suits and debonair smiles. He's the bachelor, the playboy, the unattainable dream. Maes is the opposite, the family man, the goofball, the nerd, who makes dad jokes and shows off pictures of his family and his stamp collection.

They work well together, maintaining the perfect equilibrium of what the public wants to see. Dashing heroes, guys next door.

Maes does not talk about how Gracia silently cries whenever she has to watch him leave. Roy does not admit that maybe sometimes he drinks a little too much whiskey to forget the last trampled city and the corpses that came with it.

Instead, they are invited to dinner parties at the White House and appear on a sports car commercial. They are living the life, only that there is a lot of death involved, too.

xxii.

“We will pilot Greed,” Izumi announces. Sig is a mountain beside her, steady and silent.

“What?” Alphonse bursts out, “But you can't! Pinako said if you ever step foot into a Jaeger again, it's gonna kill you.”

Izumi smiles, fondly.

“Look around, kid,” she says, indicating the listless disarray of the Shatterdome, “If I don't do this, we are all going to die anyway.”

She looks over to Ed, catches his eye. His teeth are clenched and his arms crossed, but he holds her gaze. Then he gives a nod.

“Brother!” Alphonse protests. He looks very pale in the lights of his lab and it makes the red veins in his eyes even more glaring, “You can't-”

He breaks off, doesn't finish. It's the moment in which he realizes that he is not only going to lose his mentor but his brother, too.

“Oh,” he says, his voice tight with tears. But he must know that, one way or another, this was always going to happen.

x.

“Don't,” Doctor Rockbell says evenly, never even looking up from her newspaper. Smoking is not allowed in the base but no one seems to have told her that and so she is puffing away on her pipe.

Edward, who had been feeding Den scraps under the table, sends her a withering look.

“It's the end of the world,” he says, “The least we can do is die fat and happy.” It's says it easily, evasively. They all know it might be over soon. He says it as someone who knows better than others. Better than most.

“Why are you still fighting,” Roy asks, not sure if he even wants to know the answer, “If you think it's the end?”

Ed's eyes, even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the base, are as golden as few living things should be.

“Because if I don't,” Ed tells him, “It's gonna be game over either way.”

xvi.

Drift compatibility, generally speaking, makes sense.

Olivier Armstong and Artyom Buccaneer make sense because he has been serving under her for years. Ling and Lan Fan make sense because they grew up together. Sig and Izumi Curtis make sense because they are married and still madly in love.

Roy and Ed, on the other hand, should not make sense.

Ed's mind is a flurry of contradictions. Smiles tucked into the corners of his loved ones, Alphonse, their mother, Winry, Pinako. Izumi with a halo of the morning sun, a dead kaiju at her feet and a defunct Jaeger at her back, Izumi pale and with coughs shaking her asunder. Snippets of Al's mind interwoven with his own. Brandings of the precise moment in which Al lost feeling in his legs, of when Ed felt nothing but the absence of his own limbs. Metal grinding against kaiju scales, metal grinding into Ed's flesh and bone, fusing with his skin. Weeks and weeks of sitting by Al's bedside, waiting for him to wake up. Months and months of being useless, useless, useless. Day after day of dreadful news, broken walls, broken bodies.

And watching, always watching, as Winry and the rest of the team sew Fullmetal Alchemist back into her former glory, some uneven stitches here, some scars there, and Ed knows that you are never just piloting with your partner but with your Jaeger as well. He'll brave the oceans with her yet again and even the idea of doing it without Al doesn't hurt as much as it ought to.

Revenge, Roy had thought, when it had always been so much more than that.

xx.

“Oi,” Ed says, flicking an automail finger against Roy's wrist. The impact reverberates through Roy's bone marrow. “I'm not fucking piloting with you if you're hungover.”

“We share our minds, not our actual brains,” Roy tells him from experience. Maes had never complained about sympathy headaches the morning after Roy had drunk himself into a stupor again. But he had given Roy steady looks, not necessarily disappointed, but lingering a little too long for comfort. Ed is doing the same now, though his eyebrows are pinched, his eyes somber.

“What would you like me to do instead?” Roy says, offering a skeleton of a smile. He and Olivier had never gotten along but she had been Alex's sister and Roy blames himself for his failure. Without her and Buccaneer piloting Arctic Briggs, humanity is one, two, a dozen steps closer to extinction.

“Dunno,” Ed says. He scuffs the heel of his boot against the floor, shivering slightly. He's wearing an oversized sweater to fend of the perpetual cold of the Shatterdome. Does he miss the Australian heat? Does he miss his arm and leg underneath the phantom pain? Does he miss his mother like Roy misses Maes?

“Dunno,” Ed repeats, “But grief's gonna fuck you over if you don't fuck it back.”

“And how do you...,” Roy says, tilting his head to the side in mildly drunk curiosity, “Fuck grief back?”

Edward grins, boyish and brave and full of bad ideas.

“You fight,” he says as though it were a gospel.

A moment of enlightenment and then Roy sets his glass aside. He prays.

xvi.

Roy, to his chagrin, estimated the Elrics. Not just Edward, but Alphonse, too.

There is more to them than sun tanned skin and the lucky coincidence of being drift compatible.

“I had to do something,” Alphonse says with red bleeding into his hazel eyes. Roy wrinkles his nose against the invasive smell of the kaiju brain on the slab, but Edward doesn't even seem to notice, fuzzing over his younger brother like a nervous bird.

“What did you see?” Grumman wants to know.

“Their world,” Alphonse says and then he explains.

xxiii. Sex, in its many forms, is a form of survival. On the one hand, there is procreation. On the other, there is the instinct to affirm life, the urgency of one's last moments.

Cheap whiskey, Roy knows, does not compare to orgasm, but Edward's eyes have the same color.

The boy has not done this often, Roy thinks. Too earnest to bed one of his many groupies, too busy to bother with anyone else. On the surface, Edward seems to consist of little but Jaeger, kaiju, and his pickpocketed family. Underneath that, however, sits a deep-rooted fear of pain and loneliness and abandonment.

So he lets Roy fuck him in the face of death and destruction, and Roy fucks him in spite of it. He puts no promises into his kisses, no reassurances, because he doesn't have any. Instead, he weaves solace into Edward's hair, gentle reminders that for now – for now – they are here and alive and in each others' arms instead of each others' heads. It's little and lacking, but it's all they have and that makes it precious.

Roy does not dream that night.

iii.

“Ah,” Maes says, when they are playing cards without any gambles, “What will you do? When it's done, I mean.”

He never seems to doubt that it would be done, eventually. That humanity would win the fight and that life would return to how it was before the first kaiju appeared.

Roy thinks of how Maes himself would probably leave the military and take up a desk job somewhere else, something that allows him to be with Gracia and Elysia, something that doesn't count down his days like the war clock at the Shatterdome. Tick tick. Reset. Tick tick. Reset.

Roy, however, is not like that. Roy sees the horizon only when there is a new monster appearing on it. Roy never plans beyond that.

“I'd like to watch the sunrise,” he says and reveals his hand.

xxvi.

Mankind, like cockroaches, are tenacious little beasts.

xxiv.

“You mad cunt,” Edward yells against the wind. His hair is already wavy with sea salt, even though it can't have been more than a few minutes. Logically, Roy knows it can't have been more than a few minutes, even though it felt like eternity.

The memories of passing through the portal are both hazy and knife-sharp at the same time. He entered another world, another planet. And, what's more, he almost died. But he didn't.

“Are you all right?” he asks, somewhat numbly. There are voices coming from out of the escape pod, questions on whether everything worked out on their end, promises to come get them soon. He thinks he can hear helicopters in the distance.

“All right?” Edward repeats as though the definition of the word had just been fundamentally altered. The combination of his accent and adrenaline slur the words until he sounds almost drunk on elation. “All right?”

His fingers are on the collar of Roy's suit, a tether that is tender and terrible at the same time. His clammy forehead presses against Roy's.

“This is General Grumman,” Grumman's voice drones out of the pod. He sounds tinny and far away. The moment remains untouchable.

“The breach is sealed,” he announces, “Stop the clock!”

Roy kisses Ed.

#fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #RoyEd #Pacific Rim #fanfic #mine

[fayecallasdatingblog]

Is Online Dating Safe? 14 Tips For Safely Finding Love Online

If you’re new to dating again after a divorce or breakup, your friends are probably pushing you to go online to find a man. But you wonder: is online dating safe? Is it something you should explore…or stay away from?

Maybe you’ve heard horror hookup stories about Tinder…

Or about a friend of a friend who met nothing but losers on dating apps…

Or simply are intimidated by the prospect of talking to a man online and then meeting him face to face.

Whatever your hangups about dating apps and sites, I want to help you navigate the world of online dating without fear for your safety.

The Lowdown on Online Dating and Dating Apps

In general, dating apps and sites are perfectly safe, though of course there are exceptions (PLEASE don’t Google them. They will freak you out). They are just another channel to connect single people, just like a bar or a singles group.

The key is to be conscious of what you’re doing, both when you text a new guy and when you meet him in person. After all, you don’t know this man! Put your safety first!

At the start, you may feel like a fish out of water, but after talking to or even dating a few men you meet on dating apps, you’ll learn to look for certain signs that tell you that the dude is a good one.

Why You Should Consider Online Dating

A lot of women in their 40s or older find it harder to meet a man at this point in their lives. In college, men were everywhere. Now you may only interact with men at work (and you’re not going there) or in line waiting for your coffee. You feel like all the good ones are already taken.

If meeting a man the natural way is a challenge, you absolutely should try online dating…though realize that it’s just ONE tool in your toolkit for finding love. Yes, try online dating, but also go to singles events…ask your friends to set you up…do it all!

After all…what have you got to lose?

Is Online Dating Safe? It Is if You Follow These Safety Tips

Online dating can be really wonderful…if you keep safety tips in mind.

Your safety should be a priority. I don’t care how hot a man’s photos are online. He may not even be that guy (that’s essentially what catfishing is: someone posting photos that aren’t him and then lying about who he is). You have to go into online dating with a bit of skepticism, if only to ensure that you don’t end up with a bad — or even dangerous — guy.

I’m not trying to scare you, but I don’t want you to be naive in thinking that every man you meet through dating apps will be honest. So to answer the question, is online dating safe: it absolutely is…when you take certain precautions.

1. Stick to Quality Sites

Not all dating sites are created equal. Some put more focus on keeping you safe. Bumble, Tinder, Match, eHarmony, and a handful of others are reputable sites, and many have measures to prevent catfishing, though they’re not always foolproof. I’ve heard from many women I’ve coached that these sites tend to have higher-quality men, probably because they charge for their services.

Free sites like Badoo and Zoosk have a much higher instance of fake profiles. Don’t waste your time.

2. Learn the Signs of a Catfisher

via GIPHY

It’s crazy: more than half of online daters have seen dating profiles where they think the person lied about one thing or another. Sometimes these are small lies, like their age or height, but sometimes they are full-blown catfishing. They may steal someone else’s photo or completely make up a persona. Why? There are different theories. Sometimes catfishers are bored or lonely. Sometimes they’re too insecure to date as themselves and so they pretend to be someone else. Look for these signs that you might be the victim of catfishing.

He’s quick to be affectionate, though may not ask many questions about you. He texts several times a day and always asks how you are. He makes you feel good because, hey, this guy really likes you! And yet…he really hasn’t bothered to find anything out about your personality or history. I’m not saying a good man can’t fall for you quickly, but just go slowly until you meet him and get to know him.

He’s got his whole backstory down pat, and there’s usually some trauma there. I know a woman who talked to a man who, in the first five texts, told her that both his parents had died when he was little. I mean, it might be true, but is that really something you’d come out with so early in the game? In this case, he was looking for her sympathy to hook her.

He wants to get off the dating app and get your number. Probably because if you realize he’s catfishing you, you’ll report his profile!

He can’t talk on the phone. Naturally, if you’re dating someone, you want to talk to them. But this man always has an excuse. He can’t talk at work. His battery is dying. He’s at his mom’s house. After a few excuses, realize there’s something more going on.

He drags his feet to meet you. He’s all about texting you 24/7, but even after a few weeks, he’s not asking you out. Then you ask him out…and it’s one excuse after another. A lot of times, catfishers will claim to be deployed overseas, which makes it convenient, since they can’t meet for coffee.

He doesn’t have photos of his face on his profile. I advise women to never, ever start chatting with a man who won’t show his photos on his dating profile. He’s hiding something. Either he’s not who he says he is, or he’s married and doesn’t want to be caught.

3. Learn How to Reverse Image Search

Here’s a tricky little tool to see if you can find more photos of this guy to make sure he is who he says he is. Right click his photo on a dating site or screenshot it. On Google.com, click the camera icon in the search bar and upload the photo from his profile. If he’s used that photo anywhere else, it will appear in search results. You might find his Facebook page or other dating profile.

You’re looking to make sure that his image is on profiles with the name he’s given you! I know a woman who did this from a dating app for a man who said he was named Stefano, Italian, living in California. The search revealed that he was not Italian, his name was Pete, and he lived in Ohio! The guy didn’t even know that someone had stolen his photo to use on dating sites as a catfish. This trick can reveal a lot!

4. Do a Little Investigating

Is online dating safe? It is if you’re a super sleuth!

Is online dating safe? The more you know, the safer it is. I’m not saying you have to go all stalker on the guy, but Google his name and see what comes up. If there’s a warrant out for his arrest, block him!

Just be careful: it’s easy to get pulled down the rabbit hole here. You Google him and he turns out to be legit…so you start clicking on links and social profiles. In 10 minutes, you know far more about this guy than he’s actually told you. This can be a problem if you mention his recent sailboat race win…and he asks how in the heck you knew about it. Awkward….

5. Take Your Time Before Agreeing to a First Date

There’s not a lot to be gained by agreeing to go out with a man you’re chatting with through a dating app within a day or two of virtually meeting, and the more time you take before you meet, the more you can get to know him and be assured that he won’t chop you in a thousand pieces on that date. I kid!…mostly.

If he’s genuinely interested in you (and not just looking for a hookup), he’ll be patient and agree to wait to meet. If he asks within the first few minutes of texting whether you want to meet…and it’s 9 pm…he’s probably just looking for one thing.

You need to be comfortable with this man before meeting him. Talking just builds the relationship, so talk for several days or even weeks before you meet him.

6. Talk on the Phone Before a Date

I can’t really explain why talking on the phone can give you reassurance that he’s not a creep…but it’s true. In this era of texting, it takes a little commitment to agree to actually talk on the phone, so if he agrees (or even suggests it), it’s a good sign that he’s really interested in you.

Also, it’s hard to get to know someone via text. Even if you voice-to-text it, you have a delay between your question and his response. A phone conversation allows you to dive deeper into those getting-to-know-you questions and lets you see what kind of chemistry you have in conversation.

And I guess if he sounds like a complete weirdo…you can then block him and not worry about it.

Another of my female coaching clients moved from the dating app to a phone call, and the man sounded like he’d drunk 10 cups of coffee (or was on speed). Within five minutes, he told her he’d been diagnosed with mania…then asked her to meet up that night. She found an excuse to get off the phone…and blocked him.

7. When You Do Meet, Make it a Public Place

A coffee date is the perfect way to meet a guy for the first time.

“Come over to my house, baby,” he purrs, “I’ll cook you dinner.”

As sexy as a man who cooks is…you don’t need to accept this invitation for the first time you meet someone. The man should understand your need to feel safe. Choose a restaurant or bar. Make it a place you’re familiar with. Park under a street light if it’s night time.

DON’T meet at his house or anywhere remote. And if he tries to bully you into doing it, realize that this guy does not have good intentions!

8. Tell Your Friend Where You’re Going

Is online dating safe?  The jury’s still out, but if you take precautions like telling a friend where you’re meeting this guy, you pretty much eliminate most of the risk.

Let one or more friends know where you’ll be, and at what time. You may even tell them to text you to check in…or ask them to send a fake emergency text if things aren’t going well!

I know some women who even download an app that will keep up with the location of their friend’s phone in case something goes wrong. You can’t be too cautious!

9. Read His Profile Carefully

Not all men fill out their online dating profiles thoroughly, but many do. Keep an eye out for any red flags you might otherwise miss if you focus on his handsome photos:

“Just want a hookup”

“In a polyamorous relationship” 

“H/U only”

“The wife and I are looking for a third!”

You probably want to move on from these profiles (though, you might not. No judgment!). It pays to read!

10. Plan for the Date to be Short

“Look at the time! I’ve got to go!”

Meeting for coffee is a great first date, and should only last an hour or two. If you’re uncomfortable or don’t like the guy, you can make an excuse to leave. If you do have a good time, extend the date to dinner!

You could even tell him before the date that you have an appointment a couple of hours after the date. If you feel bad about lying, make plans with a friend to do a post-date dish so you actually do have plans. And even if the date goes well, being slightly unavailable will make him want you more!

11. Ask the Right Questions

It may seem silly, but even asking “have you ever been married” can lead to some interesting answers. Some men (certainly not all) will be completely open. They may even admit that they’re married…in which case you have the chance to get out before you get involved in a bad situation.

Scary but true: at least 30% of Tinder users are married! Some will openly admit it in their profiles (and some women are even into being the mistress). Others may admit it once they meet you, hoping you’ll understand. Still others will try to keep it under wraps permanently, so put on your Super Sleuth hat and do some investigating if you’re concerned that he might be keeping something from you.

And asking what he’s looking for before you meet can help you find out if he’s just looking for a hookup so you don’t waste your time.

12. Use Photos You Don’t Use Anywhere Else

Just like you can do that reverse image search on him, so can he do it on your photos. If your dating profile pics are the same ones you use on social media, he can easily find out a lot of information about you. Not cool.

Use a photo that you haven’t used anywhere online to keep your data safe.

13. Don’t Let Him Pick You Up on the First Date

You have no idea if you’re going to want to go on a second date, so why would you let this guy know where you live before you’ve met him? Even if he’s trying to be chivalrous, tell him that you’ll meet him at the venue. That way you aren’t relying on him for a ride home if you’re ready to go home…and you know you’ll get home safely.

14. Trust Your Gut

If he gives you the creeps by telling you he loves you after texting you for two days…block him.

If you meet him and he can’t stop staring at your breasts…run away.

If he asks for money…report him on the dating app.

(That’s a thing, by the way. All dating apps have an option to report and/or block a guy. You can specify that he’s not who he says he is, that he’s being vulgar or inappropriate, etc. Use that feature so that other women don’t end up being annoyed by the same man!)

Your instinct will tell you if you’re talking to a man who is not worthy of you. Listen to it. Even if your first online dating experience isn’t what you hoped for — whether you didn’t click or he turned out to be an utter d-bag — realize that the more effort you put into dating online, the better the results you’ll get. And I promise: there are some really great guys on dating apps! You’ll find one!

After all, 8% of people who are married or in serious relationships met online, and that number is growing every day!

Conclusion:

You can have a lot of fun on dating apps if you let yourself!

If you’re serious about meeting Mr. Right, you greatly increase your odds of meeting him sooner by doing everything you can to meet more single men. Commit to it like a part-time job. Sign up for meetups (if nothing else, you’ll meet other people who understand what it’s like to be out there dating). Go to bars and restaurants with friends. Go to parties where you don’t know everyone. See who your friends know.

And yes, try online dating.

It may be scary at first. After all, the last time you were single, dating apps didn’t exist. Your only option was meeting someone in person. But look at dating apps as a benefit: they can connect you to really cool people you wouldn’t otherwise run into.

Talk to me. Have you tried dating apps? Do you have any success stories…or laughable moments? Share them in the comments below!

Flirting will be your #1 secret weapon in the world of online dating. Sign up for my exclusive Flirting Workshop to from Meet Positives SM Feed https://sexyconfidence.com/is-online-dating-safe/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Meet Positives SM Feed

[travisandersondatingblog]

Is Online Dating Safe? 14 Tips For Safely Finding Love Online

If you’re new to dating again after a divorce or breakup, your friends are probably pushing you to go online to find a man. But you wonder: is online dating safe? Is it something you should explore…or stay away from?

Maybe you’ve heard horror hookup stories about Tinder…

Or about a friend of a friend who met nothing but losers on dating apps…

Or simply are intimidated by the prospect of talking to a man online and then meeting him face to face.

Whatever your hangups about dating apps and sites, I want to help you navigate the world of online dating without fear for your safety.

The Lowdown on Online Dating and Dating Apps

In general, dating apps and sites are perfectly safe, though of course there are exceptions (PLEASE don’t Google them. They will freak you out). They are just another channel to connect single people, just like a bar or a singles group.

The key is to be conscious of what you’re doing, both when you text a new guy and when you meet him in person. After all, you don’t know this man! Put your safety first!

At the start, you may feel like a fish out of water, but after talking to or even dating a few men you meet on dating apps, you’ll learn to look for certain signs that tell you that the dude is a good one.

Why You Should Consider Online Dating

A lot of women in their 40s or older find it harder to meet a man at this point in their lives. In college, men were everywhere. Now you may only interact with men at work (and you’re not going there) or in line waiting for your coffee. You feel like all the good ones are already taken.

If meeting a man the natural way is a challenge, you absolutely should try online dating…though realize that it’s just ONE tool in your toolkit for finding love. Yes, try online dating, but also go to singles events…ask your friends to set you up…do it all!

After all…what have you got to lose?

Is Online Dating Safe? It Is if You Follow These Safety Tips

Online dating can be really wonderful…if you keep safety tips in mind.

Your safety should be a priority. I don’t care how hot a man’s photos are online. He may not even be that guy (that’s essentially what catfishing is: someone posting photos that aren’t him and then lying about who he is). You have to go into online dating with a bit of skepticism, if only to ensure that you don’t end up with a bad — or even dangerous — guy.

I’m not trying to scare you, but I don’t want you to be naive in thinking that every man you meet through dating apps will be honest. So to answer the question, is online dating safe: it absolutely is…when you take certain precautions.

1. Stick to Quality Sites

Not all dating sites are created equal. Some put more focus on keeping you safe. Bumble, Tinder, Match, eHarmony, and a handful of others are reputable sites, and many have measures to prevent catfishing, though they’re not always foolproof. I’ve heard from many women I’ve coached that these sites tend to have higher-quality men, probably because they charge for their services.

Free sites like Badoo and Zoosk have a much higher instance of fake profiles. Don’t waste your time.

2. Learn the Signs of a Catfisher

via GIPHY

It’s crazy: more than half of online daters have seen dating profiles where they think the person lied about one thing or another. Sometimes these are small lies, like their age or height, but sometimes they are full-blown catfishing. They may steal someone else’s photo or completely make up a persona. Why? There are different theories. Sometimes catfishers are bored or lonely. Sometimes they’re too insecure to date as themselves and so they pretend to be someone else. Look for these signs that you might be the victim of catfishing.

He’s quick to be affectionate, though may not ask many questions about you. He texts several times a day and always asks how you are. He makes you feel good because, hey, this guy really likes you! And yet…he really hasn’t bothered to find anything out about your personality or history. I’m not saying a good man can’t fall for you quickly, but just go slowly until you meet him and get to know him.

He’s got his whole backstory down pat, and there’s usually some trauma there. I know a woman who talked to a man who, in the first five texts, told her that both his parents had died when he was little. I mean, it might be true, but is that really something you’d come out with so early in the game? In this case, he was looking for her sympathy to hook her.

He wants to get off the dating app and get your number. Probably because if you realize he’s catfishing you, you’ll report his profile!

He can’t talk on the phone. Naturally, if you’re dating someone, you want to talk to them. But this man always has an excuse. He can’t talk at work. His battery is dying. He’s at his mom’s house. After a few excuses, realize there’s something more going on.

He drags his feet to meet you. He’s all about texting you 24/7, but even after a few weeks, he’s not asking you out. Then you ask him out…and it’s one excuse after another. A lot of times, catfishers will claim to be deployed overseas, which makes it convenient, since they can’t meet for coffee.

He doesn’t have photos of his face on his profile. I advise women to never, ever start chatting with a man who won’t show his photos on his dating profile. He’s hiding something. Either he’s not who he says he is, or he’s married and doesn’t want to be caught.

3. Learn How to Reverse Image Search

Here’s a tricky little tool to see if you can find more photos of this guy to make sure he is who he says he is. Right click his photo on a dating site or screenshot it. On Google.com, click the camera icon in the search bar and upload the photo from his profile. If he’s used that photo anywhere else, it will appear in search results. You might find his Facebook page or other dating profile.

You’re looking to make sure that his image is on profiles with the name he’s given you! I know a woman who did this from a dating app for a man who said he was named Stefano, Italian, living in California. The search revealed that he was not Italian, his name was Pete, and he lived in Ohio! The guy didn’t even know that someone had stolen his photo to use on dating sites as a catfish. This trick can reveal a lot!

4. Do a Little Investigating

Is online dating safe? It is if you’re a super sleuth!

Is online dating safe? The more you know, the safer it is. I’m not saying you have to go all stalker on the guy, but Google his name and see what comes up. If there’s a warrant out for his arrest, block him!

Just be careful: it’s easy to get pulled down the rabbit hole here. You Google him and he turns out to be legit…so you start clicking on links and social profiles. In 10 minutes, you know far more about this guy than he’s actually told you. This can be a problem if you mention his recent sailboat race win…and he asks how in the heck you knew about it. Awkward….

5. Take Your Time Before Agreeing to a First Date

There’s not a lot to be gained by agreeing to go out with a man you’re chatting with through a dating app within a day or two of virtually meeting, and the more time you take before you meet, the more you can get to know him and be assured that he won’t chop you in a thousand pieces on that date. I kid!…mostly.

If he’s genuinely interested in you (and not just looking for a hookup), he’ll be patient and agree to wait to meet. If he asks within the first few minutes of texting whether you want to meet…and it’s 9 pm…he’s probably just looking for one thing.

You need to be comfortable with this man before meeting him. Talking just builds the relationship, so talk for several days or even weeks before you meet him.

6. Talk on the Phone Before a Date

I can’t really explain why talking on the phone can give you reassurance that he’s not a creep…but it’s true. In this era of texting, it takes a little commitment to agree to actually talk on the phone, so if he agrees (or even suggests it), it’s a good sign that he’s really interested in you.

Also, it’s hard to get to know someone via text. Even if you voice-to-text it, you have a delay between your question and his response. A phone conversation allows you to dive deeper into those getting-to-know-you questions and lets you see what kind of chemistry you have in conversation.

And I guess if he sounds like a complete weirdo…you can then block him and not worry about it.

Another of my female coaching clients moved from the dating app to a phone call, and the man sounded like he’d drunk 10 cups of coffee (or was on speed). Within five minutes, he told her he’d been diagnosed with mania…then asked her to meet up that night. She found an excuse to get off the phone…and blocked him.

7. When You Do Meet, Make it a Public Place

A coffee date is the perfect way to meet a guy for the first time.

“Come over to my house, baby,” he purrs, “I’ll cook you dinner.”

As sexy as a man who cooks is…you don’t need to accept this invitation for the first time you meet someone. The man should understand your need to feel safe. Choose a restaurant or bar. Make it a place you’re familiar with. Park under a street light if it’s night time.

DON’T meet at his house or anywhere remote. And if he tries to bully you into doing it, realize that this guy does not have good intentions!

8. Tell Your Friend Where You’re Going

Is online dating safe?  The jury’s still out, but if you take precautions like telling a friend where you’re meeting this guy, you pretty much eliminate most of the risk.

Let one or more friends know where you’ll be, and at what time. You may even tell them to text you to check in…or ask them to send a fake emergency text if things aren’t going well!

I know some women who even download an app that will keep up with the location of their friend’s phone in case something goes wrong. You can’t be too cautious!

9. Read His Profile Carefully

Not all men fill out their online dating profiles thoroughly, but many do. Keep an eye out for any red flags you might otherwise miss if you focus on his handsome photos:

“Just want a hookup”

“In a polyamorous relationship” 

“H/U only”

“The wife and I are looking for a third!”

You probably want to move on from these profiles (though, you might not. No judgment!). It pays to read!

10. Plan for the Date to be Short

“Look at the time! I’ve got to go!”

Meeting for coffee is a great first date, and should only last an hour or two. If you’re uncomfortable or don’t like the guy, you can make an excuse to leave. If you do have a good time, extend the date to dinner!

You could even tell him before the date that you have an appointment a couple of hours after the date. If you feel bad about lying, make plans with a friend to do a post-date dish so you actually do have plans. And even if the date goes well, being slightly unavailable will make him want you more!

11. Ask the Right Questions

It may seem silly, but even asking “have you ever been married” can lead to some interesting answers. Some men (certainly not all) will be completely open. They may even admit that they’re married…in which case you have the chance to get out before you get involved in a bad situation.

Scary but true: at least 30% of Tinder users are married! Some will openly admit it in their profiles (and some women are even into being the mistress). Others may admit it once they meet you, hoping you’ll understand. Still others will try to keep it under wraps permanently, so put on your Super Sleuth hat and do some investigating if you’re concerned that he might be keeping something from you.

And asking what he’s looking for before you meet can help you find out if he’s just looking for a hookup so you don’t waste your time.

12. Use Photos You Don’t Use Anywhere Else

Just like you can do that reverse image search on him, so can he do it on your photos. If your dating profile pics are the same ones you use on social media, he can easily find out a lot of information about you. Not cool.

Use a photo that you haven’t used anywhere online to keep your data safe.

13. Don’t Let Him Pick You Up on the First Date

You have no idea if you’re going to want to go on a second date, so why would you let this guy know where you live before you’ve met him? Even if he’s trying to be chivalrous, tell him that you’ll meet him at the venue. That way you aren’t relying on him for a ride home if you’re ready to go home…and you know you’ll get home safely.

14. Trust Your Gut

If he gives you the creeps by telling you he loves you after texting you for two days…block him.

If you meet him and he can’t stop staring at your breasts…run away.

If he asks for money…report him on the dating app.

(That’s a thing, by the way. All dating apps have an option to report and/or block a guy. You can specify that he’s not who he says he is, that he’s being vulgar or inappropriate, etc. Use that feature so that other women don’t end up being annoyed by the same man!)

Your instinct will tell you if you’re talking to a man who is not worthy of you. Listen to it. Even if your first online dating experience isn’t what you hoped for — whether you didn’t click or he turned out to be an utter d-bag — realize that the more effort you put into dating online, the better the results you’ll get. And I promise: there are some really great guys on dating apps! You’ll find one!

After all, 8% of people who are married or in serious relationships met online, and that number is growing every day!

Conclusion:

You can have a lot of fun on dating apps if you let yourself!

If you’re serious about meeting Mr. Right, you greatly increase your odds of meeting him sooner by doing everything you can to meet more single men. Commit to it like a part-time job. Sign up for meetups (if nothing else, you’ll meet other people who understand what it’s like to be out there dating). Go to bars and restaurants with friends. Go to parties where you don’t know everyone. See who your friends know.

And yes, try online dating.

It may be scary at first. After all, the last time you were single, dating apps didn’t exist. Your only option was meeting someone in person. But look at dating apps as a benefit: they can connect you to really cool people you wouldn’t otherwise run into.

Talk to me. Have you tried dating apps? Do you have any success stories…or laughable moments? Share them in the comments below!

Flirting will be your #1 secret weapon in the world of online dating. Sign up for my exclusive Flirting Workshop to from Meet Positives SM Feed 3 https://sexyconfidence.com/is-online-dating-safe/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Meet Positives SM Feed 3

[aurimeanswind]

Here comes the Storm—Sunday Chats (11-26-17)

Another week, another long time away from those sweet, good people who came to my house for ExtraLife. It’s definitely been the hardest adjustment period after a nice big fun-time event for me, and while I’m still bummed, I’m pushing through.

Game of the Year Season

So I said on a most recent podcast that we will not be doing our annual Game of the Year “Guest Top 10” podcasts, where I would go around, collect guests from different rabbit holes on the internet, and sit down with them for an hour-long chat to essentially interview them on their ten favorite video games from that year. I’ve decided against it, but I did imply that there may be something in its place. It’s still in the early stages of planning, so I haven’t said anything big on it yet, ad I’m trying to keep it pretty secret, so bear with me here.

If you have played any of these ten games, and would be interested in talking about them in a mostly positive manner, please reach out to me:

Breath of the Wild

Nier Automata

Hellblade

Mario Odyssey

Wolfenstein 2

Danganronpa V3

Persona 5

Edith Finch

Destiny 2

Resident Evil 7

Now reaching out to me doesn’t guarantee a spot on any to-be-announced project, but I want to start writing down names. Please reach out to me in whatever way you prefer and tell me what game you’ve played and would be interested in talking about. I’ll keep you posted as best I can.

Game of the Year is always a hectic time for me since it’s a lot of “oh god I need to finish this, this, and that,” but it’s also a time where a lot of great conversations start happening, and when those fun end-of-year announcements come billowing forth. I’m excited because of the conversations I get to listen in on, and possibly partake in, but I’m also hesitant since many of my choice favorite games will receive I’m sure the most scrutinous eye.

Regardless, if you’re the kind of person who gets vehemently upset when your favorite podcast or The Game Awards don’t pick your favorite game as Game of the Year, or RPG of the year, or whatever, my advice to you is: chill. I’ve been in your shoes before, and I know that frustration when the thing you love so much doesn’t get the recognition you think it deserves, but relax. One gaming site, or outlet, or awards show doesn’t reflect everyone unanimously, and just because someone liked one thing more than you did, or didn’t like something as much as you, doesn’t invalidate your feelings. Enjoy what you love.

Chase your bliss, as I sometimes say.

What’s on Tap:

Assassin’s Creed Origins

I finally finished this game!

Woof. It kind of drags at the end.

I’ll say this, I put over 100 hours into two excellent games this year, Persona 5 and Zelda, and they flew by. When I looked at my game counter on AC Origins, the 36 hours I put into it felt much longer at the end of it all.

I’m not saying it’s bad, but there was a point where I felt I had seen all I needed to see, and then there was six more hours of story missions, and I kind of just wanted it to be over.

When you’re in the thick of it, playing the game, it’s exceptionally fun.

I’m still really glad I played it. Bayek is one of my favorite characters from this year. Excellently done, and an Egyptian protagonists added to my list of favorite characters in games is pretty fucking rad I think.

What Remains of Edith Finch

I played through all of this this past week, in what was meant to be breakout sessions, but ended up being one big long session.

VERY GOOD. I loved the vignette style storytelling, I liked the premise, and above all, I loved exploring this big old house with tons of secrets in it.

It’s very much my jam, but the bond between mechanics and storytelling in this game is pretty excellent.

Assassin’s Creed 3

Sigh. Don’t ask.

Skyrim VR

My brother recently got a whole new setup for himself, including a 4K TV, a PS4 Pro, which I set up for him today, and a PlayStation VR. He went on vacation starting yesterday and gave me free reign to play around with it as I’d like.

All I really did was play the tutorial of Skyrim VR, which was... odd.

I don’t know how I feel about movement in that game, but generally I really liked seeing that game from a first person perspective, experiencing the different control sets.

I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV kind of just waving my arms around though, so it wasn’t what I’d call the full experience. Maybe with more time I’ll be able to come to an actual opinion.

I will say, holding my arms out stretched in either direction and blasting fire in one direction and lightening in the other was fucking sweet.

Questions

As always, if you’d like to ask your question and be a part of the Sunday Chats conversations, look for any of my tweets on Sundays with the hashtag #SundayChats and respond with your question!

Next week I will be asking a question, and I already have it in mind, so I won’t be taking questions next week. There seems to be some confusion on this, but just look for the tweet and I try and explain it there.

Goddammmit hahaha.

Okay. Well, I would probably do the L in my first name. Then I’m A Walrus Ex, which implies I am the ex-walrus, or ex-partner of someone, who just so happens to be a Walrus. Now, there is a lot of potential here if we dig a bit deeper. I could replace the “ill” in the part of my last name and be Alex One Walrus. Which you could then punctuate differently, like “Alex, One Walrus”. Hey, why not throw in a question mark there just for fun!

Alex, One Walrus? PLEASE?

Now I know that isn’t in the spirit of the question, you did specify, Steven, that I’d have to replace just one letter of my name, but if you’re gonna sit here and send me some weird questions I am about to say come into this play space and play with me.

Play with me - Griffin McElroy, 2017.

Boy does this thicken the plot up pretty well ey.

I mean I don’t think I’d want to kiss a minion, but if it was one of those princess and the frog situations, a classic pull, I know, I’d kiss a minion square on the lips to see if he or she turned into a beautiful princess or prince.

Think about it, if you were cursed to live in the body of a disgusting, banana yellow, horror side-show creature, straight out of American Horror Story, you’d want someone, anyone, to just come release you from that prison before you know, you get acclimated and start living that life the only way you can: one butt joke at a time.

Ups and downs, ya know? Easily the best weekend of my life happened in this year, ExtraLife 2017, which is both an accomplishment, a look back at the road I’ve taken, and (hopefully) a preview of the opportunity and accomplishment that is yet to come. It was incredible.

On the other side of that is the summer of this year, which saw my worst depression since I first had it in 2012. A lot of factors caused this, but it really put such a hold on some of the things I was working on.

2017 was also the year after launched Alex Talks, and in the calendar year of 2017, I’ve only put up one episode of it. I’ve barely worked on video at all this year, in fact. It’s a year I have to live in the shadow of that accomplishment.

It’s been a great year for video games, for media, and a terrible one for the world at large, for the rights of many people who don’t get any benefit of the doubt. One that has taught me a lot about the bad parts of empathy, and one that has really reformed my perspective.

There is another post for this, with a more complete thoughts, but:

it’s had its ups and downs.

I’m exceptionally lucky that I have friends who fit into all four houses, all of which I love.

I think the house stuff is played up in the book, and I bet if you asked JK today, she’d say she regrets making some of them as villainous as they appeared. But also that was reflective of ‘91-98 of Hogwarts, and in my heart of hearts, I believe things changed after the battle of ‘98.

(See: if you didn’t know how much of a Harry Potter nerd I was before, casual Sunday Chats reader, strap in)

Slytherin gets the worst rap. But tenaciousness and cunning and a sly nature don’t mean you’re a bad person. You’re the person that sticks up for your friend that doesn't stick up for themselves, and gets back. Hard. Maybe things get taken to far, but the Slytherin is the person that takes the action, that punches the Nazi, because they don’t fuck with that.

Hufflepuff gets a terrible reputation! Hufflepuff is great. One word: loyalty. Honor. Diggory told Harry how to get into the Egg in the 4th book because he had the honor to do so. Loyalty to the people you love. You care about. Honor to say what needs to be said. You’re not the leader, but you’re the person the leader trusts the most.

Ravenclaw. Cocky and over enthused. Often seen as a little haughty. But The thirst to seek knowledge is a gift and a curse, and those are the bad parts. What about the longing to teach, to challenge, to instill that knowledge in others? The Ravenclaw is the tactician, the hacker and the brains in the heist. They’re the Rise and the Futaba of the group, to use a Persona reference.

Gryffindor. Cockier, thick headed, stubborn, and not the least bit a little sensitive to their house being undercut, eh? But it’s because Gryffindor wants to be the best. They want to stare the dragon in the face. They want to lead the charge, the be the support beam for everyone, to be the one everyone turns to. They want to be brave, and that’s very important. The Gryffindor is also the person that punches the Nazi, because they don’t fuck with that either.

But take a step back. If you would rather sit and argue over whose house is the best, and believe that one is only full of bad people, and another isn’t, you missed the whole point of the books. You fucked up. Congrats.

It’s not about what divides us, it’s about those differences encouraging us to come together. A lesson that everyone should hold near and dear in their hearts today.

And...

Sigh.

I’ll admit this here. I’ve always proported to be a Ravenclaw, but I’ve taken the test that Pottermore, the most official source, put together, twice. Neither time was I sorted into Ravenclaw.

The first time? Gryffindor.

The second? Hufflepuff.

So take that what you will. Maybe I’m not a Ravenclaw after all.

Maybe I am a Hufflepuff. And all that shit everyone talked about Hufflepuff was about me. How does that make you feel, reader? Maybe have a bit of empathy for the ‘Puffs.

...

Or maybe I’d have asked the sorting hat to put me in Ravenclaw instead of either of them. That’s what I’d like to think.

It was good! It was very relaxed, I ate a responsible amount of food, got some good leftovers, and hopefully can make some good leftover turkey grilled cheese, because that shit is so good.

And I’m alright. I’m really tired. I feel you on the hard to think of good questions. Sunday Chats is always fun because it’s brain food for thought provoking stuff. It’s a lot of fun to throw together, and I try and have a good time with the questions.

But yes. Very tired. Very much enjoyed my day off today.

I have actually fallen off the bandwagon completely. But that’s normal for me. Anime is a thing that comes and goes in my heart. Regardless though, I want to catch up on MHA and maybe sit down and watch something good soon. I’m just... a bit drained of that anime optimism at the moment.

1. I don’t think they’re BS, honestly. I think you just have to take a step back and look at what they are: a bunch of outlets blindly voting things into categories, and then voting again on what they think should win. Each outlet no doubt respects their own deliberations far more, and that’s really how it should. But as a reflection of a bunch of blind votes? Man it’s just like Metacritic, it’s not 100% accurate nor should it be responsibly for some game developer’s “bonus”, but it’s a metric that we can use to gauge a wider audience.

I’m actually really interested in the conversation around PUBG for GOTY and how the Game Awards took that nomination themselves.

2. It’s going alright. There have been a lot more conversations because I’m trying to get the writing team really involved this year. Hopefully they can spearhead some written guest top 10s, in place of the podcasts. And obviously what I said above. Trying not to get too exhausted doing stuff on it this year though.

3. Hah! It’s not bad. i was annoyed at first because everyone did there “omg here is my 280 characters tweet” and that was just dumb. But it’s proven to be a much better way to get a complete thought into a tweet, with proper grammar at least. I’m curious what threads and stuff will look like with it going forward. Already seen some that I really liked.

4. Dressing, foooooor sure. Fuck stuffing.

Alex died peacefully under the weight of 120 people, crashing boxes down on him, as he quietly pleaded, “I’m just trying to help.”

Happy Thanksgiving Brandon!

Yeah I’ve definitely had great pockets of time. Honestly a lot of the events this year (PAX East, and ExtraLife), for the most part, have been really great. Things going off without a hitch. There are always issues, but sometimes it’s just water off the back.

But there have been times when I just take a couple days off and chill, and it’s just about getting lost in whatever you’re working on, or enjoying, or playing, and that’s the best for me. Some nice alone time. But I guess I can’t think of anything specific...

Hrm, I’ll get back to you if I do.

I nice wrapped burrito, because it has a good weight, it’s solid, and if you hit someone hard enough with it, it’ll explode food all over them.

It’s essentially the grenade of the food fight.

God this is such a good fucking question.

Like, think about the pizza slice, hot and fresh, just slapping up against someones fucking raw back, and slowly sliding down. Why a person, any person, wouldn’t be wearing a shirt in a food fight, well I don’t know.

But that image popped in my head.

And here we are Jon. Here we are.

Man found dead in his three story house, bags flooded all over the scene.

First responders, disgusted, harkened it back to the first murder in the movie “Se7en”. Kevin Spacey has not been seen since the incident.

Victims body exploded from within under the weight of, what the note adjacent to the body referred to as, “endless burritos. right here. why would I ever stop.”

Police are still investigating.

In short, you’d fucking know if they did Trevor.

I still haven’t really had the time to read as much as I’d like, I’ve actually been reading a lot of writing that has been sent to me, specifically for me to edit. Which is exciting! But it’s not exactly good to put on display here, per sé. But I’m working on stuff, and today is my 991st day of writing, if anyone was curious.

I plan on stopping writing everyday when I hit 1000, as I’ve said before, but we’ll see if I don’t pick it up again soon after.

Anyway, that’s a conversation for next week.

Until then,

keep it real.

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