#yet another thing left to the wayside

[nolita-fairytale]

Carmy as Your Baby Daddy | Social Media AU & Headcanon Series | part six

part five | masterlist | part seven

your third trimester & meeting baby bear

your third trimester fatigue really starts to set it, rendering a slow-down on you and carmy's sex-a-palooza (era coined & named by @starbritestarlite). the less-than-desirable symptoms come back: extreme fatigue, smell/food sensitivities, and your back and feet are almost always tired/sore.

sugar insists on throwing you a baby shower, and you let her because you know how happy it makes her. you can't believe she actually wants to throw (and host) the party, even though she has a fourteen-month old, but like she said, she insists. sydney offers to cater it and with that addition, you and sugar are both game.

it's there at the baby shower that sugar finds she's pregnant AGAIN and sydney cannot fathom what she must've done in a past life to deserve two pregnant best friends who can't even drink.

sugar gets pastries from your favorite bakeries around the city: marcus' croissants, mochi donuts decorated like baby bears, cupcakes, while sydney takes care of the rest of the food. it's the sweetest thing and carmy is grateful yet a little overwhelmed by the huge celebration that sugar has orchestrated because you swear she's invited everyone you and carmy have ever known.

most sundays when you host brunch at your place, you whip up a great brunch spread and fantastic playlist, and after all of your guest are done, you and carmy spend the afternoon napping, making out, and dreaming up the rest of your life together.

i'd just like to reiterate the pregnant people in overalls concept because i did in fact go to a ceramic sale and see so many pregnant people in overalls. it's a thing. it's a vibe. i'm not sorry. just picture it: you, pregnant in overalls, painting the second bedroom and turning it into a nursery. you and carmy tag team this huge diy project. while you paint, carmy can't stop checking in: "are you sure you're supposed to be around these paint fumes? you feeling okay? you want to sit down, sweetheart? how's baby bear?" and it's so endearing that he's worried but you're having fun doing this with him and you'd really like for him to stop worrying for a second.

shopping. for. baby. clothes. one day you come home from the office with a tiny little denim baby jacket. "i know baby bear won't be able to wear it for a while but..." and carmy is just in tears.

baby bear pajamas. baby bear bed sheets. baby bear wall decals. baby bear everything.

one day when carmy has a night off, he's made dinner for you by the time you get home from the office. while you insist on doing the dishes, he cuddles up with you on the couch later that night. without warning, he begins giving you a foot massage, and it's the best one you've ever gotten. "baby, if you ever decide to change careers, you might have a future in massage." he blushes, reluctant to tell you, but inevitably shares that pete took him to a prenatal massage class. you are speechless. "i'm sorry. you went to a prenatal massage class with pete?! better not let richie find out." but all of your teasing falls by the wayside as you more than happily accept his foot and back rubs night after night.

on top of talking to baby bear, you and carmy begin reading to baby bear. you buy baby bear a few children's books to start and while you prefer to read them to baby bear, carmy has another idea. one afternoon when you fall asleep, he begins reading (and commenting) on a few cookbooks he's owned for most of his career. things like: "hmmm that seems like a little too much salt." and "2 oz of carrots, shredded, then pickled with-. would you pair carrots with jicama for an escabeche, baby bear?" some days you pretend you're still sleeping just to hear him do it because it truly is the most precious thing you've ever heard in your life.

carmy is terrified that he'll be a bad dad, considering his dad left and his mom is... his mom and freaks out one day. in an effort to calm him down, you finally admit that you've been listening to him read to baby bear when you fall asleep. "a man that a works on a recipe with his unborn kid... that's dad material if i've ever seen it." while he still has his worries and anxieties, it makes him feel loads better when you remind him that more than anything, you believe in him.

when you go into labor, carmy drops everything to get to the hospital as soon as possible. while not planned or preferred, you end up having to have a c-section with baby bear. it's the strangest experience (did you know they literally have to take your organs out to get to the baby?!?!?!) and it's not what you pictured, but the minute you hear baby bear cry, it doesn't matter. it is emotional: army is crying and you're crying and baby bear is crying, and you both know your lives have just changed forever.

"welcome to the world, josephine antonia berzatto," you whisper as you hold your baby girl in your arms for the very first time.

a/n: my heart exploded writing that last part. rip to me.

in a wild turn of events, i WILL be writing a 'your life with baby bear' headcanon for this series NEXT, and then eventually a 'carmy as a dad/you and carmy as parents' headcanon.

i forgot to add... i just want to say that @carmensberzattos did in fact call it, insisting that baby bear be called antonia. which is insane considering in season 2 we learned that carmy's middle name is anthony. and that's on being psychic. name was edited bc it flowed better this way!!

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos #still into you #make my heart surrender #Carmy as your baby daddy #social media au

[ingravinoveritas]

Hey, have you heard/seen that Georgia has deactivated her X/Twitter?

(Grouping these Asks together for ease of answering.)

Hi there! Yes, I have heard and seen that Georgia has deactivated her Twitter page. For those who may have missed out on what happened yesterday and today that lead to this, you can read the whole backstory in @thetardisisblueandroseistoo's post and my reblog here.

I think this entire situation is a mess, and that no one on either side handled themselves particularly well. The attacks on Georgia were and are overblown and do nothing to help innocent victims of war, but at the same time, the counter-response of hyper-praising Georgia and saying how "amazing" she is entirely overlooks and ignores her own problematic behavior.

As I mentioned in my other post, this is not the first time Georgia has searched her or David's names, passive-aggressively replied to a tweet from a fan in which she was not tagged, and subsequently sent her followers after the OP to subject them to harassment and death threats. And it incenses me that there were about a hundred reasons to call Georgia out before now for things having nothing to do with this situation--including when she drive-by commented on another fan's tweet two years ago--but people only suddenly care because it's something that affects them. (Which, ironically, is the same thing these fans are accusing Georgia of when it comes to her own social activism/LGBTQ+ issues.)

What a lot of fans ultimately seem to want to ignore is that Georgia started this by picking a fight, and I can think of few things cringier than a grown woman fighting online with a 16-year-old. I know folks will say "That teenager was talking shit and calling Georgia a Zionist and she was correcting their lies." The problem, however, is the way she went about doing it:

Georgia left this comment up for an entire day before responding, likely under the assumption that her trademark snark on a random fan's tweet would earn her praise and adulation, as has happened so frequently in the past. It was only 24 hours later, when it became very apparent that this was not the case, that she chose to add the additional comments and continue digging a rather massive hole for herself.

That said, the subsequent response to her new comments today proved another source of frustration, as I witnessed multiple fans chastise Georgia for not making a stronger statement, fans saying things like "Just say you want a ceasefire, that's all you have to do!" Yet Michael said exactly this back in October, and he was ripped apart for it. What I seem to keep seeing over and over again is a willingness to forgive and defend Georgia because she is a woman and young, and a willingness to spit on and denigrate Michael because he is a middle-aged man. And what no one seems to get is that neither one of these are good, but instead dehumanize Georgia and Michael from both directions.

To your comments, @hunterofartemisblog, I agree that this entire Twitter feud is pointless and a witch hunt. It is the apex of parasocial relationships for these fans to make demands on celebrities they don't know and cast aspersions on their character when said celebrities don't "perform" perfectly to these fans' expectations.

Equally as troubling, however, is what I am seeing now, which is fans acting as if Georgia can do no wrong, and even calling her a "saint." I really do not understand why it is so difficult to treat Georgia and Michael as normal, flawed human persons. Attacking and tearing down Michael only seems to serve to obscure the good he has done (having more than proven his commitment to activism as a UNICEF UK ambassador and working with victims of war in multiple countries), and deifying and excessively praising Georgia only obscures the problematic things she has done and continues to do to fans while shielding herself from any accountability.

Most importantly (and what seems to have fallen by the wayside in all of this), fans engaging in the above behavior does absolutely nothing to help those who are suffering, and instead serves to bolster these fans' assertions that they are doing something "good." I'm left wondering, then, what people think Georgia deactivating her Twitter accomplished. Or in what way two sets of bullies trying to "own" each other did one single thing to help refugees, or displaced persons, or those without access to basic necessities. Because it did nothing. It accomplished nothing, except to prove that neither side can handle one ounce of criticism and will never be willing to listen to each other.

Maybe that's exactly what the people in power want: Performative outrage. Misdirection. Giving vulnerable and emotional young people someone around them to attack and blame, instead of looking at the actions of those above. And maybe these fans played right into it, to the point where some of them are even bragging about getting Georgia to deactivate.

As I said in my previous post, I don't know what the answer is. I am the last person in the world to defend Georgia--and I do not think it speaks highly to her character that the first time she ever faced any controversy and not being worshiped by fans, she turned tail and ran. But I also think that whatever cause these fans started out supporting has become an excuse to hate on Georgia and Michael, and a shield behind which to hide because these fans are so afraid of being hated on themselves.

Earlier this evening, I saw someone say that Georgia only appears supportive because she is afraid of being called unsupportive, but the same seems to be just as true of these fans. I think it would be insanely helpful, then, if everyone involved in this stopped caring so much about appearances and started caring more about honesty. Honestly about the people we admire, and about ourselves. Maybe then we might finally start to get somewhere...

#ourtubahero-blog #hunterofartemisblog #reply post #georgia tennant #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #fandom woes #i can't even with this nonsense #i also can't imagine being so used to praise that you think you are untouchable #actions do have consequences however #and no one stays beloved on social media forever #trying to provide a balanced perspective #because going to extremes on either side is not the answer #but i will let my followers make up their own minds #can i please go back to writing about Michael and David making out now #thoughts #fandom drama #discourse

[chrollohearttags]

Okay hear me out- the princess of campus is a bitch (that bitch to be fair) with very rude attitude and a mission to piss Armin off

oooh! armin’s mean ass meeting his match? sign me up!

!mean armin, who was notorious for being the campus asshole. rich kid, super intelligent playboy with a god complex has the whole world in his hands, including any girl he wants..except (y/n).

!mean armin, who first spotted you in his literature course, just knew your pretty ass would be on his roster. The nails stayed done, hair always laid and hanging to your ass..dressed in the cutest outfits and latest fashion. With a body like a stallion. Truly THEE it girl and hands down the baddest bitch at the university.

!mean armin, who was never known to press a bitch or chase her, done what he always did and sent one of his flunkies to get your attention because casual flirting was so beneath him. On your way back to your off-campus apartment, one of them approaches you.

“I’m friends with Armin and he wants to see you, says he thinks you’re kinda cute. That’s a pretty big deal..shouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”

he’s instead met with laughter and a finger in his face. “Who the fuck is he supposed to be? Better yet, who the fuck are you and why are you in my face right now?” totally not expecting that attitude but they learned who they’re messing with.

!mean armin, who is not used to being rejected, makes it his mission to get your attention now. He doesn’t like being ignored so he constantly sends people to bother you. In between classes, when you’re working out, whatever..it’s so annoying. Not to mention seeing all the other dudes try to approach you.

“If he wants me so bad, then tell his ass to come at me correct instead of all this bullshit. I don’t care if he used to these other bitches falling at his feet, I’m not them..he wouldn’t even know what do with me.”

!mean armin, hosting a party at his frat house, invites you in hopes of getting you alone is shocked to learn you have no interest in being another notch on his belt nor kicking it with him.

!mean armin, who’s surrounded by girls pushes them all to the wayside when he learns you actually showed up and didn’t even come see him. He’s pissed and comes out to try and plead his case in person. He can’t believe he’s being forced to grovel for a woman’s attention but if that’s what it takes to get his prize, so be it.

“Me and you? We just fit. You’re the most beautiful girl on campus, I’m the most popular. You could have whatever you want if you were on my team, baby. We’d run this place.”

it’s the worst and most off putting thing you’ve ever head and you want to laugh in his face so bad but you do him one better and literally flip his world upside down by doing something he’ll never forget.

“Yeah? Whatever I want?” Running a finger under his chin, only to hit him with a swerve in front of his whole little crew and all his bitches. You turn around and instead feel up on somebody else, the campus nerd, who just so happens to be his ex best friend..and your new man!

“See I would but your homeboy much cuter and that dick is way better. Honestly, you just ain’t got it like everybody keeps telling you, boo. They just kiss your ass ‘cause you rich but I wouldn’t ever fuck with a square bitch like you, Artlert. See, I’m always having my way, with or without a nigga so don’t ever think you can impress me like these little dumb ass hoes. Might as well stick to them because you wouldn’t even know what to do with me. And tell your little dogs to hop off my dick before I do something bad to one of them.”

needless to say, him and his party are left in shambles. He’s seething, mad as fuck and he makes it everyone’s problem. But you stay on his ass and put your foot on his neck every chance you get.

Whether it’s in academics, popularity, dating, sports or even fashion, he can’t ever outdo you and it’s so hilarious watching him try to compete where he doesn’t compare.

#armin drabble #armin arlert x black reader #arch enemy #rivals #armin x black !fem reader #armin imagine #armin x black reader #armin x fem reader #academia aesthetic #aot x black reader #aot armin #armin artlert #attack on titan armin #black fanfic writer #black fem reader #anime x black!reader #aot boys #armin attack on titan #armin aot

[disruptivevoib]

scrambles … hi, what is your thought process when planning out designs / drawings if you have a specific one

Helloo!

Both have general processes!

Drawings wise just depends on if I want to make a new piece or not. If I do, usually I make a symmetry tool and make some kind of a box in the middle! Take this WIP for instance:

Which is a scrapped composition for my "We're Gonna Win" piece! I still liked it, so I moved it to a new canvas and made the inner box a little bit bigger than what it is for my CCCC album works!

Though a lot of these canvases get left at the wayside. Unfortunately. But my point still stands! Compositions I will usually draw anywhere from 1 to upwards of 5 thumbnails for. Most of the time though, that is only if I have a specific idea in my head.

I've got a lot of "mass doodle" canvases where I've just drawn a host and assortment of things, some of which I've blown-up on a canvas and drawn over to make a full piece of work!

As for designs,, sort of? I like to put a lot of symbolism and meaning into them where I can, otherwise its pure unfiltered self indulgence. Lots of the time with HMS aus I've asked myself "what haven't I done yet?" and gone from there. Thus giving me white haired Heart, Mind, and Soul in different varying aus (Good Day, Syncopation, Lacuna).

I also like to use colors that are going to look nice with one another, and for clothing I'll occasionally peruse Pinterest for ideas.

Good example I suppose is my Soul Line-up, of which I intended to do a Mind and Heart version, I just.. haven't had the focus for it (Plus there are souls I could probably add to this by now. oops!)

For Soul, though, I like to keep the red and the grey, then add in black and white where I see fit. I also generally try to consider the personality of the character when giving them a design.

Purpose isn't going to have many accessories, he's based more in being useful and fulfilling their point in being Whole than he is looking like someone at all. Versus, Calliope (Eleutheromania)! Who desperately wants to individualize himself and feel in control. What gives you more control than a goofy suit with a tailcoat? Or, Pluto (Lacuna), who wears items of his long since dead Mind and Heart to remember them by. He is so so cozy but also soo sentimentally sad.

Just things like that, which I think make sure the character is evident in their clothing, hairstyle, expressions and so on.

Hopefully that is well explained! But thank you for asking o7

#asks #I didnt want to make this 200000000 words long so I tried to condense down my thoughts #voidthoughts

[octolingkiera]

i love the twins so much 😭😭😭😭 i have so many feelings about them. so many thoughts. they live in my brain rent free

this is a part of @sariphantom's Rise August prompts

check out the fic on ao3 to get the full experience!!

Prompt: Day 2: Disaster Twins

Summary:

No one really remembers who said it first. Maybe it was Splinter in an effort to put to rest the debate of who was older. Maybe it was Leo and his need for connection with his family. Maybe it was Donnie in his unwavering devotion in unorthodox ways.

It didn’t really matter in the end. Leo and Donnie, Donnie and Leo, two for one special, peas in a pod, buy one get one, twins for life, for love, by choice.

Words: 2,521

🐢❤️💜💙🧡🐢

No one really remembers who said it first. Maybe it was Splinter in an effort to put to rest the debate of who was older. Maybe it was Leo and his need for connection with his family. Maybe it was Donnie in his unwavering devotion in unorthodox ways.

It doesn’t really matter in the end. Leo and Donnie, Donnie and Leo, two for one special, peas in a pod, buy one get one, twins for life, for love, by choice.

April didn’t understand it when she was very young. When she wasn’t quite a preteen, when she was just desperate for friends, when she found all and more in silly little group of green boys who stumbled into her life with wide eyes and naïve hope.

She didn’t understand it, but she wanted to.

She wanted to know what it was like to always have someone by your side, a partner in crime, a guaranteed player two, your equal and opposite in every way.

She remembers she asked Raph about it, desperate to understand her new friends. She didn’t know them all that well yet and she was so scared they would stop being friends with her—a ridiculous and unfounded fear, looking back—so she wanted to know how to avoid stepping on any potential conversational landmines regarding Leo and Donnie.

“How can they be twins?” April asked. “I thought twins were supposed to look the same?” She knows now that her question is silly and not all twins are identical, but she was eight and had never met any twins before, let alone heard of the concept of being fraternal twins.

“They just are,” Raph told her with absolute certainty as Donnie and Leo tussle around the floor of the projector room, Mikey indiscriminately cheering them on from the side. Donnie was currently winning, pressing Leo plastron side down on the floor. Leo was screeching and flailing but couldn’t get enough leverage to free himself.

As Raph and April watched on, Leo managed to flip positions with Donnie, then flopped down on Donnie’s soft shell, chest to back. He folded his arms on the back of Donnie’s shoulders and laid his head down like he intended to fall asleep. Donnie wriggled for a few moments, then pillowed his own head in his arms, huffing. In an instant, the fight left both of them, exchanged instead for large yawns and sleepy (and victorious, in Leo’s case) smiles.

April frowned and thought very hard. They just are, huh? She supposed it made sense. There was a lot of things that just were. You didn’t always have to understand them for them to be true.

Maybe this could be one of them.

Donnie would never admit it, not in a million years, but there was nothing he loved more than being Leo’s twin. It just made sense to him in a way that only machines and technology and science did. Leo and Donnie were twins that that was that, no more questions, thank you, goodnight.

For once, science fell by the wayside to make room for the emotional and illogical. Logically, Donnie knew that the two of them could physically not be twins. For one, turtles hatch from eggs and typically in clutches of several at once, so it was impossible for them to be twins in the sense that humans are. For another, the two are separate species entirely, from different scientific families, even, and were only related to each other in the way that they are both turtles—and have the same mutant rat father.

Dad never shied away from telling him that they were all his sons in every way that mattered. Growing up, he never told them that he was a human that was mutated into a rat, just that he was their father and he saved them from where they had been mutated from. When Donnie would push for answers, Splinter would just smile and shake his head, telling him, “You may not have come from me, but you are mine anyway.”

Donnie, of course, always took this as a challenge. He was never able to do serious, extensive testing as a child, and never cared to once he was old enough to craft the equipment needed for such experiments himself, but he could do research and think and infer. He figured there had to be some shared commonality between himself and his brothers—despite their differences, they all share quite a few similarities that could only come from one distinct source such as facial structures and physique. None of them was “more turtle” than the rest, regardless of childhood behaviors or interests.

These similarities always seemed especially highlighted with Leo and Donnie. Being the two closest in physical and mental developmental milestones, the two of them often, and nearly without fail, matched each other through all of life’s twists and turns. Whether it was losing teeth, first words and steps, even their height, the two of them aged in tandem, experienced life hand in hand, side by side, step for step.

Twins, in every way that truly mattered. Ride or die, together forever, only ‘til death do us part.

It’s why, after the invasion, Donnie is so indescribably furious, seething with a frothing anger that shares headspace only with a hysterical sense of premature grief that has no outlet.

Leo’s still here, but for five, ten minutes, he wasn’t, and Donnie thought he would have to learn how to live with that.

Leo loves being Donnie’s twin, and for better or for worse, he doesn’t care who knows. (As long as no one tells Donnie—it’s an understood thing between them, no words needed. Please. Neither one of them would be able to handle a talk about that.)

It’s great, awesome, amazing, having someone that’s right by your side your whole life. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Raph and Mikey too and he would do anything for them without question, but it’s different with Donnie. There’s just something there, some extra special connection that he can’t put into words, but he, they, know it’s there, sitting between them like it always has and always will.

When they were kids, they almost never separated. It was rare to find one without the other, or if they were, then it was brief, within line of sight or range of hearing; apart, but not really. They were each other’s confidants, their lockboxes of secrets, the ones they whispered everything and nothing to. Back when they were tiny, still small enough to fit in two hands, before Leo started talking and never stopped, before Donnie bloomed into his intelligence like the prodigy he is, they would cry if they were out of physical contact for longer than ten minutes.

Splinter likes to tell them stories of their early childhood sometimes. He talks about how Raph was already trying to wrangle his little brothers together, how Mikey was just so cuddly and affectionate, how Leo and Donnie were Leo-and-Donnie, a pair, a set, do not separate.

Point is, they were closer as children, much closer, indescribably closer.

Then they grew up, they learned about the world, they developed different hobbies, they came into their personalities, they built up walls, and Leo-and-Donnie became Leo and Donnie.

It makes him sad sometimes, to think about how close they used to be, and how things have had to change. He wants to cling to that childhood where the worst thing was learning there would never be a new Lou Jitsu movie, or reaching the end of his favorite Jupiter Jim adventure. He wishes he could take back everything he said that implied he wanted this new distance between them, this yawning abyss he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to cross again.

He wants his brother back the way they used to be, but he knows it’s just a pipe dream by now.

“I’m mad at you,” Donnie says after the invasion, once Leo can stay awake longer than ten minutes at a time. “I can’t believe you. How could you?”

Leo just looks at him for a long minute, eyes dark and searching. “I did what I had to do.”

“What you thought you had to do,” Donnie corrects, hands clenching into fists. He shoves them into his thighs, knuckle first. “You could have done something else. We could have done something else.”

“There was no time,” Leo says, and he sounds so tired. “It was do or die.”

Donnie flinches. “Don’t say that.” He came so close to making that a reality.

“Sorry,” Leo says, then continues, “but thats why I had to. I couldn’t let you die.”

Donnie’s glare is fierce and wild. “So we should have let you? Is that what you’re trying to say to me? Really?”

“Of course not,” Leo says, almost before Donnie is finished speaking, and it’s so genuine, so sincere, it gives Donnie pause. “I love you guys, so much, more than you’ll ever know. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to leave you.”

“But you still did,” Donnie says, voice losing its strength. “We almost lost you. For good. No take backs.” He takes a deep breath, holds it for several counts, then exhales. “I almost lost you.”

Leo stares down at the scratchy medbay blanket on his lap and grips in tight in his hand. “It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make.” His voice breaks on his next words. “I promise.”

Donnie stares at him, tears he’s been trying to ignore beading in the corners of his eyes. Leo isn’t one to make promises lightly, never has been, likely never will be. For someone who lies and pretends and twists the truth as much as Leo does, he’s kept every promise he’s ever made.

Except for one.

“You left me,” Donnie says, barely more than a whisper. “You promised we’d be together forever.”

“‘Til death do us part,” Leo recites part of their childhood pact, lifting his head to stare towards the wall, eyes wet and distant.

Donnie sucks in a too-fast breath. He tries to regulate his breathing. They need to have this talk and he can’t ruin it by crying. He and Leo haven’t had a conversation this honest since they were both thirteen and wide-eyed, sneaking out to spend time on the surface by themselves, sitting on empty rooftops to commiserate about their lives and wallow in their new teen angst together. He can’t ruin this.

“We promised we’d grow old together.” Donnie barks a laugh, startling them both with the suddenness of it. “Sixteen isn’t old.”

“It was when we were six,” Leo jokes, like he can’t help himself. He sniffles and shakes his head immediately afterwards.

Donnie can’t even find it in himself to scold his brother. The anger has died, withered away, and all that’s left is the fear and the grief and the soul shattering feeling that nothing will be the same again. He’s mourning for a reality that no longer exists, for the brother that isn’t dead, for the broken promise that is technically no longer broken. All these big feelings have nowhere to go, nothing to aim at, so they’re just bunched up in his head, in his chest, and they’re pressing against his rib cage and skull with nowhere to go.

“We can’t do this again,” Donnie finally says a few minutes later. “This—we can’t let this happen again.”

“Technically we didn’t let anything happen,” Leo says, voice quiet, like he’s hoping he won’t be heard.

Donnie hears him anyway. Donnie always hears him. “But it did.” He grits his teeth, thinking. He takes a deep breath that shakes on the way out. “New promise,” he says, because it’s all he can do.

Leo finally turns and looks at him again, wide-eyed and expectant.

“Promise me that if you can’t find a way out,” he reaches over to grab Leo’s hand, squeezing tight, “then you tell me, so we can find a way out together.”

“What if there’s not a way out?” Leo asks, fingers tightening over Donnie’s. “What if there’s nothing else to do? What if there’s only one way to fix everything?”

Donnie hears the unspoken questions. What if the only way to save the day, to stop the bad guy, to save the world, is to risk life and limb and potentially never return?

Self-sacrifice is, unfortunately, a family tradition.

“Then we go together.” Simple as that.

Leo’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away, but Donnie holds on with all his strength. “I can’t,” Leo croaks, tears threatening to spill over. “Tello, I could never.”

“You can,” Donnie asserts. He shakes the hand in his grip. “I’m not giving you a choice here, Nardo.”

Leo shakes his head, cheeks wet. “I don’t want that for you.”

“And I don’t want this for you.” Donnie gestures to the medbay and the assorted machines attached to Leo with his free hand. The heart monitor, still attached, but nearly muted, has almost outgrown its usefulness, as Leo is out of the danger zone, but the steady beep-beep-beep of the machine has become a soothing backdrop for this trying time. Donnie doesn’t have the heart to turn it off quite yet, pun not intended.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Donnie adds, once it’s clear Leo isn’t going to reply, too preoccupied with squeezing his eyes closed to staunch the flow of tears. “Twins for life, remember?”

“‘Til we’re old and wrinkly,” Leo whispers, breathing through the tears, silently weeping.

Donnie blinks hard and the tears in his own eyes finally spill over. “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo cries, jolting in a hiccup that clearly hurts his still healing everything. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not okay, not really, but it will be,” Donnie says. Then, because Leo needs to hear this more than anything else, he adds, “I forgive you.” Then, for the real kicker, “It’s not your fault.”

Leo outright sobs, and Donnie surges forward to wrap his brother up in his arms, gathering him close as he’s overcome with emotion. Donnie holds on as tight as he dares, then even tighter when Leo clings back like Donnie will disappear if he starts to let go. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Leo buries his face in Donnie’s shoulder. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. It’s okay. We’re all okay. It’s not your fault.”

When Raph comes by later to deliver their dinner, he finds Leo and Donnie curled up side by side on the bed, arms and legs tangled together with tubes and wires, foreheads and shoulders touching, fingers threaded, fast asleep. In that moment, superimposed over the image, he sees two much smaller turtles, back when they were Leo-and-Donnie, before they grew up and away and apart. They’ve crashed back together now, and it settles something in Raph that he hadn’t realized was off.

He smiles as he leaves the room. He’ll let them sleep just a little longer.

But first, he needs to take some pictures.

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #rise august art challenge #rise august #kiera writes fics #disaster twins #i love them so much #sobs

[iliektehhaxs]

torgal is such a little cheeky pup bc i know if he had to watch clive brood himself to death over infatuation and end up crumpling like forty confession missives that were all supposed to be to u, he would just pick up the bin containing them all in his mouth and speed jog to ur room so that clive can’t realise what he did and get them to u.

big ass wolf pawing at ur door so u can open it enough for him to barrel in before clive spots where he ran off to and plonk the bin infront of u. doesn’t leave until he signals to u to read them before then trots off thinking he’s cupid incarnate

“Torgal, what is this?”

You look at the ecstatic wolf in your room, his tail wagging as he holds a garbage bin in his mouth, fit to burst with the amount of trash in it.

You give him a questioning look, to which he unceremoniously drops the bin in question and barks, leaving a mess across your floor.

“Torgal!”

“Woof!”

The floor is littered with crumpled paper, and for some reason Torgal hasn’t left yet, still wagging his tail and looking at you expectantly. You move to grab a broom but he blocks your exit, barks at you a few more times until you back away and stares at the pile.

“Torgal, come on now I have to—“

Another bark, he grabs a piece of paper and noses it towards your feet. It’s at this point you realize that whatever he wants, it has something to do with whatever’s been thrown away.

“Fine, I’ll look at the damn thing,” you grumble, and his tail wags even harder.

“Torgal!” Clive yells, running after the large hound to his best effort, but he simply cannot keep pace with such a fast creature. Exhaustion takes hold of him, his breath coming short as he makes his way to your room where he’s sure Torgal’s ran off to. He has to find Torgal soon, or else—

He finds you in your room, Torgal sat patiently by your side, and a sinking feeling sets in, followed by dread when he realizes the familiar off-white of parchment in your hand.

Maybe you haven’t read it yet, but that’s wishful thinking. Your eyes are practically glued to the letter, dozens of others just like it strewn across the room. When you finally lift your head after what seems like eons your eyes immediately lock with his. He tries to think of an excuse, anything to explain but you speak before he can even attempt such a thing.

“Clive…did you write these?”

He shakes his head no, his voice trapped in his throat, but you don’t buy it for a second.

“I’ve known you long enough to know your handwriting,” you say, waving the damning evidence in the air as you step forward. “You wrote this, didn’t you?”

A silence so loud it could deafen a man. You were not asking, you were telling, and by his lack of response he knows he’s been caught.

“I—I’m sorry—“ Clive says, unable to muster a sentence. He’s faced monsters that most people wouldn’t live to tell the tale, even gone against eikons and yet your silence strikes fear into his heart that immobilizes him, makes his heart beat like a drum in his chest.

The tiniest little smile graces your features. “Your eyes remind me of the crystal seas, your hair as soft as the finest Dhalmekian silks, your voice as gentle as the birds that sing at the first sign of dawn.”

You continue to recite the letter as Clive stands mortified. Once you’re finished you fling the paper to the wayside, attention fully on him.

“I’m guessing the other letters follow the same pattern, yeah?”

A nod, his eyes fall to the floor as your footsteps get louder and louder, close enough that he can see your legs in view.

“Clive, look at me,” you ask softly, and after a moment he obliges. He expected to see anger from you, or maybe confusion, but there is nothing of the sort. Your hand slowly reaches forward, as if to coax a scared animal, and once you’ve seen no resistance, rests itself on the heat of his cheek.

“What you said in that letter, was it true?” You ask.

“Every word.”

This is the one time that he answers without hesitation, the one thing that he is confident about. No sooner do those words pass his lips does he feel your own connect with his. First surprise, then desperation grab him tightly as he follows the taste of you, hands frozen still at your sides until you guide them towards you, where they hold you tight to him like a vice.

There’s a silk thread of spit that connects the two of you, out of breath and yet Clive still chases after you as you speak, breath fanning his face.

“I feel the same.”

#robo speaks #ask #clive rosfield #robo writes

[marxonculture]

On Epic Fantasy, Gender, Changes in Belief and Samantha Shannon’s The Priory of the Orange Tree

Ordinarily I don't write about books here, but I had something I wanted to get out about what I've been reading lately, so here goes...

I’ve always maintained that high fantasy is something in which I have very little interest. While friends and family have raved about Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones over the years, I’ve felt a great disconnect from those stories and worlds, and I always assumed that it was the genre itself at the root of the problem. Meanwhile, I was raving separately about the immense creative achievement of The Matrix (all of them, not just the original film), which is (if I’m being honest with myself) high fantasy wearing the skin of science fiction. Chosen one narratives, prophecy, fantastical creatures, magic systems, and a great battle to determine the fate of humanity are the makeup of The Matrix, just as they would be any other work of high fantasy.

I learned the hard way during my undergraduate degree and subsequent three years as a post-graduate student that reading for pleasure can very easily fall by the wayside when you have to read so much for work – the act of reading itself becomes a massive chore. So, when I left academia and started getting back into reading for pleasure in a habitual way, part of the journey for me was discovering my taste in literature as an adult, which meant giving fantasy another try.

The discoveries I’ve made since getting back on the horse have been a mixed bag – some expected and some very much unexpected. Among those realisations was the fact that fantasy as a genre is not as immediately repulsive to me as I thought; what is repulsive to me, on vibes alone, is fantasy written by men. It turns out that my lifelong struggle with masculinity (I’ve only recently begun coming out to myself and others as non-binary - I use he/they pronouns) applies to literature, too. Surprise, surprise, The Matrix’s exploration of gender identity and transness was more relatable to me than the aggressive hyper-masculinity of Game of Thrones and to a lesser extent Lord of the Rings (yes I know the consensus is that LotR is very gay, but it’s also very male). So, while in search of something to read on my local library’s eBook lending service, I decided to give Samantha Shannon’s epic fantasy novel, The Priory of the Orange Tree, a shot, and I’m so very glad that I did.

TPotOT has been misleadingly described by some as ‘feminist Game of Thrones’. And, while I can see where those people are coming from, this work feels like its own entirely distinct thing. Rather than plunging into the darkest, grimmest depths of humanity’s worst moral failings, as George R.R. Martin does almost fetishistically, Shannon uses her beautifully engrossing fantasy world to explore the necessity of trust and cooperation with those whom one’s belief system might deem unacceptable, in order to confront something that threatens everybody. This is less an allegory for climate change, and more an allegory about dogma.

The world of this Roots of Chaos series is built upon a series of conflicting, yet paradoxically overlapping, paper-thin religious belief systems. These systems hold the societies of Shannon’s four, wonderfully drawn POV characters together, and what makes the narrative of this gargantuan book so captivating, is the necessity of these characters coming to terms with the elements of their belief systems that have been falsely constructed in order to serve an agenda. This isn’t a didactic story about one morality system being superior to another, but rather one of learning to find common ground with those who believe differently to you, accepting truths when you are confronted with them, and having enough faith in humanity to trust that society won’t collapse as a result.

The Priory of the Orange Tree isn’t the only book in this series (Shannon has since published a prequel entitled A Day of Fallen Night), but it does function as a standalone story with a definitive ending. That being said, Shannon smartly chooses to end her story at the conclusion of its central conflict – the battle with a terrifying, all-powerful dragon called The Nameless One – rather than spending extra time exploring the aftermath. We don’t know whether the colossal revelations poised to shatter this world’s religions will lead to societal collapse, or whether the characters’ faith in humanity is justified. Anyone who knows me is aware of how I feel about certainty in narrative storytelling. Asking questions is much more interesting than answering them.

Ultimately, The Priory of the Orange Tree is a story that leads (and ends) with its characters. The book is deeply concerned with the repercussions of its plot on its intricately detailed world, but it is more focused on the way these characters grow and change when confronted with undeniable truths. Eadaz uq-Nāra is up there with my very favourite protagonists, and her journey and relationships are rapturously entertaining and moving. Shannon clearly adores her characters, which makes it so very easy for us as readers to fall in love with them, too.

I’m so glad to have found this book. TPotOT, along with Becky Chambers’ miraculous space opera, The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, have been genuine reassurances to me as I come to terms with who I am as an adult, both in my tastes as a reader, and more fundamentally in myself and my identity. In short: genre fiction written by queer women is good for you.

#blusforjews #books #booklr #epic fantasy #high fantasy #samantha shannon #the priory of the orange tree #tpotot #becky chambers #the long way to a small angry planet #wayfarer #the roots of chaos #nonbinary #getting back into reading

[meadowlarksabove]

Tales from Arizona 1/??

(Memories from Arizona, this one featuring a child Gabban. !!!!!!!PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE TAGS!!!!)

__________________________________________________

Near the Northeastern border of Arizona, miles North of the sacred Window Rock, sat a settlement no more than ten houses long. They’d been a tight knit community from the start, a circle of used-to-be raiders whose cache of caravaners and traders ran dry a long time ago. With no other choice for them but to settle down and till the soil, it only took these raiders two generations to become a simple town on the border. Chells, as they called the place, had garnered a bit of luck in those early years, having established a trade route with a village built on the ruins of old Shiprock. The trade road led them straight across the border and far into New Mexico proper. If things had been left to flourish between them, Chells might have grown to a considerable size, with families from both towns having come together by the roots. Yet Arizona had stopped being a place of new beginnings. 

It’d been a little over two decades since the Legion had sprung out of the earth and spread out like a sickness across the Southwestern states. Tribes of all names had fallen around them, but Chells had managed to stave off that kind of violence through deals and monthly offerings. Though as Flagstaff became a hub of its own accord, with great farmlands producing at tireless speeds, the usefulness of stray settlements only waned with each passing quarter. 

The people on Old Shiprock weren’t faring any better, as all other contacts were cut off by the fires of the red bull. It seemed, untouched as they were in all the strife, they too would have a turn with the Legion’s ire. Many of the settlers began to pack their belongings hoping to flee before the soldiers were sent their way. Friends and family in Old Shiprock advised them not to venture any deeper into New Mexico, yet the road northward into Utah seemed like an even bigger gamble. Before they could decide on their next course of action, however, they would have to first hand over their monthly offerings so as to not rouse suspicion from the taxmen who came to collect. Afterwards they’d have about three weeks of free movement. 

On the day they were due for inspection, strange plumes of smoke appeared over the horizon, followed by a smell they could only describe as sinister in nature. The few elderly in their midst spent the morning cloistered inside their homes, while the younger folk covered their faces with rags and gathered their shipments in the middle of town. Another few hours passed and the smoke plumes trailed closer without any sounds of horses or brahmin-led caravans. They had always known the taxmen to travel in sizable parties for their own protection, but as they looked south they saw that two other fires were lit from different directions. 

They knew, right down to the soles of their anxious feet, they had to start running and fast. The Legion hadn’t come to collect this month, but to siege the town and its people. A community of only a dozen families would’ve been no match against the bull’s smallest squadrons. Everything aside from clothes and rations were thrown over the wayside then. They even saddled the load bearing animals in the hopes of hastening their escape. But as the first handful of settlers began to move out of the bounds of their farms, they found that smoke had billowed over the surrounding hillocks, blinding them entirely. 

Masked soldiers came out of the poisonous stench in neat files, first pushing back with their weapons then firing at will. It was common for the men-folk to be killed, but they’d half expected that women and children would be spared. None of them had ever imagined this level of brutality. When would simple people, with kind hearts, ever think it possible to attack with absolute disregard for human life? How could they have imagined the brutal, but efficient apathy that pervades the Legion’s military tactics? These were hardly the actions of men, but beasts trained for the sole purpose of tearing flesh apart. Chells fell against the Legion in a single sweep, and none were saved but the smallest of their boys. 

Once they put down the fires and let the smoke clear, they began to drag the bodies towards the farms for quick disposal. There wouldn’t be any piked heads or crucifixions on that day, barely any of the men under Decanus Hortensius even knew the name of this town. This was only a blip on the war map, something of a future lookout camp on the perimeter of the state. Whoever these people were, whatever these houses meant to them, were dust kicked up on the battlefield. 

Several soldiers were tasked with stripping the houses of any and all metal that could potentially be smelted for weapons or construction material. Which meant that hinges, paneling, and all manner of fixtures were to be removed. Smaller hands were needed for this kind of work, so the child legionnaires currently active in the field were sent to squeeze through the walls once they had helped gather the dead in a pile. 

“This is what I’m looking for, okay? It looks and shines like this.” A teen, only sixteen years of age, waved a scrap of iron in front of the kids. All of them immediately huddled close to him like birds by a fistful of corn. “Does everyone understand? Hey, Gabban, you listening?” 

The small boy straightened as he was called and nodded. “Yes sir.” 

“Alright, go get to it! If you find anything, big or small, yell out and we’ll break the wall!” The children spread out in a flurry of shouts and hurried footfalls. This wasn’t their first time stripping homes down to the marrow, or their first time on the battlefield either. These ones had been hardened to violence by about two years. So as they passed the hallways full of gore and burst shrapnel, they barely ever flinched or looked away from the objective.

Gabban, a blonde, wiry looking boy of about twelve summers, went to search the second story of the easternmost house. There didn’t seem to be anything of value around the first floor, but the second story did have something of a quirk to it. The usual way to go about searching the walls would be to kick the wood in and make a hole to enter through. But all the rooms seemed to already have a sliver, a kind of opening that served as his way through. Maybe the house had never been finished and the walls were never closed to begin with. This little town, whatever its name was, looked very different to Flagstaff anyway. Perhaps they were purposely left open like a kind of storage space. 

His eyes lit up, maybe he’d find something valuable after all! That’d for sure make his decanus happy, even get him excused from his duty of feeding the dogs. They’d already mauled him once before and he knew they’d do it again if they were hungry enough! When they gnawed on his flesh it was like savoring a meal! And they wanted to eat him still, he knew. He slapped the side of his head a few times to keep him from thinking too long and too hard in that direction. If he wanted to be rid of the evil mongrels he’d have to find something good. 

The walls weren’t too narrow for his frame and he was able to walk on his side at a good pace. After a few seconds of pawing in the dark, he seemed to round a corner and continue inside the connecting wall. He kept feeling his way like that until something stopped him dead in his tracks. Gabban’s voice was caught in his throat and his breath hitched. There was someone’s face in front of him, a girl who couldn’t be two years older than himself, with an expression that mirrored his own terror. 

At first he’d thought she was a corpse, stuck, someway somehow, inside the walls. Yet she blinked as she gaped at him in horror and drew up tears with each second that passed. He quickly smashed a hand against her mouth just as the first sputters of her voice began to slip through the shock. 

The both of them remained stock still in that awkward position for what seemed like hours. Their infantry had taken no adults or teens this time, only a couple of infant boys to be made into future soldiers. If she’d been spotted beforehand she would have been killed with the rest of the young girls. That meant she must have been hiding in the wall throughout the whole attack. She was, like the others, a target waiting to be neutralized. An enemy? 

“Shh!” Gabban tightened his grip around her mouth. “Stay quiet, please stay quiet!” This wasn’t right. He should have already shouted for the others to come find the girl and dispose of her. 

“You have to stay quiet and you have to stay still. If they find you they’ll kill you.” Her eyes widened, but she knew not to cry or scream then. Every part of her was stiff like an animal under a knife. The fear in her eyes gave him a terrible sense of vertigo, he wanted to throw up everything in his body, even his stomach if he could. “You have to stay in the wall until it’s dark. No matter what happens, you have to stay here until it’s dark, okay? Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Another lapse of eternity passed before she nodded against the force of his arm. “Don’t make a sound, just don’t make a sound.” Again, he waited until she nodded and released her from his grip. This was insane, he had to go and tell someone immediately. “I’ll come back when it’s dark. Please, just don’t make a sound.” 

If he looked into her eyes any longer he’d scream, so he turned his head and scrambled his way out of the wall as if his life depended on it. How had nobody heard her in the walls? Insane, he had to tell someone, he had to tell his superior, he had to- His legs came to a stop in front of the teen from before, now busy with scraps of metal pulled from the other houses. 

“Anything?” 

“No, nothing in that house. All wood.” 

“Damn. Well, it’s not like the wood’s going to waste either. We’ll be stripping that tomorrow, for now though, we’re setting up camp. Decanus wants us to pitch the tents in the center of’ town.” 

“Yes sir.” Gabban blinked a few times before making off for the center of the thoroughfare. Why hadn’t he said anything? He was sweating profusely and his eyes shot in every direction. There were hounds about to bite his ankles, he just knew they were there. No matter how many times he’d hit the side of his head, he couldn’t stop thinking, and he couldn’t stop thinking of running back to her. It was hard to focus on anything else and he got slapped for messing up his orders a few times. Decanus Hortensius wasn’t pleased with the slip ups and he was assigned to feeding the dogs again that night. But even that couldn’t center him. 

Night came on like a shroud over the barren town, whose empty houses stood like shadowed monoliths along the road. Gabban, for his part, picked up the buckets of guts and fat for the mongrels, and watched as mother moon, Juno’s moon, came out of the dark clouds. “She has to come out too.” His heart thudded hard against its cage. In all this time he hadn’t told another soul that she was up there in the house. This was a kind of betrayal, right? If they found out about her and that he’d lied about there not being anything in the walls he’d be killed too. Gabban hoisted both buckets forward and moved towards the mongrel cages. His arms were trembling, but he managed to dump everything just far enough into the cage to keep them away from his person. The sound of their jaws snapping and the sound of men breaking bread by the tents sent electricity through his legs. Almost as quickly as he’d turned, he bolted straight for the shadow of the houses, having fortunately gone unnoticed in the bustle of soldiers making camp. 

He ran straight east, through the door and up the steps. Gabban’s vision was reeling all the while, but he wouldn’t stop until he sped right into the room and peered through the sliver in the wall. “Are you still here?! Quickly are you here?!” It was quiet for a moment, until he heard the soft shuffling of feet beyond the corner of the wall. “Come on! Quickly! They’re all distracted and slow with food! Quickly!” 

The girl came into view and her eyes, to his relief, weren’t as filled with that visceral horror from before. She held out her hand to him and he pulled her gently out of the wall.

“Ah.” She was taller than him, he noticed, and that made him smile for some reason. “Have you ever left town before?” 

“Yeah…twice with dad he- he sells skins.” 

“So you know where to run?” 

She furrowed her brow in thought, he knew there had to be so much whirring inside her, too many thoughts to sift through to possibly remember how to even breathe. But she nodded eventually. “Yeah. I know where to run.” 

“Okay. Well, you’re gonna need this.” Gabban undid his scabbard and strapped it onto her pants. She’d tried to lean back from him the second he'd moved, but froze again as she saw him tie his knife to her hip. “Just in case there’s a gecko or something. You’ve killed animals right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then you’ll be alright.” 

The hilt of his knife felt comfortable in her hand, it was a good fit for youths like themselves. It was actually the first weapon he had ever learned to wield. 

“How old are you?” 

Gabban looked up to meet her eyes again. “Twelve, I think. I don’t know my birthday, but I think I’m twelve now.” A lot of expressions crossed her face, though it seemed to him she’d just heard something she’d never wanted to learn. Something vile, and he was sorry for being the vile thing. He might have told her as much, but there wasn’t a lot of time left. 

“Whatever you see outside you have to remain calm. You can’t make any noise or they’ll find you. Just run.” 

“Okay.” 

“Now, follow me.” 

He took her gently by the hand and led her down the stairs. The light from the campfires twinkled through the first story windows, smothered at times by soldiers marching around the street . The blood splattered across the walls made the girl shake, of course, though he kept reminding her of what he’d said with a mere squeeze of her hand. You can’t scream, or cry, or breathe too hard, you can only run.

Gabban then opened the back door, away from the lights and into the northern expanse of the wasteland. They took a few cautious steps under the bare moonlight before they figured whoever was patrolling the perimeter had already passed this side of town. 

The further they walked towards the wilderness, the less he could hear the men and the dogs, and the less his heart pounded. Then, as if coming to a threshold, he let go of her hand. “This is as far as I can go. There won’t be any more soldiers from this point on, but you have to be careful.” 

“You’re not gonna run away?” 

It was his turn to give her a strange look. “I can’t leave. I have to see my brothers.” 

She looked at him sternly for a long moment. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of his knife as if considering a million ways to attack him, though relaxed after a minute of pure tension. 

 “I hate you. Every one of you. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you with your own knife! I swear it on my life.” 

In all this time, he’d found it hard to look her in the eyes, overwhelmed by the animal fear he saw in them. Though now, as if thoroughly steeled by her threat, he faced her without any hesitation.

“You have to be quick now.” “I’m serious.” “Be swift and be careful.” 

She looked as if she were about to say something else, but her legs betrayed her in that instance. Hours of wanting to run had finally caught up to her, and she made off to the hillocks in a whir. Just as he’d directed, she didn’t scream and she didn’t cry. She just ran. 

Gabban watched her go until he couldn’t see the blur of her silhouette anymore. Mother moon, Juno’s moon, was still high in the sky, but that wasn’t who he was thinking about then. Nor did he think about the girl when he laid shaking in the cot all throughout the night thereafter. Instead, he thought about the men around him and that he’d done such a vile thing to them. He thought of how he'd betrayed them without a moment’s hesitation to save an outsider. 

I’m a monster. I’m a monster.

#tw child death #tw child abuse #tw war #tw war crimes #tw massacre #tw mass murder #tw death #tw violence #.Gabban #.Tales from Arizona

[reelvibes91]

Beyond the Stars: Zack Snyder's Rebel Moon – Sci-Fi Brilliance or Cliché Voyage?

When the trailer for Zack Snyder's Rebel Moon dropped, there were some things that piqued my interest. There were also some things that had everyone thinking this looked exactly like how it turned out to be. A visual delight with a muddied story. Something Snyder is known for among most general audiences.

It was stunning from a visual standpoint. As most Snyder films are. He uses techniques that accentuate color, and in this one with different planets, he was able to use various forms of aesthetics to drive home how large this world is. However, what looked the best were the more practical settings in the mountains.

Beyond the visuals, this film had a muddied story. It was very predictable in terms of how it played out. The main character is a former solider for the big bad but now vows to help her new planet fight back against the tyrannical evil. We then see her assemble a group of individuals that will help her cause. All of whom have reasons for vengeance against the evil that hurt their loved ones. My issue with this film is that every character that is going to have a big part in the sequel were one dimensional.

Another issue is that every sequence featured the patented Snyder Slow-Mo. There was nothing groundbreaking about the action sequences because we came in with knowledge that this was a failed Star Wars pitch. It looks exactly like something a grittier Star Wars story would do. We even saw swords that looked too much like Lightsabers. This story essentially copies the story of Star Wars and layers it in every Sci-Fi cliché imaginable. There is very little originality in anything that occurs in the film.

It is messy because there are no hidden agendas or hidden themes. The big bads are truly just bloodthirsty individuals destroying worlds because they can. The insurgents are just plain clothes individuals who love their land and are attempting to fight back. There are no heavy set emotions or plot twists that you could not see coming from a while away. The single best character in the film is a robot programmed by the Motherworld who begins to feel things for itself. Yet that character is shown briefly and then left to the wayside for the entire film. Why? Not entirely sure. Perhaps to emphasize that even robots can sense how evil these people have become?

The negative feedback on this film will definitely not deter this from becoming a franchise as Part 2 is already planned for an April release. That film seems to be on track to keep up the clichés and just deliver the same formulaic action sequences Snyder is now known for. It's laughable at this point how predictable his films have become. The opening sequences of this film are well made. The ending action sequence is not bad either. Everything else in between does little to nothing with a concept that definitely had the potential to be something better.

#rebel moon #a child of fire #zack snyder #Netflix #Kora #sofia boutella #sci fi #djimon hounsou #Charlie Hunnam #Cliche

[shivasdarknight]

ask 1 of 3 because I fully expect complicated to essays to this as you answer for practically all of your WoLs

8. How did they feel about the liberation of Ala Mhigo? Do they feel it could have been handled differently? Where they at all bothered by how they were involved? 

{original question collection post - curious about anything else?}

Oh you are absolutely getting essays, especially with that intro and this question.

The matter of Ala Mhigo and its liberation is something that (un)surprisingly deviates from canon in the fact that all four of them deeply care about seeing it liberated. That resistance you see in canon is non-existent here in part because one of them is Ala Mhigan. You also get the eventual inclusion of W'khittri - another Ala Mhigan - but she's apart of the later groups.

(more below, as usual)

The liberation of Ala Mhigo was a fight they'd wanted to get in on since after becoming a team in ARR. Once they realized how well the four of them worked together and they shared similar goals, that's always been on the agenda. Seraphin is from the region and has family stuck in Little Ala Mhigo; Teodore employed Seraphin, sure, but he would see the nation liberated just from how he's seen its treatment at the hands of the Alliance; Gwendoline is effectively an underground chirurgeon that's been taking care of the medical needs of Ala Mhigan refugees who fled to Gridania yet were scorned by the nation, so she's got no delusions over what needs to be done; and while Surkukteni doesn't have many personal ties outside of Seraphin, she is the adoptive daughter of a war refugee (Kitase, a Doman) and would put herself into this for Seraphin's sake alone yet she has so many things pushing her towards this fight. They were planning on helping with the liberation effort after the Praetorium, but of course the Banquet.

The liberation of Ala Mhigo varies in how you get to the jump from Rhalgr's Reach to Kugane in this canon because the group has more political investment in this campaign than canon wol does (yes I'm still angry that "this isn't my fight" is an option to pick but not for Ishgard? the fight you were forced into?). This all started as far back as Surkukteni forging better ties between Little Ala Mhigo, the U Tribe, and the Amalj'aa groups - first the Brotherhood of Ash, and then slowly working with the tempered tribes. This was the backdrop of ARR for her as she helped them build up an alliance against the Immortal Flames and Ul'dah, which put them in a position to be in on Ilberd's plans since the four are significantly more involved earlier on. It means they have an easier time pulling him out of canon trajectory, they manage to keep him alive, and while he still does a lot of what canon dictates, his staying alive is to be a counter to how Raubahn just melded in with Ul'dahn politics (specifically the Syndicate?) while leaving Ala Mhigo by the wayside. Ilberd helps them integrate more with the Resistance, they spend a lot more time with the Ala Mhigans, and then Rhalgr's Reach falls and the party is now split.

Their main regrets are the fact they couldn't get to it sooner and so many people suffered as a result of it. The Dragonsong War was something they never intended on getting involved in, yet they got swept away in it and two of them came out of it really fucked up (Seraphin's left leg was mauled and struggles a bit with tanking, while Surkukteni nearly died against Nidhogg and lost a large chunk of her left side - both have limps, both struggle with their original jobs, and it sucks). They regret that they weren't as thorough that they could have been, but especially that they were put into a situation where they did have to split between Ala Mhigo and Doma - Surkukteni and Gwendoline went to Doma with most of the extra party members while Seraphin and Teodore stayed behind. Even though Seraphin wanted to stay, he still feels awful that he's not as useful as he could've been. Even though Surkukteni wanted to help Doma, she's still pissed that the cost of getting more military support for Ala Mhigo was the political freedom of her birthplace.

Surkukteni could've gone without Hien's involvement and the interference into the Steppe's rite of succession just to get more aid for Ala Mhigo, could've gone without getting further disabled by Zenos to where she effectively gave up on ever being a Dragoon again, could've gone without Papalymo's and Conrad's deaths, and really could've gone without the nasty attitude the Alliance took when she began to help the Resistance. Gwendoline - as someone who goes to Othard - shares many of Surkukteni's regrets.

Seraphin could have gone without some people (a fair number of the Scions, unfortunately) questioning his involvement and his commitment. He would've preferred if they could've dealt with it without having to bargain with other nations just to ensure that his parents could return home. He wishes they had, had a stronger front against Garlemald when Rhalgr's reach fell, and it makes him sick to his stomach that they weren't there sooner since so much of the physical home that his clan and his adoptive family used to live on is now just decimated by the Garlean's conquest. Teodore - similarly - shares a lot of these regrets.

The original WoLs wanted to be involved in Ala Mhigo's liberation and were building up rapport with both the Resistance and various factions impacted by Garlemald's campaign, but the Dragonsong War threw a wrench in all of that and caused so many problems within the group that required them to seek the aid of nations that wanted nothing to do with this conflict. They could only throw around their titles so much, and the only wish they had acted sooner and more efficiently - then maybe they wouldn't have lost so many people.

Bonus: mentioned the Amalj'aa here briefly, but this aspect is something that is a really major part of my rewrite. It's involving the tribes more into MSQ, and this aspect is how it doesn't really make much sense for the Ala Mhigan refugees to be automatically against any of the Eorzean Tribes considering how they are with the Ananta. While it's understandable that there are a great number of tempered factions, I don't feel like it's very fair for them to hold that same animosity that the nations do to even the non-tempered. Hence the arrangements struck between Little Ala Mhigo and the Brotherhood of Ash before it expanded to the three main groups of Southern Thanalan excluding anything associated with Ul'dah. This carries over to various Amalj'aa joining in the Resistance effort, wider ties with the Eorzean tribes, and eventually you see a fair number of people not aligned with the Eorzean Alliance working within Gyr Abania for the liberation of Ala Mhigo (so the energy we see in 5.4 and on but much earlier), and it's in part intentional to humiliate the Alliance into doing something. This is an entire thing that I can very easily ramble about, but basically just to summarize: the Grand Companies have to be coerced into fighting on the side of Ala Mhigo in canon, so the solution in the rewrite is to not rely on them and instead rely on bonds that the WoL group have formed over the course of their adventures - which means everything's gonna look a bit different.

Tl;dr: they weren't upset that they were involved; they were upset that they weren't involved sooner and only could do so with all this needless baggage.

#original #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #mxkelsifer #asks #answered #answered wol question #answered wol questions #writing #also notably but unrelated but ishgard's own relationship to the adjacent tribes is entirely different and doesnt frankly need repair #because im geeenuiineellyyy sick of how the tribes are treated #it's the only major arr nation that doesnt really seem to care that much about the existence of the tribes and their interactions with #tribes like the vath and the vanu vanu imply they have a Very different relationship compared to the rest of aldenard #so im taking that and ala mhigo's attitude with the ananta and make them the fkn sane ones because Im Tired #also i really dont get how ishgard and gridania are the allies when rhalgr is halone's dad like come the fuck on #basically the grand companies needed persuasion. ishgard needed no persuasion #because Im Fucking Tired

[justanothertwstau]

#justanothertwstAu Lore Breakdown Pt 2.

This one’s a doozy so buckle up...(I got a bit carried away with the writing here)

The Catalyst

The big push happens after another young girl, (One of the ocs I’ve created, not sure which one yet) publishes an essay detailing her attempt at applying to the school. Initially a joke, she and her friends got together and decided to create an application since she had just got the highest marks in their supplementary magic class. 

To their surprise, it actually goes through, and she receives a letter of acceptance. The applicants’ family and friends were overjoyed, and thought that perhaps the school had plans to integrate the school in secret so they didn't mention it to anyone. 

On the day the carriage arrives, everyone is there to see her off, wishing her luck, etc. but as she moves towards the carriage the horses shy away. She tries to enter the carriage again, thinking that maybe the horses are just timid, and is shocked when they break into a run, completely leaving her behind. 

Understandably frustrated and confused, she and the family send numerous emails and letters to the school to find out what happened. Whenever they got through to someone, they were all met with the same reply “ we regret to inform you that our college is a boys’ campus. If you wish to visit the school please sign up for a tour or one of our public events.” 

Not getting a proper explanation from the school, she takes to the internet and starts creating a thread about her experience. Her first post of this situation is initially met with general disbelief and harassment, until she makes an update responding to viewers' questions with photographic evidence. 

This gains more traction, and while there are still lots of doubters, her story, much to her surprise, reaches other girls with similar experiences, who start talking about their own stories. 

Some are obviously fake, mocking the initial post, treating the influx of stories as a trend to capitalize off of, but others still rise to the surface, and while they all have their own particular details, they have three key traits in common. 1: the official acceptance letter from the school. 2: The official carriage arriving at their homes 3: Rejection of the horses, carriage, or coffin when attempting to board and being left behind. Some even have 4: Where a magic teen was taken, but instead of the girls it would be a random male counterpart. A solid handful of the girls that were retelling honest experiences had the incident where they got into their carriage only to be forcefully rejected and replaced with a boy their age who just happened to share proximity to the carriage. 

These stories crescendoed the summer before the canon “first year”, and throughout the first semester as young girls began talking about their experiences of being rejected from the school online. Various videos, blog posts and essays detailing all the ways their applications and even acceptances were sabotaged. 

The Impact

Understandably, this causes quite a bit of unrest in the public, and soon the school starts receiving questions about these girls, ‘are they telling the truth?’ ‘what does the school think about these claims?’ etc. 

The school manages to quell these accusations and puts out a public statement claiming that the stories were under investigation, and that this issue would be resolved. 

Any protests for the girls’ cases were quickly overwritten by new upcoming trends, and fell to the wayside in favor of celebrity gossip and other media drama.

At first, Crowley only sends out ghosts to investigate these claims so that he could report that all was well, not believing that the stories were true. To his surprise, he slowly uncovers that these things did happen, which baffles him. 

He grills the ghosts if they made any mistakes, but they only tell him that they were fulfilling their tasks, leading him around in a circle of blame and confusion. It seemed as if these girls applications had been processed without any suspicion.

One of the main pieces of evidence for this is the log file for acceptance documents sent out in the past year, and there are several that don’t check out with the amount of students currently attending the school.

Other bits of evidence are related to the carriages and coffins themselves, various damages or things left behind that check out with the stories, and reports of empty carriages returning to campus.

This goes against everything that he knows about the school, and sends him on a frantic chase around campus checking every document he can find about enrollment rules and requirements.

Everything he finds disproves what the girls of claiming, but after contacting several of the families he has confirmed that they indeed possess official documents, impossible to own unless invited to attend the school.

(BTW this is going to be part of my explanation to Crowley’s negligence in getting Yuu back home, that he was so wrapped up in this that he got sidetracked with returning them to earth)

After this enormous revelation Crowley takes some time to mull the situation over. Even though these children had been invited to learn at Night Raven College, keeping the school for boys only was an ancient tradition, and it he still didn’t understand why this had happened. 

Were they just mistakes? Had someone from the inside interfered in hopes of creating public drama for the school? 

At some point in this spiral, Crowley remembers the letter from the young girl, and pauses, wondering if it would really be so bad for the school to accept the girls. Sure it would be difficult to make such a change what with changing rooms and uniforms and of course he would have to inform the dorm heads and staff ahead of time...but the school had been following the rules for so long now, and perhaps the change would benefit them from becoming extinct in the future. Other schools had made similar changes and been received strongly by the public...Economically it would be a sound investment!  All of the sponsors that flock to them in attempt to seem kind and benevolent would be a great help to Night Raven... and the seven know the school needed the financial support. Beyond that, if Crowley made his move now he could rub it in Ambrose’s face that Night Raven was more inclusive! That’s it! It’s decided that Night Raven will shed it’s old shell for a better and brighter future!

Upon finishing his epiphany, Crowley begins making moves to open up enrollment to Night Raven. However, a few things needed to be done before making it official...so he begins his work in secret....

Okay we’re almost done! keeping hanging in there!

The Arrival

To test the water, Crowley decided to try a soft-attendance try-out with a handful of the girls that were rejected from the school. He implements this by inviting them for the second semester of the school year, and tells them to arrive a week ahead so that they can get situated.

Of course, this all sounds great but Crowley, being headmaster and himself, gets a few things wrong about the information he needed to tell them, instead giving them the day RIGHT BEFORE the spring semester starts. 

He only realizes that he messed up the SAME DAY the girls arrive

Which is incidentally 3:00 in the morning because He also messed up the arrival time.

They arrive; exhausted and confused. He gives them a rushed induction ceremony and they quickly get sorted by the mirror into their respective dorms.

He also completely forgot didn’t make the accommodations necessary for the extra students so they don’t even have their uniforms or rooms in the dorms they were placed into; so he goes with the next best thing and places them “temporarily” in Ramshackle House with Yuu and Grim.

ALSO to help the girls feel welcome and to diversify the staff he hired a female teacher who is also invited to campus, who arrives with the students. Unfortunately, she was also an oversight by Crowley, and is forced to live with the girls because nothing was arranged for her either.

(She's a magical literacy teacher, so she deals with magical terminology from spells to potions and more.)

UNSURPRISINGLY,  it’s a big shock for everyone when they suddenly have female students walking around the school with no explanation.

Crowley also forgot to tell the dorm heads and the staff so everybody’s super mad at him, hijinks ensue, etc.

Eventually everyone is called for an emergency meeting in the mirror hall, where Crowley attempts to calm them down and explain what’s happening.

After this, he summons the girls to his office and introduces them to their respective dorm leaders.

Holy crap it’s done!!!!

If you’ve held on to now congrats! I’m just as tired as you are. 

There’s still more to be told, but this was the important bit. In the future I’ll discuss more about the girls and the dorms they were sorted into, and their relationships with each other and their new classmates!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fandom #twst au #twisted wonderland au #justanothertwstau #justanothertwstauLore #twst crowley #crowley #twst yuu #ramshackle

[idcrxsxs]

It's an average day in the offices and little Timothy Evans has found himself mysteriously in an office that is not his own. He knows it isn't his own because all the orange carpet that was replaced with the 90s arcade carpet has been mysteriously replaced with the orange carpet again. There's no way that could have happened overnight. There's also no way he could walk through a doorway and wind up in a completely different office, and yet there he is.

And what's worse - he was on his way to have his battery pack recharged. The Haunted Office is friends with an offsite specialist who originally built the battery for Stanley so that he could utilize it to stay in the living world. Once Stanley moved on to the afterlife he no longer needed the battery, so he left it behind to be later picked up by Timmy, who was too afraid to move on.

And now here he sits, in a strange office, no idea how to get back, and his battery is dying. Which means that he is no longer as solid as he would otherwise be and it's only a matter of time before he gets forced to move on into the afterlife.

Quite understandably he is upset. And so he does the only thing he knows to do in a situation where he's lost and essentially on the verge of death:

"Help me! HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE! PLEASE HELP ME!"

@parables-for-days

Wandering along the endless halls in a sickening loneliness tended to take up most of his time now, a once overwhelming deep seeded hatred for people having slowly turned to a longing for companionship and touch, a person to talk to to break the deafening silence that controlled his life now. Even if he was ground desperate for any sign of life be it human or not, he didn't regret his actions of the past in the slightest and he never would. Whoever stood in his path before deserved to fall miserable to the wayside, to rot in a shallow grave without a single goodbye. Whilst his wallowing though a panicked scream would reach his sensors, his entire body perking up almost immediately. Another soul was here with him? Oh thank Christ, finally. Hell, maybe they even knew where other people were or something, just anything to get him out of this cycle. Running towards the sound of the voice he would call out in response to the cries for help. "I'm on my way! Are you okay?"

#[ in character ] #x || artificial executioner #parables for days #[ answered ] #[ THIS WAS THE QUICKEST IVE WRITTEN IN SO LONG I AM SO EXCITED FOR THEM ]

[anthonyaldenphotography]

Reincarnation by Anthony Alden

Life is so full of ups and downs. Too many times, I rode the roller coaster of pain and hurt failing to seize opportunities for joy. Sunshine always follows the rain, as written in the Book of Life. So how did I survive all these turbulent years intact as a black man when so many of my peers faded by the wayside?

Last year I finally stopped covering up my grey hairs with dye realizing each one represented stripes of honour. Flashbacks filled my memory growing up, the good, the bad, and the ugly, yet, I survived to embrace another day. God is real, God is great, God is good, and God has never left my side. I stopped counting the losses of the loved ones I lost to death. My mother and father, brothers and sisters, grandmothers and grandfathers, Aunties and Uncles, cousins by the dozens, close friends and lovers. The world didn't birth me into this circle of love for me to never hear from them again. The world changes around me every day, but I maintain faith that things will be alright. 

"Always remember that hard times will appear and then they will disappear so stay strong and always try and do the right thing. Because if you don't, you may have to return to everywhere you have been."  

It's called reincarnation.

#anthonyaldenphotography #youtube #photography #models #photographers #anthonyalden #musicnews #covid 19 vaccine #anthonyaldenphotograph #portraitphotography

[styxnbones]

minerva!! 4, 11, 17

4. What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss? They missed both video games an anime for a very long time, though recently they've had a chance to get back into them. By the time he died, arcades had gone much the same way, and since he was embraced at barely 18, and out of a "troubled teen" facility, he had few personal possessions to take with him when his new pack moved on- and unfortunately his Gameboy was not among them. Said pack, who called themselves "The Pantheon" was highly transient, so they rarely stuck around anywhere long enough to get their hands on anything like a computer or a console, and when they did it would often get lost, broken, or left behind. As for anime, if they were hiding out somewhere with a TV they could occasionally find a channel doing late-night showings, but it was never enough to actually keep up with anything and it didn't have the same charm as passing around physical media between their friends. Luckily, he's had the chance to get back into some of these things in recent nights- As part of getting them set up properly in Montreal, Corin got him a smartphone (he'd been bouncing around between ancient burners up to that point) and a nintendo switch. The Black Hand should be thankful for Minerva's endless dedication, cause that switch could have side-tracked his mission for at least a decade otherwise. Anime has mostly fallen to the wayside though- neither Corin nor Minerva are tech-savvy enough to navigate the hellhole of anime streaming sites, and they're too busy right now to learn. Pretty much the only way I see him getting back into anime is if they recruit Danny to join their pack, and I haven't yet decided if they're going to be successful in that.

11. If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference? Honestly, it would be really fucking hard to tell them from a look-alike, even for the people who know them best. Minerva is not a very internally consistent person- his Malkavian curse causes him to experience three different versions of reality at once and sometimes things bleed through. Consequently, it would be very easy for an impersonator to pass off any idiosyncrasies. That said, if Corin, for example, could compel them to use Dementation on him it would be a dead giveaway- even another Malk wouldn't be able to replicate the exact feeling of having Minerva in his head, especially since their madness is so unique and he's so familiar with it.

17. What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them? Other people definitely notice his uh... loud fashion choices before anything else, and the head-to-toe tattoos immediately next. For Minerva, however, he's always noticed his weight before anything else, and probably always will. In life he had some really nasty body image issues and a bad relationship with food, so for a long time it was a sore point whenever he caught a glimpse of himself. But, since his embrace took both eating in the traditional sense and unwanted changes to his body out of the equation, he's been able to work through a lot of that stuff and get to a point where he loves his chubbiness and sees it as a point of pride and attractiveness- so now it's the first thing he notices for a much more positive reason.

#minerva oc #danny oc #<-since they were also mentioned #i really should come up with a name for this tzimisce i keep mentioning #bc the tzim that gave minerva all their tattoos and helped them work out their body image issues #is the same one that purple'd-up corin's eye and hair and gave him his tattoo as well #also i think they're the same person who introduced corin properly to the path of cathari #cause minerva is like one-third cathari and while they can serve as priest to an albegensian #im not sure they'd be very great at introducing someone to it

[heresathreebee]

A Southward Breeze

On the first of each month, each member of the GFS will write a Drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman.

May 2022's Prompt Is: "The problem is,” he said as he leaned in, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

Fifteen years ago, Erik Heller had almost kissed you. It was a mindless thought– an impulsive urge that sprung upon him as he held your face gently in his hands. He could not recall what he had even been excited about– the only thing that lingered was the thought of the color of your eyes and how close your mouth was to his own. He remembered dashing it away and feeling tingly for the rest of that mission. And then he never saw you again. 

You and Erik used to cross paths often, almost as if you were bound to one another pulled together again and again by an invisible thread. He was not entirely oblivious to the warmth of your feelings towards him (perhaps to the depth, though). You hardly spoke a word and yet you managed to convey to this sovereign, efficient assassin that you would protect him, support him, mourn for him if it ever came to that. Yours affection for one another was a rarity in your line of work. 

And then… nothing. For fifteen years. 

It was not beyond Erik's ability to seek you out, to find you in some hidden place anywhere around the world (he was in fact quite confident in his tracking ability even when it came to you). He simply… did not. 

And it baffled even him, how he could simply dismiss the long-standing companionship that had grown between the two of you. But sometimes life takes you in vastly different directions and pulls apart the strongest of bonds. Did you think of him still? A part of him feels ashamed for having not thought of you in years. He had missed you though, sometimes more than he was willing to admit to himself.

There came a day one sunny afternoon in Paris when he stood out from the balcony of his temporary lodgings and surveyed the scenery. The bustling streets, the scent of gasoline and fresh cooked food wafting in the air. He spotted a flashing gold and looked to his left to find a figure a few apartments away, also basking in the picture perfect weather of today. He could not make out her face, but a sense of longing settle deep into his bones as the shape of the person reminded him of you. 

Before he even realizes it, Erik is trotting down the steps to his lodgings and barrelling through the streets. The crowd is so thick it's like pushing through an ocean wave, but he pressed on through the masses with French apologies on his lips and brusque focus. Finally he reaches the sidewalk of your– he doesn't know if it is really you– the stranger's apartments. He climbs the stairs taking them two by two in his haste and wondering if he had finally lost any sense he had previously. Was he simply going mad? 

He counted the doors inward and found the door that had to belong to the correct balcony. It is here that he pauses, drawing in breaths and winded from his short sprint. Not another thought passed through his head as he reached for the knocker and made it clang, the noise seemed almost explosive in the reumy quiet of the hallway. 

What would he say or do? It might not even be… and if it was actually you? What will he say or do? 

"Who is it?," came a voice that lilted like a song. He thought he would never hear that beautiful voice again. He was unable to speak his own name, so overwhelmed with the concept that perhaps you did not wish to see him. 

The door fairly flew open and there you stood– a wayside gun in your other hand and a look of pure shock on your face. "Erik?!" 

You must have checked the peephole when he didn't answer and recognized his face. It was you. A loose robe hung from your shoulder with a metallic gold pattern that gave the illusion of being inlaid with sapphires and emeralds. Your freed hair and your comfy slippers made you a picture of domesticity– a quality of life that neither of you had thought possible in your line of work. 

"Ich kann es nicht glauben…" Erik exclaimed in disbelief, "it really is you." 

Head empty of all thoughts, Erik stepped towards you. Instantly he is wrapped in your scent– kitchen herbs and spices cling to you over your favorite perfume and Erik's jacket falls to the floor swiftly. He slides his hands to cup your cheeks delicately, as if he is afraid you will disapparate before him. He enters your home towering over you and looking like a treasure hunter who found gold. 

"Mein Schatz," he gently shushed you as water filled your wide eyes. "I have missed you…so so much." 

With the weight of how he felt now, Erik suddenly balked at how he had ever gone a day without thought of you. Feeling the warmth of your skin in his hands thrust upon him a deep, guttural ache as if a hole he had always known in his heart was suddenly overflowing. He could see something similar fluttering in your own expression. One of your hands gripped his wrist so hard it hurt. 

Finally a tear escaped and tracked shimmering down your cheek. "Erik… you're here. You're alive."  

And I will never leave again, he thought, if you'll have me. 

"I thought I would never see you again," you confessed. 

Erik's drew his face closer to yours until your noses brushed together just as they had all those years ago. There were streaks of silver in your hair now and lines on your face that weren't there before. He wants to see your whole head turn white as you grow old together… 

"Are you going to kiss me, Erik?," you ask with an air of teasing hopefulness. 

"The problem is,” he said as he leaned in, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

He can feel the sigh you realize– it breezes over his chin and your chest shudders against his own. "I don't think I want you to ever stop." 

At this, he smiles. When his lips press against yours, the kiss is hard and long, filled with the weight of an everlasting love you never thought would come to light. And for the rest of your days, that is how every kiss from Erik felt– exactly like the first time in a long time. 

The End

Tags: @yespolkadotkitty @lacontroller1991  @a-reader-and-a-writer   @edwardbaldwin @loverhymeswith @madkovacs @maddu-oliveira @babblydrabbly @klmurr @fairchildflag i think thats everybody?

#three bees reading #erik heller #erik heller x reader #gfs drabble project #gfs may 2022 #joel kinnaman

[typical-simplelove]

can you please do 239 from the songs with Jamie O

239. You Belong With Me (Taylor's Version) Claudia's Debut Season of Heartfirst Writing

All I'm going to say is that I'm sorry.

His eyes stared straight ahead at a familiar head of hair. He hasn't seen that hair in a really long time, but it still sends a pang through his heart. Just like that, all the memories came flooding back to him. The hanging out on the high school bleachers, the pizza parties in his basement on Friday nights, the lazy walks around Dallas and Pittsburgh, the meets at the ice during hockey games. But then, it all stopped, and although he wants to admit that he hasn't thought about his childhood best friend/sweetheart, that'd be a lie. He hasn't stopped thinking about the way things should have been.

It's been exactly five years since he's seen you, and you've changed. You've grown, and you've matured, but to Jamie, you're still the same person that Jamie fell in love with at thirteen. You haven't changed all that much because Jamie still seems so much of why he fell in love with you in the first place.

What were you even doing in Seattle? He knows you left Dallas and Jamie behind when you got an amazing job opportunity in another country. According to you, you couldn't let Jamie's life fall to the wayside while he waited for your return. You shattered his heart when you left, but Jamie knows that if you asked him to take you back, he would. That's how sure Jamie was of you. That's how confident Jamie was in the love and bond you shared.

Jamie's breath goes shallow as he continues to watch you from across the park. You haven't noticed him yet, and Jamie isn't sure if he wants you to notice him. It'd be awkward if you did notice him, though.

He's sweating in the park. He doesn't know why he agreed for these photos to happen outside because it was sweltering, and Jamie really wanted to get out of his suit jacket, but he knows his mother would have his head if Jamie wasn't wearing his suit jacket in the photos.

As if you could sense that Jamie was staring at you, you turned your head in shock and confusion. You look around the park, scanning to try to find the person that you know the stare belonged to. Your body knew by the way it heated up. Jamie was staring holes into your back, and when your eyes locked with Jamie's, your entire heart stopped.

When one of your best friends convinced you to make the trip to Seattle for a few days to visit them, you thought you wouldn't run into Jamie. He should be back in Toronto, right? It was the off-season; he shouldn't be here.

Neither of you moves. You're both entranced and still staring into each other's eyes from across the park. It was as if you and Jamie knew exactly what the other was thinking. You were both thinking about what would have been if you didn't leave. You were both thinking about what would have happened if Jamie proposed and convinced you to stay. All those what-ifs are swirling in your mind, and it makes your head hurt at the pain. Still, you decide to go say hi. It would probably be as awkward as you'd think, but it'd be worth it if you got to talk to Jamie for the first time in five years.

You make two strides towards Jamie but stop when you see the woman who walks over to him and captures his attention. She's wearing a long white gown, a wedding gown. Your heart falls to your stomach. He's married. Jamie got married.

Although you know that you left Jamie to chase a job opportunity, you never ceased to believe that you'd end up together. You thought you and Jamie belonged together, but it seems Jamie didn't think so.

If only you could read Jamie's thoughts because then you'd know that he so badly wishes you were the one in the white gown.

Right people, wrong time, it seemed.

Claudia's Debut Season of Heartfirst Writing

#claudia's debut season of heartfirst writing #claudia writes #jamie oleksiak #jamie oleksiak fanfiction #jamie oleksiak x reader #jamie oleksiak fic #jamie oleksiak imagine #hockey #hockey fic #hockey writing #op: 2022