#also. at some point i want to read more about hermit crabs................NOT right now either bc i need to clean shit first before i

[toytulini]

i really Should rewatch the librarians...

#toy txt post #but not. right now #right now. i need to. go clean all these fucking filters. i am just putting it off perpetually. so much. its not as urgent #bc there are no live fish to worry about being impacted by it so my motivation to start cant be Kickstarted by going like GO DO IT #FOR THE FISH bc there is no fish. so now it is just another haunting and overwhelmimg task i cant get myself to start 😔 #also. at some point i want to read more about hermit crabs................NOT right now either bc i need to clean shit first before i #get sucked into hermit crab hyperfixation research spiral where i do Nothing Else All Day and at the end of the day im shaking from hunger #cos i forgot to eat and just thinking about hermit crabs and my brain is just fried and my parents are going to be like #'please shut the fuck up about hermit crabs' the answer is going to be no

[gumnut-logic]

Mosaic Beach

It has taken me since Thursday morning (it is now Saturday night) to write this goes-nowhere-piece-of-fluff. I had a low level migraine Wednesday night and felt awful Thursday morning, so the first 850 odd words are me visualising being in a better place other than outside my daughter’s school. Then Scott had something to say and promptly ate my fic. But then at least he was thinking about Virgil.

Also, Gordon is evil.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for the read throughs and support. You guys are amazing to me :D

I hope you enjoy this totally lazy fic ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

It was a lazy day.

Virgil suspected John, who had been kicked off Five the day before, had Eos routing all but the most dire situations to local authorities whether Scott authorised it or not.

There were days where Virgil wondered if Scott was really in charge, since John had so much ultimate say.

But that thought was for another day. He was tired and it was likely going to be a day off - please let it be a day off - and he was going to find a corner of the Island to sit alone and scribble in his sketchbook.

He ended up on Mosaic Beach, a personal favourite on the edge of the caldera. Gordon had mentioned it the day before regarding the quality of flotsam available after the last storm and Virgil thought he would see what he could find.

It was overshadowed by an ancient pokey tree brilliant in red blossom and the sand here was a mass of black and white swirls as the coral detritus fought the eroded igneous rocks – the reason they had given it its name. Gordon was right - there was all sorts of things tossed up the sand and Virgil spent the first half hour wandering along the strip of sea wrack picking up shells and whatever caught his eye.

One of the shells appeared determined to return to the ocean and it was with a small smile that he picked up the tiny hermit crab and watched it curl up into its shell.

Holding it gently in his palm, he sought the shade of the giant tree and sat down on the sand in its shadow. Here the breeze was gentle, the sand cool and, leaning back against a rock, he set the little crab down on a smooth patch of sand, along with his small hoard of shells and let it scamper across the little landscape that resulted.

Sketchbook out, he spent the next few minutes sketching the crab madly as it moved about. It shifted angle at random and he found himself increasingly switching from real life to a character sketch. A little personality sprouted from the page that reflected the little crab’s determination.

Ever aware of the crab’s needs above his own, he sketched fast, took a few photos and then gathered the little creature in his hands once more. He trotted down to the rock pools at the edge of the beach and found a spot he felt the crab would be happy.

Crouching down, he watched it scamper into the water.

His lips curved into a smile.

Gordon would know what species it was, where it lived and how to best care for it. Virgil was pretty sure he knew what type it was. Mel was pedantic about crabs and had given them a list of ‘these are endangered, tell me if you see them, kill one and I will kill you’. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn’t a long list, so Virgil had memorised it. This little guy...he should be happy here.

The crab found some weed and promptly hid under it.

The rockpool drew Virgil’s eye a little longer before he finally stood up and let the breeze cool his face. A sigh at the sun’s warmth and he wandered back to the shadow of the pokey tree and sat down again.

The little crab stared up at him from his sketchbook, spritely and determined.

Kind of like Gordon really, despite the claws.

That prompted a smile at the thought of his fish brother’s reaction to being compared to a crab.

He would squawk, but he would love it.

Virgil returned to sketching the shells and bits of coral he had collected. Rearranging them, repositioning for lighting. He picked one up and stared at the colours created by a little mollusc. He was ever amazed at what Mother Nature was capable of. Simple geometrics and chemical formulae made one of the world’s strongest and most beautiful substances in nacre. Another broken shell showed the rainbow of colour that he knew his paintbrush would never quite be able to capture, much less the pencil and stick of carbon he had with him today. He was left with a little snapshot from his phone...which was never quite the same either...and what his memory could provide.

Perhaps it was nature’s way of ensuring it was always the most beautiful.

He shifted to scribbling down the beachscape after that. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn this beach, but as with all beaches, it was different every day as the tide sculpted it.

His fingers grew more and more lazy, his lines wandering through more emotion than reality as the day drifted on. At some point, he ate the sandwich he had packed, quite happy to not care what time of day it was and refusing to look at his watch.

Eventually the sketchbook was set aside and he let himself just stare out at the ocean lagoon, eyes tracking the movement of the distant waves and the laps of the ripples against the shore.

And nature’s rhythms lulled him to sleep.

-o-o-o-

“Hey, big bro, you might want to drop by Mosaic Beach before the tide comes in.” Gordon waltzed past the desk Scott was sitting at with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Scott’s brain was still stuck in working out what the hell Simmonds meant by the ‘urgent memo’ that had interrupted his afternoon off.

“The snoring is scaring away all the wildlife.” With that Gordon grabbed a book off the shelf on the far side of the room and backtracked out the way he had come in...without another word.

Scott was left staring where his brother had been.

But then Gordon was worth ignoring some times.

He turned back to his display and continued to try and work out why Simmonds had ordered sixty plastic flamingoes and then memo’d him about it in a panic.

It took him a good few minutes more before throwing it back at Simmonds’ supervisor in Japan with a ‘concerned’ note.

What did Tracy Industries need with sixty plastic flamingoes?

He shook his head and forced himself to stand up and not invest any more in any comms from the business. Today was hopefully his day off and he refused to fall into the trap of losing himself in all the things that required attention.

All the things.

He paused mid rise.

But no. No! Vacation day. He forced himself away from the desk and out onto the balcony.

It was a beautiful out here. The afternoon sun was blazing in a brilliant blue sky without a single cloud. The sea was murmuring far below. It was an artist’s dream.

He blinked as certain Gordon utterings connected neurons together.

A frown. “Gordon!”

No answer.

Another frown and he strode back inside, following the recent tracks of his fish brother down to the kitchen.

Scott found him reading at the table, a phone that was most definitely not his in one hand and the book in his other.

There were lots of photos of crabs.

“What are you doing?”

“Confirming the identification of a crab.”

“Why?”

“Virg found one down on Mosaic Beach and I wanna make sure it is what I think it was so I can report it to Mel.”

The dots that had been connecting earlier fused into a solid line with an arrow pointing directly at Gordon. “And where is Virgil?”

“Snoozing on the beach.”

“And why do you have his phone?”

“Because his drawings were excellent, but I needed a colour shot.”

“Gordon!”

His brother didn’t even look up. “What?” But then he blinked and frowned at Scott. “He’s fine. Well above the high tide line.” A glance down at the book again. “There, that’s it. Oooh, Mel is going to be so excited.”

Scott glared at Gordon for a whole second longer before storming over and snatching the phone out of his hands. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen and took the path that would lead him down to the reported beach.

Younger brothers were hard work.

The little beach wasn’t the closest on the Island. Probably one of the reasons Virgil chose it to get away from pesky younger brothers. Trust Gordon to find him anyway.

He fingered Virgil’s phone in his hand as he walked. The green leather case was embossed with an elaborate dragon design.

Looking at it, all he could really feel was fondness.

He must be tired. Grandma was right. He needed a day off.

Easier said than done. It wasn’t like he could park himself on a beach and fall asleep.

He grunted as he stepped over some rocks to start the climb down to the little cove. The path was thin and wove amongst several pōhutukawa trees – or pokey trees as Alan called them, their dark green leaves adorned with puffs of red blossom. Birds darted between them squawking at each other. That combined with the surf in the distance and the breeze rattling palm trees, it wasn’t the quietest of places.

Nevertheless, he found his brother sprawled against a rock under the largest pokey tree at the edge of the beach, snoring his head off.

Definitely noisy.

Virgil was dressed in an old pair of work shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. Both sported spatters of paint and clearly showed how relaxed his brother was trying to be.

Beside him on a rock, carefully placed, no doubt by Gordon, the brat, was a sketchbook and a box of drawing tools. Virgil’s artist backpack lay folded up supporting his head - again likely Gordon.

Virgil snorted and curled up just a little more against the rock.

Gordon was a shit, but he was a kind one. Virgil slept like the dead and would likely need one of those waves off in the distance to wash over him if he was going to wake up before he wanted to.

Staring a moment longer, Scott sighed, gave up and sat down beside his brother. He dropped the phone onto the sketchbook and looked out at the beach.

Virgil continued to snore.

His biggest little brother had always snored. Scott had cornered him and got him tested for a variety of sleep issues, but he was fine. Just loud.

The terrible two used to make a point of pointing it out as much as possible. But that was before the hydrofoil accident.

Gordon didn’t know it, but due to his injuries, he now snored, too.

The ribbing about snoring in the Tracy household had dropped to a minimum since, Gordon the only unknowing ribber.

But Virgil remained the major noise maker and the brothers worshipped the soundproofing in the villa.

Regardless of the racket, Scott did find it strangely quiet out here. Sitting on the sand with nothing to do was oddly relaxing. Of course, he wasn’t really one to do nothing and Virgil’s sketchbook was right there. Gordon had obviously already stuck his nose into it and Scott was pretty sure Virgil wouldn’t mind if he took a peek.

Would he?

Lifting the phone off the book, Scott carefully picked it up and nestled it in his lap...ever, ever so careful. Okay, so he had some respect and not a little fear of damaging Virgil’s artwork.

The pages were thick and stiff and likely designed to support wet media as much as dry. Most of the work in it was pencil, however, maybe some charcoal? The darks were so deep in some that they had to be.

But Scott was no artist and really only had eyes for the content.

The first page found him looking at himself. Virgil had obviously either captured Scott’s likeness on the sly or drawn from a photo or holoprojection. His drawing stared up at him in almost all three dimensions. The expression on his graphite face was thoughtful, almost wistful. He could see his rendered self was thinking or planning and totally distracted...which was likely why he had no clue his brother had captured this shot.

But the artistic strokes were strong and sure, simple in their complexity.

Scott blinked, moved that his brother was so talented and capable.

Though he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Turning the page, he discovered their grandmother.

He had to smile. The concentration on Grandma’s face was almost comical. A bowl and a recipe book sat in front of her and the very tip of her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she frowned at whatever she was reading.

There was a touch of caricature in the drawing, a little exaggeration, but done with love and fondness, not mockingly. His grandmother was beautiful.

Scott swallowed and turned the page to find several detailed scribbles. They looked like pieces of machinery and the pages had notes written down the sides.

It was a spark moment. He knew Virgil well enough for that. One of those times when his thoughts all came together and saw him running naked out of the shower to grab whatever he could find and get it written down.

Several major equipment improvements had occurred exactly this way. It appeared that at some point, this sketchbook had been the nearest note book and had borne the brunt.

He stared at the diagrams, doing his best to work out exactly what they were. Sharp notation, numbers, that had to be the backend of a pod. It clicked. This was part of the pod assembly redesign from the previous year. Virgil had come to him with some major improvements, including a pod body redesign. What followed had been a massive overhaul of all the ‘birds’ assembly systems and a whole new set up, including colour changes according to which Thunderbird housed which pod. Virgil and Brains had been buzzing for weeks.

And it was possible it had all started here on this piece of paper. Now he could see the scribbled down inner workings of the assembly mechanism and the shape on the second page was a worked and reworked pod shell.

He glanced over at his brother who was still snoring peacefully. Virgil was amazing. Scott could not have been prouder of what his little brother had achieved. Yet Virgil never really boasted or bragged or even highlighted what he had done. He was just there. Always there, one step behind him ready to help.

He must be really tired because now he was getting emotional. There had been a few times in the last couple of years where he had come close to losing Virgil. He hadn’t, but there had been nightmares and many a night where he had spent reassuring himself that his biggest brother was still with him.

And yes, he could stand outside his brother’s bedroom door and listen to him snore.

It gave him comfort.

Gordon had caught him once.

That had been a heartbreaking moment.

Because his fish brother hadn’t said a thing, just reached up, squeezed his shoulder, dropped his forehead against Scott’s arm and just stood there for a solid moment. Another gentle squeeze and he left, not even looking up at Scott before he was gone.

It said more than any words.

Scott sighed and turned the page...only to come face to face with Gordon again. Though this time the joy in their fish brother’s eyes was lighting up the page. He was grinning at a shell and there was a speech bubble - ‘Virgil, come and see this!’

Scott had to smile. Gordon was notorious for sharing his beach discoveries. Virgil was usually the target because at least he knew a little bit about their little brother’s fascinations. Scott loved to see Gordon happy, but honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference between one shell or another. He tried. He honestly did, but Virgil had the patience of a saint and was much more engaging.

Scott loved to watch the two of them instead.

And yes, he saw Virgil sneak things into his pockets. Usually shells, but occasionally rocks and bits of coral. Those finds made their way back to Virgil’s studio and there was a whole corner devoted to marine still life.

Which was why it was no surprise when the next three pages of sketchbook turned out to be exactly that. A curly shell, a pile of cockle shells - Scott knew those at least - they were good for fishing. The third page had a plan for a reef painting. It had scribbled notes, much like the pod redesign pages, but this was based around a sketched layout. Scott frowned at it...it was vaguely familiar. He would have to ask Virgil about it when he woke.

The next two pages sported today’s efforts. The same beach he was sitting on emerged from the paper, along with some sketches of a crab. The first few were realistic, but the last one had the little hermit crab with an IR symbol on its side and one of Dad’s old uniform hats perched on top of its shell. It bore a sash that resembled Virgil’s despite the lack of green colour and one of its claws was bigger than the other in a very exo-suit-like way.

That had Scott grinning. This was no doubt the reason why Gordon had run for the crab book. Mel, in her position of Director of the Kermadec Expedition south of them on Raoul Island, was very particular about the endemic crabs on all the islands in the area.

He wondered what she would think of them inducting crabs into IR.

He wondered what she was doing today and if she might be available later for a nice evening together.

That thought was very distracting and had nothing to do with crab identification at all.

Virgil snorted, rolled over off his backpack and face first into the sand.

Scott startled, fully expecting a woken bear of a brother to surface from that.

But Virgil just kept snoring, now snorting sand as well.

He placed the sketchbook down, scrambled around his brother and gently shoved the folded backpack under his head again.

His fingertips brushed sand off Virgil’s face.

And he found himself sitting beside his brother again.

Why was he out here?

Because Gordon was evil and dangled the concept of Virgil drowning in the tide simply to aggravate him enough to do exactly what he did.

Gordon was a shit.

But a good one.

Another sigh and he lay back against the rocks and got comfortable, because, let’s face it, he wasn’t going back up to the villa without Virgil. His brother was safe, sure, but walking off and leaving him to the elements ran against his grain.

And Gordon knew it.

He would throttle, and possibly hug, his fish brother later.

Besides, it was nice out here, taking a moment to just be.

Virgil would approve.

Virgil would fake being asleep just to get him to do it.

Scott’s eyes darted to his now softly snoring brother, a sudden suspicion at the forefront of his thoughts. He would put it past either of Virgil or Gordon’s conniving ways to conspire to get him out here.

Virgil was drooling a wet patch onto his backpack.

Ugh.

Well, maybe not.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Perhaps he just needed to relax.

Relax.

He closed his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Kayo was good at meditation. So was Gordon. Virgil did some connecting with nature thing that seemed to work for him.

Exhibit A snorted as if in agreement.

He could try.

Out of all the sounds he could hear, only one really held his attention.

That same soft snoring. No waves or wind or birds squawking brought him any kind of comfort.

The sound of his brother breathing evenly beside him, safe and sound, was the most beautiful sound in the world.

What that said about him...well, he didn’t care right now. He was tired and worn out. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe this is what he needed. He should care, should be annoyed, but the rhythm was lulling and, god, he was so tired.

So goddamned tired.

Virgil kept breathing and Scott followed him into sleep.

-o-o-o-

Hidden in the foliage of the grove of pokey trees behind his two brothers, Gordon just smiled.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy

[19thcenturyedgelord]

TW: Transphobia, Homophobia, abuse, neglect, p3dophilia, s3xual assault, su!cide, alcohol

~Vent~

My mother is constantly saying that they is only two gender and is always dead naming me, the one time I get her to say my preferred name she rolls her eyes and scoffs as she says it.

My mother has told me my whole life that she owns me and that I don't get to make any decisions for myself, she was dressing me until I was disowned at 14.

My mother would threaten to k!ll herself is I ever did something she didn't like, this includes: having a panic attack, dealing with over stimulation, trying to dress myself, telling her to stop walking in on me while I was showering/changing, going to bed early, going to bed late, saying I was hungry, asking to be allowed to go outside, wearing my headphones, not being strictly christian/not eating kosher, ect.

My mother got rid of my pet hermit crabs without telling me and was constantly trying to release my turtles even though they would die in the wild and they were being taken care of very well with a large, clean tank and plenty of food and hiding places, a special light that was good for their shell, and a great water to land ratio.

My mother slut shamed me because I was wearing shorts that went above my knees (they were perfectly appropriate btw).

My mother would scream at me for hours if I got anything less than a 100% on a test and even if I did get a 100% she would ask me why I didn't get any extra credit even if there was none available and even if I'd did get extra credit she would ask why I didn't get MORE extra credit.

While I lived with my mother I had a diet of nothing but microwave meals and chips and chips because she spent all of her money on vape, cigarettes, and alcohol. I would constantly be near unconsciousness due to my low blood sugar because I had nothing to eat.

She has slapped me across the face multiple times, one time with sharp plastic that cut my chin, she did this as a punishment. One time she slapped me because my blood sugar was low and I was grumpy, this is how it went down:

Me: Hey I know you wanna talk right now but can I make some food first my blood sugar is low this should take me 20 minutes max"

Her: No, I'm you mother and your going to talk to me right now

Me: Can I please just get something to eat

Her: *yells at me wich causes me to get distracted*

Me: *spills uncooked mac&cheese because distracted*

Her: *yells at me then slaps me across the face*

My mother nearly beat me to unconsciousness because she was very drunk, I had bruises all over me the next morning but I was to afraid to say anything because I new she would scream at me and hurt me more.

She molested me daily, forced me to change in front of her, forcefully spooned me in bed for hours even after I said no, and would "playfully" spank me.

She was constantly talking about how sexy a 17 year old at her work was and even bought him vape. She would also talk about some of my friends like that and even tried to internet stalk two of them, we are all minors.

She would lock the door to the apartment and wouldn't give me a key and would force me to wait outside in knee deep snow for hours without any warm clothing because she stole it all. She also refused to drive me to school in -8 degree (f) weather because she didn't want to loose her parking spot. I was also forced to bike to and from band practice (with she forced me to to do because she wanted to live through me) in 30 degree (f) with heavy rain because she didn't want to loose her parking spot.

She would consistently make fun of me for reading or doing anything that I enjoyed because I was a "nerd" and a "looser"

She disowned me after she stole my phone, went through it and found out I was a lesbian.

I couldn't even go into my yard without telling her where I was going, if I didn't tell her I would be screamed at and not allowed out my room, for a day and then not allowed out of the house for two more weeks.

She routinely went through my phone and my belongings without my permission, knowledge, or consent, in case I had anything "suspicious".

I tried moving in with my dad and she sued him.

She stole my most prized pokemon cards, a bag, most of my clothes, all of my old toys, and over $200 from my in the span of two weeks.

My room didn't have a door and she positioned herself so that she had to go through my room to get anywhere else in the house.

She would frequently lock the bathroom door so that it was only accessable from her room.

I told her I like pop music and she called me a failure then continued to play her extremely s3xual, vulgar, music about dr*gs, alcohol, and r@pe.

From the time I was 8 she tried to force me to drink alcohol because its "cool"

She forcefully pushed me against a wall because I refused to give her a hug after she made an offensive joke and I called her out for it.

She screamed at me because I corrected her after she misgendered me.

I had to learn morse code just so I could speak to my friends without her knowing what I was saying.

When I started counseling because I wanted to k!ll myself and because I was having upwards and 15-25 panic attacks per day, she forced me to tell her everything that happened in counseling even if I didn't want to.

She always gangs up on me in fights but if I try to get back up she just yells at me more.

She refused to take me to the hospital when I had a concussion and forced me to go to school all week even though I could barely stand or speak and now I have verbal and motor tics which she makes fun of.

She would scream at me because I sit down in the shower even though I have arthritis. (Yes I have arthritis at 15, it runs in the family and before to long I might develop psoriasis, I have shitty genes)

I wasn't allowed to wear anything that revealed my shoulders, that was low cut, shower any part of my stomach or back, short that went above my knees, ect.

I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut below my chin because it " wasn't feminine enough"

I wasn't allowed to have anything that was "for boys" this included clothes, toys, books, stickers, blankets, posters, movies, ect.

She forced me to watch R rated movies with her even if I didn't feel comfortable watching them.

I wasn't allowed to have any friends over and I wasn't allowed to go to any friends house, the one time I did have friends over she judged all of them and tried me to stop hanging out with them after they left. My friends are all very good people and are the only reason I'm still alive rn, she was just mad that I was talking to people who weren't her.

She screamed at she because I got one (1) drop of dark green ink on her black coffee table that she got for free.

I wasn't allowed to draw any male characters because she was afraid I would get off to them or something idk (this was before I was forcefully outed)

She bought me a triple chocolate cake for my birthday once. I'm allergic to chocolate. She forgot my birthday the next year.

Anytime I would tell her about the terrible bullying that was going on she would tell me to get over it, even after I had been thrown to the ground and strangled by one of my classmates.

If I got into a new game or hobby she would either take it away or shame me for playing it.

She spent all day on the computer playing Sims 3 to the point where I had to feed myself, take care of myself, and play by myself as young as 5.

She screamed at me because while talking about Pokemon lore I mentioned how Arceus is the god of the Pokemon world and she said I shouldn't say that because it would "make god mad" ( I have nothing against christians or christianity btw, just the people who shove it down your throat like she does)

I wasn't allowed to eat or drink the last of anything (finishing a bag of chips, taking the last soda, ect.) If I did she would scream at me and slap me as punishment.

She threatened to forbid me form seeing my cousin (who for the first 11 years of my life was my only friend) if I ever "talked back" to her.

She wod frequently strangle me as a form of "tough love".

When I was 2 she tried to teach me how to swim by holding me under water over and over again, drowning is now one of my greatest fears. Luckily I did learn to swim with the help of cousin and granny and even enjoy swimming but it is hard for me to do things like wash my face in the shower or stay under water for more than a few seconds without panicking.

She never taught me how to cook but then would scream at me because I didn't know how to cook.

Her smoking inside and while driving has caused me to have some lung issues, she denies that she ever smoked near me.

She tried to take me away frome everyone in my life including my family and friends so that I could only spend time with her.

When I was in fifth grade she homeschooled me and forced me to do college lever reading, learn how to code, learn at least two other languages that weren't english, learn how to play guitar, do gymnastics, do jujitsu (japanese), do soccer, learn to sing (keep I mind I had no interest in music, but she did), do a digital homeschooling program set at a highschool level, and learn a bunch of useless skills like knot tying and making friendship bracelets because it was "feminine". This was in FIFTH FUCKING GRADE.

We didn't have a washer or dryer and she would never go to to town to get laundry done so I never had clean clothes.

If I had more that $10 I had to give the rest to her.

She tried to kidnap me once.

One time on accident I stood in a bull ant hill and got stung all over (if you don't know ants all sting at once), I was swollen all over and screaming in pain and she did nothing, not even give me ice or ointment, she just told me to be more careful.

[polyboros]

carcinization, babey!

so floating around blaseball spaces have been blink’s lore on how the garden has affected the flowers’ players, and recently, mads’ stuff on how the call got the firefighters, which makes it sound like they got murdered but that’s fine. and i started thinking about carcinization, because becoming a crab is about a lot of things, like gender and crabs and being a Part Of The Team and love, y’know, crab things, but it’s also about what is left in the “absence” where a [mumbles vaguely] killed god was at some point, and it’s also incredibly up to interpretation! 

anyway! crabs players.

so, a basic thing of how i view carcinization: it’s both connected to debbie and not. at some point, it was because of her, and now it’s not, but it is, kind of. it’s about baltimore and it isn’t. it’s about the crabs and it isn’t. what it is about, in no uncertain terms, is the person being carcinized! on some level you have to be willing to be carcinized for it to happen. if you walk into the baltimore crabs and you say fuck this shit i don’t want this, it’s not going to happen. there’s obviously a lot of nuance to this, but the basic foundation of it is that it is voluntary! and it’s reversible. and despite being a very, very physical thing, carcinization is about emotions.

i’m going to do players in order of who i have the most thoughts about! because some crabs are definitely definitely thought about more by others than i do, haha.

so luis acevedo! traded to the crabs in the season 7 elections, from the garages. they’re a hologram, and they’re constantly shifting both their appearance and identity subconsciously or manually to suit them how they see fit. they have a very very very solid sense of identity despite this, and they’ve been around, you know? centuries old. so they get to baltimore and they kind of already know what they’re getting into, except they have no idea at all, really. 

and i think they see carcinization from this outsider’s perspective, like, this is something you get when you’re a part of the team, this is something you get when you’re truly from baltimore and you’re truly a Crab, and they want it! they really do. because the crabs weren’t super important to them at first but they become important, and they want that connection to what becomes their family. but they don’t get it, not from an outside source. it’s because they’re a hologram, kind of, but mostly their identity is malleable by them and not many other things, and that’s the way they’ve crafted it. 

so luis rolls up their sleeves and goes okay, bitch, guess i have to do everything myself around here! and they carcinize themself, essentially, they give themself chitin one day and blue blood the next and claws and legs and every time they want to change they do, and i don’t think they quite realize until late into the Up that this is their carcinization. that this is their connection to the team, because they made it that way. and they run into the place where all the crabs hang out like holy fucking shit is this what it was? and they’re all like yeah?? we figured you knew?? and [luis vc] i fucking did NOT. it ends happily for them, either way.

next is [squints at hand] squid galvanic and jacoby podcast! these two are extremely intertwined for me specifically in relation to their experience with carcinization, because they’re both playoff births, right? they’ve only truly existed on the immaterial plane for a couple years, maybe, squid longer. and i think while the shadows are normal now that the fk apple is up (something i will elaborate on   later), they used to be not so great. and squid and jacoby were born into the shadows and not baltimore, really, and carcinization couldn’t reach them there. and then squid’s out, and it is seeing baltimore for the first time in its life, and the crabs for the first time, too, and finn invites it to go swimming in the extremely toxic bay with her because it can! 

and it does, and it wakes up the next morning with chitin plates interlocking up its spine and patches of it along its jaw, and it maybe freaks the fuck out, a little. because nobody explained this to it, because nobody thought they had to? but once it gets explained and it knows what’s happening, squid is overjoyed. it wasn’t a part of the crabs like the rest were in Up, and now it’s a step closer to that, and it’s happy about it. plus, it makes it look really cool, and i think it likes the feeling of sort of being Distinctly Inhuman in another way than it already is.

jacoby, on the other hand, doesn’t get carcinization. like, they get it on an objective level? and i think they understand it, sort of, in the way that you can understand it when it hasn’t really happened to you yet. i think they’re too unsure for it to happen, and when they’re more confident they get some hermit crab carcinization, but it’s… very slow. one step forward two steps back. i think that being a replacement for a bad pitcher that got foreshadowed has made them a little too anxious in their abilities, and their carcinization reflects that. sometimes squid peels stray bits of chitin that tried to grow on its vampire squid half and sets them on jacoby’s head and they laugh about it, though, and it makes it easier. 

i think about tosser’s carcinization in the context of it reflecting self-confidence a lot as well. the general thing about tosser is that after the real bad reverse sweep before the first peanut fight, he lost his carcinized arm! normal arm time. he blames this on debbie, and on carcinization not seeing him as good enough anymore, but carcinization isn’t the one seeing anything, really. tosser, on some level, has taken a hard enough blow from that loss to lose the confidence and motivation that made that arm carcinize to begin with. in the Up the rest of the team helps him build his own arm, artificial, and it’s once again the self-made connection to your team. you don’t need carcinization to be a crab, it’s something you foster yourself, and tosser is an original, and he’s had that connection and only made it stronger. i think once he gets down chitin and muscle begins to interweave with the metal, a bit, but nothing nearly as much as before. he’s okay with that, really. prefers it.

tot fox is a fox. she wears that funny crab hat you know the one. she doesn’t mind carcinization, and carcinization doesn’t mind her, but they’ve never really interacted, i think. she gets some extra legs to scuttle around with after she kills the sun and she’s happy with that.

dreamy and nagomi are both very carcinized, i think. nagomi found strength in the ever-changing nature of it and everything about it, in contrast to the heavy stasis of lady friday, and dreamy’s an original crab! however, i think while nagomi’s carcinization has remained just as heavy and strong as ever, dreamy’s faded and molted off over siesta. not for lack of wanting, but because with the sudden absence of the crabs, it sort of weakened her connection to it, and then over the decade it just sort of retreated back into itself? and she misses it, of course, but she learns how to live without it. and then the crabs come down, and i’m always thinking about sim’s minific where the carcinization comes back all at once. dreamy knows before anyone that the crabs are back because the chitin lining her jaw is back in full force and she can feel it, intrinsically, like something coming home to her. moco is less carcinized to begin with, but i think their armor grows chitin plate to replace rusted and missing pieces.

i’m sleepy now, and i don’t have particularly strong articulated thoughts on the rest of the crabs’/former crabs’ carcinization, so you should come to the crabitat at tillmansucks.com and ask about them! because i do love them very dearly. (pedro davids my beloved)

thank you for reading! love a crab

#blaseball #baltimore crabs #rai cringe comp

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 15. Random thoughts.

Well, I just found one of my favorite volumes of this series. For all the right and wrong reasons.

There is a certain trope or term I've heard of for comedy. Where a joke or skit can be really funny but can also go a little too far with the performance to where it can be a little annoying. But there are also plenty of times where the joke/skit takes it even FURTHER than that and it circles back around to being funny again. Naofumi with Raph-chan is a little like that. His love for the little furball was cute and funny at first, then it became a little odd and maybe a little cringey, and now it's gone to such an extreme that it's circled back to funny again, with the Shield hero now commanding a legion of Raph-chans. Also, Naofumi and Ruft bonding over Raph-chan is genuinely really sweet. Between that, how much he clings to Naofumi (or Raph-chan) when he's scared, and just the liking he's taken to the kid, I think Naofumi has definitely found his son figure. Honestly their relationship feels a little more parent and child than even Naofumi and child Raphtalia's was and it took me a bit before I figured out why that was, at least for me.

Naofumi was very parental to Raphtalia and does still somewhat think of her as his daughter. However, when they first met it was also a situation where Raphtalia had to grow up very quickly, and not just physically through leveling. She was bought as a slave and didn't want to go back to the trader. She wanted to fight back against the things that took her family and village from her. She wanted to be Naofumi's sword. She was the sole reason he could gain any significant experience and level up into the Shield Hero he needed to be. The romantic feelings she gained for him were almost certainly a factor but overall, for her sake and his, staying a child, staying as someone's daughter, was not an option. What Naofumi needed wasn't a daughter but a partner. Someone he could lean on and trust.

With Ruft, there is no need for him to grow up quite yet. Yes, Naofumi took him to the village so he could get some experience with the real world and he does plan on toughening him up, but Naofumi is not dependent on Ruft like he was Raphtalia. There's no pressure for Ruft to grow up because Naofumi and everyone else will be fine regardless, so he has more freedom to be a kid. And unlike Filo and the village kids, he doesn't have the added complication of also being Naofumi's slave. Naofumi can treat him and care for him like a kid.

Side note, but is it weird that, even though I know he's related to Raphtalia, before I finally was given an image of him I kept on imagining Ruft looking like Gohan from the very beginning of Dragon Ball Z? Chinese Emperor clothes and all. It feels a little unintentionally racist of me given that Q'ten Lo is meant to resemble isolationist period Japan.

“The Bow Hero mentioned that he has a skill which allows him to scout out the surrounding area from a higher vantage point,” Raphtalia recalled. Itsuki said that? I mean, he was the Bow Hero. It wouldn’t be strange for him to have a skill that allowed him to search for distant targets. That sounded like quite a convenient skill too.

I'm glad about this little detail. I was just saying in the last volume that it felt like the other three heroes didn't seem to have any abilities that weren't directly attack-based. And then later with the hero conference we get even more added to their arsenals beyond just "attack, big attack, and bigger attack" like they'd been showing up until now. Before it felt like the other three could be a bit interchangeable in battle with Naofumi, as it's three attackers and one defender, with range being the only difference. But now, between the four of them, it's a good mix of attack, defense, support, healing, and debuffs. The Four Holy Heroes actually work as a party together.

“R-Raphtalia. Brother. I just want to go and see Master Naofumi! Move aside,” Atla stated.

“No,” Raphtalia replied.

“Never,” replied her brother.

“Raph!” barked a horde of Raphs.

I can hear the freaking echo! I'm dying!

“To be more accurate, they are filolials who act like mountain bandits, attacking wagons carrying off goods and stuff like that,” Melty continued.

...

“Hold on a moment. What the hell is going on then? And—” I finished my thought in my head. If this was the issue that Fitoria wanted help with, then . . . “You’re telling me filolials fight over wagons?”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been told,” Melty confirmed. Uwah! So she wanted me to resolve some kind of turf war? If these were wild filolials, they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“The loser has to give their wagon to the winner,” Melty explained. “Also, if it’s the season of love, they can only find love by defeating their opponent.” What were they, hermit crabs?

This is going exactly where I think it's going, isn't it?

[Two chapters later]

“It’s been a while, father-in-law. It’s me, I say, Motoyasu the street racer!”

F******************************************K!

I get Motoyasu is under the effect of his curse series but...it's just so hard to like this guy. It was even before Witch betrayed him and his curse activated. Especially when he uses his Temptation ability to "show Filo his love", basically trying to force her into loving him. Thank goodness it didn't work and that Raph-chan can clear away the effects it did have. Naofumi could stand to be more considerate of Raphtalia when it comes to the Raphs but Motoyasu has been straight up harassing Filo. He tried to keep her trapped in her "angel" form when rescuing her from Naofumi's "brainwashing" and probably was going to keep her that way forever if Witch didn't have her "accidentally" killed along with Melty when removing the brainwashing. I'm pretty sure she was the main person he wanted to peep on in the baths at Cal Mira. He stole her favorite wagon and transformed it into...that. And then there's the shape of...

No...

No!

I'd heard a rumor but...

NO!

I thought it was a web novel thing!

WHY DOES MOTOYASU HAVE A DILDO SPEAR?!?!

Or...god, what if it's not a dildo?!

“I’m taking your daughter. Using my Lust Envy Spear IV,” Motoyasu exclaimed. God. This was all depressing me intently.

“Filo-tan! I will stop you and take your purity!” Motoyasu thrust his spear at Filo.

“Boo!” She wasn’t interested. Then I noticed what he was pointing at. Below the waist, shall we say.

....................Kill him. Kill him. F**king kill him. I don't care about the consequences to the world. Kill him. Kill him now. Have Aura and Mare come over from Overlord and Iris come over from Konosuba. They'll all team up with Filo so that the lolis he loves so much can snap his f**king neck.

I get he's under the effects of a curse (two curses even; lust and envy) but he's almost everything he and Witch accused Naofumi of being. He's brainwashing people and an attempted rapist. All he's missing is abusing his slaves and kidnapping Melty.

...F**k. Okay, back to reality.

So Quirks exist in Itsuki's universe? Last volume I made a comparison between Motoyasu #2 and Bakugo from My Hero Academia because they fit similar tropes for me, but in terms of actual backstory and character, Itsuki is definitely the better comparison. Thought he was special in elementary school because of his powers but got slapped with a bit of reality upon entering the special school for powers. For both of them, this fed into an inferiority complex. It does also add more to Itsuki's hero complex. Bakugo's Quirk and natural talents had him overpraised from youth, leading him to fear the failure of living up to expectations of him. For Itsuki, it goes a little the other way, where his expectations for himself were high, got shattered because the powers above his level were much greater and thus nothing was expected to become of him in comparison, and so he fell into console games where he could be important and the main character for once.

None of this forgives how he treated Rishia but I'd still rather have this understanding and explanation of his character than not. He and Trash have a slightly similar problem for me, and it's not the story's fault. Itsuki's curse has left him pretty fried and emotionless, though it's slowly coming back to him. He hasn't really had a chance to redeem himself. He's working to better himself, yes, but he's also in a state where he'll do everything he's told. He had a nice, split-second apology to Rishia he managed to get out but that's about it. Similarly with Trash, he and Itsuki have sympathetic backstories but he is so lost in his hatred the Shield Hero, Siltvelt, and a few other things that he has not taken responsibility or shown remorse for any of the things that had happened because of him, including his youngest daughter nearly being killed multiple times. Before he was half-crazy and now after meeting Alta and Fohl he just seems withered away and beaten. Trash and Itsuki's situations are sympathetic but they've yet to do anything that puts me on their side beyond basic human empathy and pity.

Compare that to Ren, whom I'm glad I quite like now. He never did anything as bad as Trash or Itsuki, nor does he have as tragic a backstory as either (that's been told to us yet anyway), but he still felt remorse for the bad things he did do and has actively worked to try and make up for them or make certain they don't happen again, because he knows he screwed up. I'm not just supposed to pity him. Like with Naofumi, I'm supposed to see him rise and he does, at several points in this volume being very helpful to very heroic. And I like how he and Naofumi contrast with each other without completely butting heads like stubborn bulls, like over the bandits for justice. They're both heroes but Ren is working hard to be a real hero to make up for the lack of one he was before, while Naofumi outright sees himself as a bad person, that all his good deeds are for selfish motivations and that he's not deserving of being hailed as a hero to begin with.

Well, I think that was all I was going to talk about. Yes sir.

...

.......

.................

.....................

..............................Alta on the cover. Alta on the inner art and quote page. Most of this book being about Fohl's fear over Alta's safety. There were so many red flags you'd think the Phoenix's explosion broke the fourth wall and set fire to the pages themselves.

Yeah, this death was better than Ost's. Ost's death still worked despite her short time with Naofumi's party because there was still emotion during that time and she still is often referenced, remembered, and mourned for even in volumes well after her death, so it feels less cheap and manipulative and more like it actually meant something. With Alta though, it's not just better just because we knew her longer (though that's certainly a factor) but because of the effect on the main characters, especially Naofumi. The raw pain, the denial, the begging, the self-blame, the sheer seething anger, the emptiness. Even the way it's written when she first jumps in the way and after the attack finally ends, it feels like the aftermath of a grenade. Everything is blurred and shaky, everything is silenced except for the ringing in his ears and its not entirely clear what's going on, only that something bad just happened. Naofumi runs through every emotion you'd want from someone like him and it has an even more personal meaning than that. Alta sacrificing herself for him gave Naofumi a bit of a hard slap in the face as to what everyone he cares about would feel if he sacrificed himself for them, which he's tried doing a few time already. It was a very good send-off for Alta.

This was also both the best and worst time for Naofumi to finally be told outright that Raphtalia loves him. Looking forward to either loving or being very frustrated with where this goes. Though regardless, that final art of them just hugging and crying it out is going to hold a special place in my heart.

Trash was apparently the Seven Star Staff Hero. I’d never seen him holding the staff and honestly wondered if the original king was dead and this was just a doppelganger.

Just where was he hiding the Seven Star Staff?

After the dildo spear, please don't ask me to imagine where Trash hides his staff.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fndipx/read_through_light_novel_vol_15_random_thoughts/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

[unholyhelbig]

Hizzie Summertime AU. Beach+smut? And feel free to do whatever you want with that because I trust you completely since you are amazing!!

Read on AO3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts 

Title: Braving the Storm 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman 

[a/n: aight’ go easy on me please, I haven’t written smut in over a year and I’m BAD at it] 

The Rain had begun to fall sideways; the type of downpour that stung against raw skin and soaked through every inch of fabric until it felt like the very bones inside of her body was encased in a block of cloudy ice.

Hope Mikaelson had made a lot of terrible choices in her life. When she was fourteen she played spin the bottle on Tommy Hart’s deck and ended up with a drool-coated make-out session that left her until face red and raw. In 9th grade she tried to outdo all the other boys in her gym class by climbing the rock wall without a harness- she was fine, of course, but still ended up with a month’s detention for her stunt.

And right now; as she stood in the center of an impending hurricane, she knew she had made another terrible choice. Because the waves had gotten twice her height and she had stupidly believed that the brawn of the storm wouldn’t touch upon the shore until later. Hope had either last track of time or had horribly misjudged the large rolling clouds that rumbled towards the small beach town.

A hurricane had the clearance to empty an entire tourist-filled boardwalk. People rushed towards grocery stores and panic-bought anything that was there. Bread and water always left the shelves first, and then milk- which Hope never really understood because power didn’t last long with winds like this. Then the snack food would dwindle and so would the alcohol because everyone needed something to do when they were trapped inside of their houses.

Hope had successfully loaded up her surfboard on the roof of an old blue jeep, her hands numb from the cold onslaught of water that rinsed away whatever salt had brined her skin. Another crack of lightning washed across the sky in an intricate pattern before rumbling thunder followed. And her keys- she couldn't find her keys.

The palm trees started to hiss under the pressure thrown at them and Hope pushed falling drops away from her eyes as a beach umbrella, not tied down fully by its owner, folded like a piece of notebook paper barely scribbled on. Her skin felt numb, and so did her mind. There was no way she could get home in this.

She scanned the stretch of novelty shops, their lights all dimmed if not shut off entirely. There was a pizza place that had used slats of wood to cover up the vulnerable glass- and a shop that sold customized air-brush t-shirts. Each and everyone looked desolate and abandoned long ago. The news vans had scared everyone away and Hope suddenly wished they had done the same for her too.

Another gust of wind pressed rain deeper into her skin and a nearby palm tree, already bent under the current, finally snapped with a shattering crack, louder than any thunder had been. She smelt smoke and saw the red and orange sparks as bark sizzled against now-damaged power lines.

Hope doesn’t know if she screamed or not, couldn’t register it against her own fear, or the fact that the waves had gotten up to the docks and were tearing them apart from the threshold. She struggled to find her keys and her own breath against the hollowed wind.

The world blurred and her eyesight became fuzzy, and Hope wasn’t exactly sure if it was because of the storm, or her fear, or the pure way that her heart was pounding- but the taste of rain and the stinging feeling of hot sand against her skin was the last thing she could remember before everything faded to black.

Hope awoke without warning. Her throat was raw and tasted thickly of salt and dirt. She didn’t want to admit that her entire body ached, because that wasn’t in her nature- not in the slightest. But a sharp wave of pain disregarded her entirely.

She blinked away the drowsiness and took in her surroundings; the wind howled like a wronged spirit just past the four walls that she was situated in. There were shelves lined with shirts, and a few bubble wrapped snow globes that were settled with snow. She was strung across a ratty old sofa that smelled like it had been soaked in air freshener and her wet suit was hung across the edge of a bookcase.

Her hands moved against her mostly nude body in a fit of panic and then pain. She was wearing a large t-shirt that stretched past her knees and had a printed hermit crab and obnoxious blue writing that read “Shell Yeah, Beaches”. Thankfully her underwear was spared as well.

Hope scoffed and pulled herself onto her elbows. The rain still roared outside and a pair of foggy storm doors were held shut with a couple of sandbags against the bottom of the panes. Green light shaded everything in the back stock room. Her head was throbbing.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Hope moved her eyes across the room to another door, a wooden one that leads to a large windowed store that she couldn’t distinguish from the rest of them on the boulevard. “You got hit in the head pretty hard, though. I was starting to get worried.”

A girl, a beautiful girl shrouded in the emerald light of the storm stood with a bottle of unopened water. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun and a t-shirt, branded with a fancy crest and the words Myrtle Beach, stood at attention. Her eyes were what stuck with Hope the most, reflecting such raw concern.

“What happened?” Her voice was scratchy and foreign to her ears.

“Well, if I’m reading the situation correctly. You ignored every single warning on television, and by the national guard, and by whatever higher power created the hurricane in the first place by going out to catch some waves.” The girl closed the space between them and uncapped the water before shoving it Hope’s way.

Hope remembered that part just fine. “I lost my car keys.”

“And you got knocked out by an Umbrella. Drink all of that.”

She eyed the water warily but took a few sips before the cold numbed her throat and she lowered the bottle. The stranger seemed to be satisfied enough, she took it back before setting it to the side. Hope moved until she was situated at the end of the sofa.

“Thank you,” Her voice was slight and whispered. “I was being stupid and I could have died and… thank you, it’s not often you meet a kind stranger. Not here.”

She nodded and Hope would like to think that she understood. Would like to think that she would rush out into the storm to save someone she didn’t know too- but some part of her knew that with conditions like this in a city like this, she probably wouldn’t.

“I’m Lizzie,” The girl finally said.

“Hope,”

“Well, Hope, it looks like we might be here for a while. Garden City flooded completely.” She looked around the stock room, taking in the escape routes in case the water decided to rise too far and push against the inside of the store. “I’ve been listening to an old radio but that’s about to go out too.”

Hope let out a small groan and moved her head around. Her neck was stiff and there was a ringing in her right ear. She wondered if she had the imprint of a beach umbrella on the side of her face, and she wondered even more how Lizzie got her out of that wet suit. Her cheeks were suddenly red and eyes dark.

“Wait- did you see me naked?”

Lizzie lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and plopped down on the couch next to Hope. A healthy amount of dust pooled into the air. “You were going to catch your death if you stayed in that thing- and I swear up and down that I didn’t look intentionally.”

Hope chuckled and the sound was soft. “Did you at least like what you saw?”

The near-stranger stopped mumbling through her sentences and drew in a sharp breath. Those deep eyes bore into her own and Hope felt a chill rush through her. She knew how to outlast a hurricane- everyone who lived in this city did. And the lack of alcohol, and in this case, power, sparked something odd into her.

“I mean, did you, I’m not trying to. Isn’t it an intrusion to?” Lizzie took a deep breath to still her words. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Mm,” Hope hummed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know if I got a concussion or not, but this whole knight in shining armor thing is very alluring.”

“Is it?” Lizzie had a bit of an edge to her voice and even in the greyish green light, they grew deeper in color.

Hope found herself leaning closer, over the middle cushion of the sofa. Because this was irrefutably her worst idea yet. For once, someone else had saved her, even if it was from a rainbow-colored beach umbrella. She considered it a win. She also considered the way Lizzie smelled light of lavender and rustic like the rain that had dried against her clothes.

Lizzie closed the distance between the two of them, her fingers soft against the edge of Hope’s chin. She tasted fresh, and her touch was gentle but rushed. Lizzie wicked her other hand through damp hair and bit down against her bottom lip, coaxing a moan from Hope’s chest.

Lizzie’s hand was moving, sliding evenly across her neck before resting close to her collarbone and she moved closer. In one fluid motion, Hope was suddenly being straddled, legs on either side of her as they pushed into the cushions of the couch.

Hope bucked forward under the weight and Lizzie pulled back slightly, “Let’s not get too excited-“She instructed and Hope nodded, feeling a pang at the loss of warmth that now hung between them.

The blonde went back to work, this time moving her lips to the nave of Hope’s neck, biting and nipping lightly at her pulse point as the shorter girl growled in anticipation, leaning her head against the back of the couch. This girl was a tease- a skilled, but strong mannered tease.

She hadn’t noticed the way Lizzie’s hand moved across the contours of her skin, and the hot molten trails that each finger left behind as she neared the edge of her underwear. The fabric was cold and slightly damp from the wet suit, but even Hope could tell that that was nothing more than an excuse.

“God Lizzie, Please-“Hope mumbled, breathy and barely audible.

Her cheeks flushed to a different shade of red, she had never been one to beg. But as Lizzie's touch dropped between her legs she couldn’t help but squirm. Fingers traced evenly against her folds and a jolt of excitement moved through her like blood.

“What was that?” Lizzie snarled.

“I need you,” Hope panted out.

“Need me to what?”

She was starting to get frustrated, wanting to lift her hips, finally getting the sensation that she craved. But the patient look on Lizzie’s face was enough for her to struggle in steadying her breath, her words were still ragged “I need you to fuck me.”

The grin against Lizzie’s lips was animalistic and dark as she smiled into a biting kiss, she expertly pressed into Hope with a flowing motion akin to relief, two fingers working inside of her in a steady tempo that seemed to match up with her increasing heart rate.

Hope whimpered into Lizzie’s mouth, the sensation vibrating through her in the same rush that this morning had; that same edge of danger and content that standing at the edge of the ocean while storm clouds subtly rolled in and black waves towered over her.

“Fuck,” Hope snarled, dragging both of her hands down Lizzie’s back, not caring how the fabric of the shirt felt under her nails. The taller woman increased her tempo, and Hope took to arching her back throat tight with the rhythm of a snare drum. “Please…”

“Please what, Hope?”

She glowered at the woman straddling her; because Lizzie had all the power. Had every inch of it. She was cocky and snide and Hope thought that if they met under other circumstances she wouldn’t be the one pinned down.  “Let me cum”

Lizzie gave her a pointed look and slowed her movements.

“Please,” She repeated, this time softer, with less anger.

Lizzie seemed satisfied enough and worked her fingers harder than she had before, pressing inside of her until Hope felt like she couldn’t quite breathe right, and the stars in her eyes began to circle like a constellation. She pulled herself forward, nose pressed against the side of Lizzie’s neck as she stifled a moan against her hair.

Hope tightened around Lizzie’s fingers and breathed in that same alluring scent of sweet and rain-soaked bliss. She resisted the urge to bit down on something and instead pulled Lizzie closer as she let out a sigh of content, but just as quickly began to ache as the abundance of touch was pulled away.

“That was one hell of an introduction,” Hope panted, swallowing back the taste in her mouth as Lizzie smirked like a wolf. Devious but ever so captivating. Both of her hands were on Hope’s shoulders before she reached to the side and grabbed the half-empty bottle.

“Drink the rest of this,” She commanded and Hope rolled her eyes, “I’m serious, you might have a concussion and-“

Hope shook her head and grasped the collar of Lizzie’s shirt, pulling her close, breath hot on the side of her cheek. “I’m fine.” She rumbled pushing Lizzie away from her gently until the taller woman was laying on her back, despite the musty sofa and the cold rain the poured outside. She ignored the headache and straddled the girl's stomach.

“I think it’s your turn, Lizzie. On one condition.”

Hope traced her fingers against Lizzie’s collarbone, her breath picking up and eyes darting frantically in an attempt to read the misty expression on her face. “And what’s that?”

“I hope you remember how to beg,”  

#hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #hope x lizzie #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #fanfiction #request #Legacies #legacies fanfic #legacies fanfiction

[redhoodieone]

I’ve Got You

A/N: This is a special one shot to a good friend on here @thatartkid101! I hope you love this, and I hope everything works out. You’re beautiful, strong, and don’t let anyone put you down! You’re amazing! 

Warnings: Language 

Words were never important to me before. I’ve never really given them much thought, but I suppose it’s because we speak every day in our lives. Whether we speak loudly, softly, to ourselves, or just reading and thinking. Words are often used a lot, which could make the words lose or overuse their meanings.

Such as “I love you” or “I’m sorry.”

I can’t even remember the last time I meant any of those words. It almost becomes a common habit; just saying it because you know it’s right, not because you actually mean it.

Which could explain why people around me always double check with what I say.

I guess I’ve never sound so confident and sure when I speak.

Bruce had invited me along with him, the Batboys, and Alfred out to dinner at one of his restaurants in Gotham. I, of course, accepted even though I always feel weird and uncomfortable going out with them since they’re practically handsome and popular celebrities, while I’m just an average girl.

I met the Batfamily one horrifying night about two years ago. I was nineteen years old and going through an awful time with my high school boyfriend, Rob. I was with Rob throughout high school, and after we graduated, we kept dating while I was attending G.C.U as he worked with his father and uncles at his father’s auto garage.

Our relationship had been good up until a point where Rob wanted me to quit school and become a “stay-at-home-wife-and-mother”. I sometimes wondered if Rob was jealous of the fact that I had a separate life during the daytime, while the two of us only have the evenings and nights. I even came out of my shell (I’ve been told I’ve been a hermit crab for most of my life), and even made new friends; particularly Tim Drake.

We had some of the same classes, except for math and science classes because Tim’s practically a genius. So, the only classes we shared were English, history, and even computer classes. In a way, Tim became my friend after tutoring me for tests while I became a friendly face when he needed someone to joke and talk to during study hours.

Our friendship blossomed within the seven months we met. I even met his father, Bruce Wayne, his trustworthy, sassy butler Alfred Pennyworth, and his brothers Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Damian Wayne. While all of them welcomed me into their home and accepted me as a friend of Tim’s, I realized I was suddenly struck by lightning to one of his brothers.

Jason Todd.

Jason fucking Todd.

I didn’t know what initially drew me to him; like a moth to a flame. Jason is obviously handsome, but what most people didn’t know was just how sensitive, insecure, funny, and caring he truly is. Jason has made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that he loves his family no matter what (even if they piss him off…and I’ve seen that firsthand), he takes crimefighting more seriously now, and he’s matured a lot since fixing his relationship with Bruce.

It’s like Jason had changed for the better, even if I didn’t know him back then.

But of course, Dick insists Jason is still the same in some ways.

Like how Jason is still a tall, muscular teddy bear at heart (his hugs prove it, since I’ve been lucky enough to receive fifteen within three months), how he laughs and snorts when something is very funny, and especially when he flirts with women he adores.

Ah…the flirting.

I knew I had a boyfriend. I was faithful, and I’ve never done anything wrong to give anyone a reason to not trust me.

But Jason flirting with me on a few occasions just showed how much I was attracted to him. The warm, teddy bear hugs, the innocent cuddling on the couch during movie nights, and how he would look deep into my eyes whenever we had serious or light conversations deep into the early mornings.

And the one night we could have kissed.

Jason had offered and drove me back to my apartment late one night. I had a test the next morning, and I was too tired to drive home since Tim had tutored me for our final exam in English. Jason had been a gentleman and walked me to my door, too. The second I unlocked the front door; I turned to face him and thank him for the drive home.

And then our faces inched closer and closer until I could feel his hot breath above me. Jason had smelled like Old Spice deodorant, and a cologne I couldn’t identify. His breath smelled like the whiskey shot he downed with Tim and I when we finished studying. His ocean blue eyes were hypnotizing, and were so full of lust, warmth, and care.

I found myself leaning in more. Our lips were very close, and my heart was pounding in my chest, as if I could die from a heart attack right then and there. My hands had a mind of their own, and I soon found myself gripping his brown leather jacket and pulled him towards me; until I woke up from the lust and magnetic force shield, I was currently trapped in.

The moment I pulled away and let him go, Jason appeared hurt and confused. But he knew why it couldn’t have happened, even if we both wanted it.

Because I tried hard to stay faithful, even if my heart and body were telling me otherwise.

And of course, I had stayed faithful.

Rob didn’t.

Catching Rob in bed with a female receptionist at his dad’s garage was beyond hatred and betrayal. It was evil; pure, ugly, and sickening evil.

I clearly told Rob we were done; broken up and just finished forever. I tried very hard to stay strong, and I left his apartment with hope that I could just leave and cry privately. But that’s too easy, isn’t it?

Rob eventually caught up with me when I managed to walk a good mile away. He was yelling at me and shoving me against the wall and accused me of cheating on him first: with Tim Drake. I tried to explain to him we were just good friends, and that I didn’t cheat on him. I wanted to tell him I wanted to, but it didn’t seem like a good idea. But Rob’s anger was far from over, and he was now shouting in my face and threatened to ruin me for any new guys that would come around me.

Rob’s threat didn’t fall on deaf ears.

Red Hood landed down beside us. Twirling his gun around his fingers, he approached us and looked more intimidating than anything I’ve ever seen before.

“Wow…you’re a real douchebag,” Red Hood said, his voice is full of rage and violence. After the gun stops spinning in his fingers, he holds it up to Rob’s head. “And here I thought I was…but hey, I guess maybe I’ve grown up and learned yelling and threatening pretty ladies is just a fucking asshole thing to do.”

Rob twisted his face around to face Red Hood. He’s clearly pissed off at Red Hood for interrupting our fight.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, okay Dildo Head?! This bitch is my problem, and I’m not leaving until I teach her some manners!” Rob snaps harshly.

“It’s one thing to call my helmet a “dildo head”, but when you disrespect women…now that’s crossing the fucking line, you dipshit!”

Red Hood beat the shit out of Rob, but that didn’t mean Rob went down easily without a fight. While Red Hood had the strength, stamina, and moves, Rob did manage to knock Red Hood’s helmet off.

And it happened to be the one-time Red Hood forgot to wear his domino mask.

Jason Todd.

Rob was thankfully knocked out and didn’t see Jason’s face, but I did. After Jason got up and fixed himself up, he knew his secret was out.

And then I eventually learned all their secret identities. I even became a part of their social and private lifestyles…including sometimes Batfamily meetings and helping with cases or whatever they needed.

But after all of that, I’m in a better place to where I don’t mind getting back into the “dating game”, but the fear of being rejected and cheated on still plagues me from time to time. It also didn’t help that the media and paparazzi insisted I was dating Tim and Jason on different occasions. The rumors were worse. I was considered a “family whore” and that I was trying to sleep with Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Luckily not Damian or Alfred. But Alfred’s too precious for me, anyways.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim never paid much attention to the rumors or paparazzi. While they understood how I felt, they dismissed and corrected the rumors as much as they could. But Jason appeared not to care about the rumors, either. In fact, he loved putting on a show as much as he could.

Jason would hold my hand from leaving the limo and entering the building. He then would hold my waist and walk me back to the limo and made sure to wink and wave at the cameras. Jason had even taken it too far once when he kissed me.

A quick peck on the lips. But it’s still a kiss!  

We never spoke about it or brought it up again. I wonder if Jason even remembers the kiss.

Once we arrive at Bruce’s restaurant, he leads us from the limo and into the restaurant. He smiles and is polite to everyone and expects us to do the same, in which we all do. Dick, Tim, Damian, and Alfred follow Bruce while Jason and I lag behind, because Jason wanted to hold my hand and bring me closer to his body so the cameras can get good shots of us. While I think we’re in the clear from paparazzi and reporters’ questions, one man decided to ask me a personal question.

“Y/N! Is it true you were in a gangbang after high school?!”

I immediately freeze up. It’s like the air was knocked out of me. Every muscle, breath, and cell inside me stopped working.

Jason had stopped alongside me as well. His hand remained on my lower back, while I moved to the man who asked me that question.

“What did you just say?” I repeat, not even aware I’m sounding like I’m losing my mind.

“You didn’t know? Your picture was leaked online. It’s everywhere, babe!” the man declares.

The man then gives me his cell phone. The second my eyes land on the picture, I tense up. There am I, passed out drunk from a party that Rob was throwing after high school. I’m passed out on a bed, wearing short shorts and a pink bikini top. Rob’s friends, Chris, Jake, and Vince are around me, clearly intoxicated like me. Touching me, kissing me, and passing me back and forth between them.

The picture was taken by Rob’s ex-girlfriend Lily, who clearly and obviously wanted Rob back. The picture nearly destroyed our relationship. My parents were even disappointed in me, and scolded me for being so reckless and drunk, but they eventually forgave me. I even told Rob I was drunk, and that his friends were the ones who were taking advantage of me when I was passed out.

Rob didn’t believe it at first, but then we never spoke of the picture again.

But now it looks like Rob wants to ruin any future relationships for me. This picture is the end of me.

The man takes back his cell phone and laughs at me. “At least you learned that pictures never die or disappear from the web, Y/N. Once you fuck up, you’ll be reminded that you fucked up for the rest of your life. Now, can I get a quote?” he asks seriously.

“Fuck you!” I snap.

“Nah, I’m not into gangbangs like you. Maybe you can ask Bruce Wayne and his sons to join you? My God, would you really do that? You must really be a slut!”

Jason steps in front of me and glares down at the shorter man. “Back. The. Fuck. Off.” Jason threatens angrily.

“Damn…you work fast, Y/N? So, what’s next: are you going to fuck the Luthor or Queen family next?!”

I rip my arm from Jason’s grasp, and I run away from the crowd and restaurant. I had to stop after a block to remove my heels, and then I was back to running away.

No matter how far I run. No matter how hard I try to hide my tears. I was broken.

I finally stop running once I realize I made it all the way to the pier. I remember the pier from when Dick showed me where he almost killed his parents’ killer. Walking slowly and barefoot, I make it to the rail where I take a seat and allow my legs to dangle above the water. My arms are holding the rails above me, and for just a second, I wish I could disappear.

If I fall into the dark water, I would be gone quickly, and no one would ever know.

It’ll be as if this pain never happened. It’ll be as if I never caused trouble.

“You’re not going to jump in.”

Jason?

I whip my head around and see Jason approaching me. His black tie is undone, and he removes his jacket. He sits beside me, and carefully places his jacket over my bare shoulders. Jason exhales, and allows his legs to dangle beside mine.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if I did? I already ruined your family’s reputation. I even ruined my family’s as well,” I remark.

“Reputation? Doll, in case you haven’t noticed, reputations are meant to be ruined,” Jason says, as he chuckles lightly. He glances at me, but I still refuse to look him in the eyes. “Bruce and Alfred are already doing damage control to the media. Since your shitty ex-boyfriend leaked that picture, Timbo and Dick are making sure it’s taken down online and we’re going to sue his ass until he’s poor and dead.”

“What?” I barely whisper and turn to look at him.

“You’re a part of our family whether you like it or not, Y/N. We protect each other, and that means we’re going to protect you, too. And trust me, Bruce and Alfred are very good at clearing up the rumors and paparazzi bullshit. Alfred even said he’s going to talk to your parents, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about, sweetheart. And as for Tim and Dick, your picture will never surface online again.”

I lean my forehead on the rail. “What about Damian?” I ask quietly.

“He’s doing me a favor, but that’s not important right now! I want you to know I believe you, Y/N. You are not what Rob says you are. You’re not a whore. That picture was taken without your consent and those fuckers had no right to do those fucked up, disgusting acts to you while you were drunk. And as for your fucking ex-boyfriend, he’s fucking asshole who should have believed you and beat the shit out of those other fuckers,” Jason growls under his breath, and runs a hand through his dark hair. “If I knew you back then…and knew what happened…I would have killed all of them, sweetheart. I would have shoot off those fuckers’ balls, and then I would have jammed my gun down your boyfriend’s throat, and then up his ass until he pukes up bullets.”

I slowly turn to face Jason, and I soon realize he never took his eyes off me the entire time he’s been talking. “W-why are you saying all of this, Jay?” I whisper.

“Because you deserve to know the truth, and you deserve better. Fuck doll…you’re the strongest babe I know. Y/N, you literally don’t hesitate to speak your mind, you don’t take shit from any of us, and if I remember correctly…you once kicked my ass during that time Dick and I fought over a mission gone wrong. Remember? You took me down with just one punch and kick to the knee?”

“How can I forget? I felt bad right after, and we ended up eating a carton of chocolate ice cream while watching stupid movies on Netflix,” I say softly. “All night long.”

“The best night of my life,” Jason replies, and grins before he scoots over next to me. “This…what happened tonight isn’t going to destroy you, Y/N. Do you want to know what I see happening?”

I force myself to choke back on my tears. “What?” I barely ask.

“You’re going to hug me, and I’m going to tell you you’re stronger than this. You’re going to flip off the fucking paparazzi with me, and we’re going to show them we’re two badasses, who are not going to let the media tell us bullshit, when we know we’re better than all of them. And then, I’m going to take you out to dinner, and then I’m going to spend the entire night convincing you, that you are perfect and how much you mean to me,” Jason says seriously. “Because doll…I’ve got you.”

“Then what?” I ask, wiping a tear from my cheek with a small smile.

“Then I’m going to tell you I love you, and that I want you to give me a chance. I want one chance to show you how fucking crazy I am for you, and that I’m so in love with you that just being near you isn’t enough. I can’t be a friend anymore Y/N, especially when all I want is to kiss you, hold you, and protect you until the day I die. But most importantly, you’re going to tell me that you love me, and want to be with me as well. And after we kiss and seal our love, you’re going to tell me you’re so strong, that no matter what the media, public, and Rob says: you are going to overcome all of this, and you’re never, ever going to let anyone put you down, when you are clearly above and better than all of us.”

Before I can say anything, Jason leans in and kisses me. Our lips together send fireworks throughout my entire body, and I feel as if I’ve fallen into hot lava. I feel my body on fire, and Jason clearly does too, when he reaches to hold my face, as the other holds my waist tightly. As we explore each other’s mouths and bodies (over the clothes), we hear someone honking their vehicle. Jason and I pull away from each other, and then we see it’s the Batmobile.

Jason helps us to our feet, as we check out the Batmobile. The window rolls down and we see Nightwing in the driver’s seat, along with Red Robin beside him. Robin is in the back and shakes his head at us.

“Don’t you know how to answer your cell phone, Todd?” Robin scoffs.

“We were busy at the moment…” Jason says, and leads us to the Batmobile. “Did you do what I asked, Demon Spawn?”

“Affirmative,” Robin says.

“B wants us to drop Y/N back at the manor while we finish what we started,” Nightwing says, with a smile for me.

Jason motions Red Robin to climb into the backseat with Robin. Once the passenger side is clear, he climbs in and pulls me onto his lap as Nightwing revs up the Batmobile. We speed away from the pier, as Nightwing drives us back to the manor.

“Finish what?” I ask curiously.

“Just a…little mission…” Jason answers sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Y/N,” Red Robin insists.

“Indeed, you will never go through this again,” Robin speaks up.

“B says not to kill him, so we have to be careful with what we do,” Nightwing clarifies, as I stare at the brothers in confusion.

“What are you guys going to do? Are you…going to kill Rob, and his friends?” I ask.

Nightwing grins at me, as Red Robin and Robin flash their innocent smiles. Jason bursts into a fit of laughter and kisses my cheek. With both strong arms wrapped around me, he leans his face towards mine.

“Oh, we’re not going to kill him or his friends, sweetheart. We’re just going to break their bones!”

#dc comics #batman #red hood #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #nightwing #robin #red robin

[atamascolily]

Lily liveblogs: “Resistance Reborn,” part four

When we last left off, Finn and Poe and friends were about to go to a birthday party for one of Maz's smugger friends who has the list macguffin they're after. Please note they're not actually crashing this party for once - Maz got them actual invitations, lol.

Meanwhile, Bratt the Brat comes back to the office and beats Yama to a pulp, only to be taken aback when his superiors commend her for her loyalty in reporting Monti's theft. But he's offered a chance to prove his loyalty if he can fix the mess, even though he's still in denial about Yama and Monti's true allegiances because he’s a sexist asshole.  

The party is awesome - ocean and fish and rich people and smugglers, with the First Order providing security (??). Poe and Finn eat a bunch of sea-themed canapes and banter. It's delightful and I want entire fics of this instead of, like, three pages. They had to bring presents, and one of the other members of Poe's team got the gifts, so it's a surprise to him too when the birthday girl opens it, but it's a dwarf lylek, a spiky hermit-crab/praying mantis creature that stays small "as long as you don't feed it flesh".

The guest of honor is delighted because--who would have guessed?--she used to be an entomologist! I love her, and I'm kinda sad she's a throwaway character, because she's a member of the Collective, the Corellian techie version of antifa, which sounds wayyyy more interesting than the actual book.  

(I was also hoping that the lylek would start devouring canapes when the First Order inevitably breaks up the party and the shooting starts, only for the lylek to get HUGE and start going after stormtroopers... but alas, no, that doesn't happen either. DON'T TEASE ME LIKE THAT, OKAY??)

There's an auction to get the list macguffin as a fundraiser for the Collective and Poe is trying to figure out what the trick is because they're rapidly running out of cash. CorSec breaks up the party in the name of the First Order, which is weird because I thought the FO was providing security, but whatever.

Wedge, Norra, Snap, and Tasa Nasz, the ex-Imperial badass, go to the shipyards to steal ships for the Resistance. There's a Baleen-class freighter, and I love it. They run into Yama Dee, badly injured from Bratt's beating, and we learn that Yama is 15, so Bratt isn't just an abusive asshole, he's a child abuser, ughhh. Our heroes are rightly incensed and vow to help Yama, who is uniquely positioned to give them what they need.

Leia and Rey are sitting around on Ryloth, when... Rey has a bad feeling seconds before the First Order starts taking over (for totally unrelated reasons) and the Resistance forces have to GTFO.

Back at the party, the birthday girl is devastated because her husband was shot in front of her, so she agrees to give Poe the list macguffin for revenge (it's hidden in her jewelry in the form of a snake, which is a nice touch). They jump into a pool to escape the FO, and Finn hauls them out. Poe is afraid she's lost the necklace, but it turns out to come when called, which everyone agrees is awesome.

Bratt attacks the FO officer accusing him of treason and runs back to his office to track down information about Monti the Traitor--only to find Wedge and company with Yama and the escaped prisoners (including Leia's old political friend). Yama confronts Bratt, who denies everything, and Yama is appalled when she realizes she's parrotting his exact same arguments, that she is becoming the same as her abuser.

They fight, only to be interrupted by Teza, who is unsympathetic when she learns Bratt is the one who beat Yama in the first place. She tells Bratt he has a choice: either let Yama continue the beatdown, or she shoots him. Bratt is aghast at the idea of letting Yama beat him, so Teza shoots him and he bleeds out on the floor in astonishment while everyone else walks out. Leia's senatorial friend tries to offer him a hand up, but Bratt bats it away and dies alone and confused.

(Please note that the main reason the ex-Imperial comes along seems to be so she can be the agent of divine justice without our "good" heroes having to get their hands dirty. For all that ST fans like to talk about "edginess" and "grey Jedi" and "moral complexity" in TLJ, this is still Star Wars and our heroes don't shoot (usually) shoot people at point-blank range and leave them to die even when they're assholes.)

Wedge and company meet up with Poe and company, who have lost their own ship, so they steal a FO shuttle and escape with the prisoners and the full list. Since Ryloth is no longer safe, Poe makes a deal with the Collective for a safe haven in exchange for the rest of their credits.

Leia and her old friend have a tearful reunion. Poe makes an inspiring speech about scattering to the winds to become the spark that will burn the FO down. I don't know how much sense that makes in terms of strategy and tactics, but everybody is impressed. Poe has overcome all his angst about Crait and is happy to be--in charge? Second in command? I have no idea how the chain of command even works right now.

Wedge and Norra leave to do their own stuff; Snap wants to go with them, but Poe won't let him. Finn says he's coming with Poe, and that's Rey's cue to show up.

"Where are we going?" Both men turned to find Rey, looking expectant.

Finn grinned. "I didn't want to ask."

Rey grinned back. "You didn't have to."

The two friends laughed, leaning in to touch shoulders in acknowledgment. Rey looked at Poe, eyes narrowed as if unsure. "You don't mind?"

Poe pressed a hand to his heart, giving Rey a small bow. "I'm honored."

She flushed, pleased as he'd hoped she would be.

This is great, and I love it, but this doesn't have as much emotional resonance as it could have because THIS IS LITERALLY THE SECOND TIME IN THIS BOOK THAT ALL THREE OF THEM HAVE BEEN IN THE SAME ROOM WITH EACH OTHER AND REY AND POE HAVE SPOKEN TO EACH OTHER and so it feels like... it wasn't really earned??

Leia is smiling at the three of them in satisfaction because "the Resistance is in good hands" and "she's got us".

Poe slung an arm around Finn's shoulders and pulled Rey in close on the opposite side.

"That's right, Poe said. She's got us.

"Now let's go and save the galaxy."

Again, this is all A++ good, but I don't feel like any of this has been earned. At all. Like, does Poe know anything about why Leia believes in Rey, what Rey can do? They're just all friends now because of Finn even though Poe and Rey barely know each other?? Is he this affectionate with everyone?? I don't mind this closeness, but... it would have been nice to have more of this earlier so it doesn't feel so out of the blue and forced.

Also, what did this book accomplish? So the Resistance has some ships now. It has a few more fighters, they freed a bunch of influential prisoners from the New Republic that the First Order had taken into custody, and they have a list of current and future targets to warn. And they're not dead yet, so that's good.

But Leia and Rey barely got to do anything in this book, Rose is barely there at all, and Finn is only tangentially involved at the end. Most of the plot features Poe, Wedge, and occasionally other characters like Bratt, Snap, and Dross Squadron.

So despite the marketing, which makes it sound like this is an All-Resistance Adventure featuring our main trio, I would say Poe is the protagonist, because he's the only one with a character arc: moving from depressed and angsty over the failed mutiny at Crait to letting go of his failures and moving on to be a leader. There's also a smaller arc with Wedge moving from retired warrior and active farmer back to warrior again, but it's much less nuanced.

Outside of that, though, the book feels like it's tugging in too many direction and not going anywhere near the ones I find most interesting. There are lots of characters I'm expected to care about who are not in the films, and little in the narrative itself makes me want to. (The only reason I know about Leia's friend, for instance, is because I read a summary of Bloodline on Wookieepeedia.) It feels like Disney made a very deliberate decision to make all the plotlines 100% more convoluted and confusing than they needed to be, just so you'd read/buy all the supplementary material, and that is a... choice, I guess. But it makes me grumpy.

Honestly, if I wasn't writing a ST fix-it fic, I wouldn't have bothered with this. I found Resistance Reborn to be adequate, but mostly unexceptional, and occasionally frustrating. The few really delightful bits are when major movie characters are together in the same room, but that is weirdly and woefully rare, and I honestly do not understand what the story group/Disney was thinking here in not making those the meat of the book.

Question: who is Disney's target audience for this book? I'm honestly not sure, and I'm not sure they know, either, and I think this book demonstrates that. Which is... really weird for a billion-dollar corporation intent on milking every last cent out of the franchise, that's all. I don't get it. 

TL;DR:

The Good:

Stormpilot feels (brotp or otp depending on your preferred ship)

the Collective (Corellian techie antifa) 

Poe’s fabulous hair

fancy dress party heist

Wedge’s garden and space chickens

barely any mention of Kylo Ren whatsoever

The Meh:

loads and loads of characters that are not in the movies and therefore hard to keep track of or care

macguffin plot macguffin

cooler plot threads and story ideas are teased and never followed up on (in this book, at least)

The WTF:

movie characters barely interact with each other

assuming they have a role at all

does any of this matter?

feels like filler

#star wars #WHY DISNEY WHY #tlj fix-it #lily liveblogs #resistance reborn

[momtemplative]

Four Seeds.

Very little experiential information comes in from the outside world these days. The ports, energetic and literal, are closed for the foreseeable future. The ships have been docked.

So, every piece and part and bit of this house—as well as the people in it—suddenly feel like they are all posing for extreme close-ups. Corners that had been ignored for time immemorial are now simply untenable—how did I not notice that mess before? The top shelves that were wooly with dust are now slick and glossy. Random shoe boxes that had morphed into being part of the shelves (we began to stack things on top of them) have been cracked open like time capsules—so that’s where all the finger puppets went! Jesse even cleaned out his desk when he brought it upstairs and found the plastic polka-dot costume-jewelry rings we used to get married at the courthouse, two weeks before our actual wedding twelve years ago!  

There are many treasures yet to uncover.

We also observe the bliss that comes from the alignment of two glorious things: decent weather and a spacious backyard. When we bought this house twelve years ago, we had no idea that our backyard would become such a cherished commodity. That, come Spring of 2020, we’d be rejoicing every single day we stepped foot on our chipped-up deck and muddy yard.

The yard is the scenic backdrop to a heavy percentage of our day. A few days ago, the dog gallivanted passed with a dead fetus of a mole rat dangling from his lips, and then dropped the rubbery carcass at his feet. I screeched and Ruthy heard that screech and ran my way yelling “What is it, Mama?!!” And, well, it felt as if all of humanity was contained in that tiny moment.

A while back, we planted five bean seeds that we got as a gift from my sister-in-law’s baby shower. We—Ruth and I—placed them deeply in rich soil in a medium-sized terra cotta pot. During the few days, Ruth treated the pot like a tiny sandbox for her toy figurines. I reminded her that dirt-play was for outside and told her we need to protect the baby seeds if we want them to grow. So, she flooded them with water then covered the soil with an entire bag of cotton balls to “Keep them warm.” 

I reluctantly removed the terra cotta pot from the front window where it received the best lighting and radiating warmth, but where it was equally under threat of Ruth’s tiny fingers and endless curiosity. I placed the pot temporarily on the porch, safely out of reach but still in the (albeit chillier) sun. Then I promptly forgot to bring it inside that night when the temperatures plummeted. (When I awoke and peered out the front door to see the little pot out there, soil nearly frozen, my heart sank. I figured those guys were goners.)

The pot wound up on an out-of-reach shelf, then the kitchen table, then the back deck. It went through multiple re-locations, temperatures and lighting variations, all to keep it safe from little fingers that love nothing more than the feel of dirt.

It felt like one of those social experiments that was forced on the youth of yesteryear in school, where they had to pretend to be a parent to an egg, a watermelon, a doll, something non-sentient. There I was, taking painstaking care of my terra-cotta pot filled with, what appeared to be, just soil.

If I’m being honest, I was sure we had abused those five little bean seeds well beyond growth. I tried to imagine their little cosmos beneath the soil. Was it a forgiving place? Ahhh well, I thought. Damn shame.

Until, a few more days later, Opal called from the kitchen— “MOM!!! LOOK!”

I found her peering at my terra cotta pot with a wide grin. Behold, there were four tiny sprouts that had harnessed all their imperial magic, their godly juices, their tiny but most potent life forces to come forth into the world.

Once they broke through to the open air, nothing could hold them back. They grew so quickly you could almost see it with bare eyes. We paid close attention and reported on them numerous times a day. “How are the spouts?” “Honey can you check on the sprouts?” “Is the soil dry?”

I returned them to the front window because I couldn’t resist the accommodations, even if I did notice occasional dirty piles around the edges of the pot alongside a Daniel Tiger Figurine waist-deep in the dirt. But at that point, the sprouts seems less vulnerable, more teenage-like. If they were out in the garden, they'd have to hold their own with any-which backyard creature. I figured now they could handle—benefit from, even—some light adversity.

They got so tall I had to tie them with pipe-cleaners to a stick, for lack of a trellis. I’d have waited a bit longer to plant them if I had expected them to thrive so suddenly and so wildly. We needed just a little more time before they could go into the outside vegetable bed. But they were clearly outgrowing their home in the pot, like the hermit crab in the book Ruth had been reading in preschool before the shut-down.

Then one morning, Ruth emerged from behind her play tent wearing a backpack for pretend school, slouching from its visible weight on her shoulders.

“Whew, this backpack is HEA-VY!” she said, fishing for the acknowledgement of her strength from either Jesse or I or both who were in the vicinity.

She trailed off in another direction, audibly talking to herself about the plants.

Jesse and I exchanged a look of precise understanding and quick-stepped in her direction.

Indeed, Ruth had crammed the entire potted plant into her small backpack.

I gasped when I saw the sprouts, a good 10 inches tall now, shoved to fit in there, like unruly hairs manhandled into a fitted cap. To her credit, she must’ve put the pot into her backpack with some level of care, because there was very little dirt in there. She even packed the little tray underneath! She also left the zipper open to give them air. But the sprouts— those fragile strands that had already weathered so much—were discolored from their bends and from where the leaves had snapped or bent straight in half.

Oh dear. I said.

“I just wanted to bring them to show and tell,” Ruth said. Eyes waiting and hungry, like gaping vessels for us to tell her how she should feel right now. 

Jesse said. “Oh honey, it was an accident. You didn’t know.” Sweet girl was as proud of those small-scale bits enchantment as I was. Proud enough to take them to pretend show and tell. 

I extracted the terra cotta pot from the backpack with nimble surgeon fingers. I placed it on the kitchen table, the way a paramedic would lift a body that had sustained an uncertain amount of injuries onto a gurney. I tried to smooth out the sprouts as if I were running my fingers through hair, avoiding the larger knots. I released a bloated, audible exhale.

And that is where the four wounded sprouts currently reside—in their own little personal ICU—until we receive further information. Time will tell.

March 30, 2020

#momtemplative #HeatMamaWords #mindfulparenting #FourSeeds

[daddyzarc]

But wait. What about Don Thousand? He's a barian too. AND cleraly a predator.(Although, you could argue that's because he was originally an Astral being). But what about Fearsome Four? They have mouths too in their barian forms.(Although, Kaninja and Semimaru's mouths are that of the insects they are based on.) So not all barians are innocent. Only the Seven Emperors.

(you asked for this anon ~ love Dyzarc)

I apologize for not delving into Don Thousand in my previous analysis, but in my experience, I was strictly taught that my papers should get to the point with the arguments being clear and concise. This includes omitting irrelevant information that adds nothing to the thesis. Don Thousand is certainly an interesting case in the Barians (and I’ll gladly talk about him this time) but originally, he didn’t fit into the analysis. Every point I wanted to cover was better done using the Seven Emperors — the acid sea, the predator, carapaces, molting, ect — and throwing Don Thousand into the mix would have bloated up the analysis with redundant data. Furthermore, if I wanted to talk about Don Thousand, the analysis would end being twice as long. And I’m sure none of you want to read that.

However, anonwhoshouldrevealthemselfsowecanmeetbehindadarkallyway, I take the full blame of overlooking the Fearsome Foursome as you will take the full blame of allowing Dyzarc to do this. This particular group of feral Barians are a very unique case in Barian Biology since, well, look at these ugly fuckeroos

And since they differ from the Seven Emperors to a high degree, I will certainly go in-depth on these Barians.

DISCLAIMER: If you didn’t read the previous post, please feel free to do so. I’ll expand and refer to certain points in there, so you might be scared confused if you don’t. Also, I will not be primarily addressing their incapability or capability to vore. Everything I mentioned previously continues to hold true for the most part, and it can be applied to all five of the unaddressed Barians. However, there are some abnormalities present that I wish to discuss (Chironex and Mr. Heartland, for example). This post will mainly be explaining their anatomy and so-forth rather than focus on why they absolutely cannot vore. Furthermore, these Barians do function a tad bit differently than the other ones, and I’ll talk more about this later. There will be a section at the bottom that focuses on the vore issue since I KNOW that’s what you folks are here for, but other than a sprinkle of discussion (mostly in relationship to their predator) throughout the passage, it will be vore-free. 

Forthemostpart so let us begin

Zarc N’ Pals Installment 1, Detour 1 GO!

So now that I am given the opportunity to talk about Don Thousand, I’ll fucking talk about Don Thousand. I have a lot to say about Donny, so if you only wanna see my discussion on the Fearsome Foursome, move your cursor to the scrollbar and pull down because you won’t see the end of this for miles. 

Don Thousand is the Gustave of Barians. He is HUGE. An absolute unit. I’m not even joking.

These are some standard-sized Barians:

This is Don Thousand:

Ho-leey shit

So Don Thousand…

Don Thousand is one of the most mysterious Barians mostly attributed to his large size. Since sightings of Don Thousand are far and few between, there is actually an on-going debate in the Barianologist community centered around his true height. Here are some assumed height based on previous encounters:

Smol Don, approximately 10ft or 3m tall, larger than a standard Barian but not by much:

Tol Don, approximately 40ft or 12 m tall much larger than the standard Barian:

Big Boi Massive Don, approximately 150ft or 45m tall, outed as a hoax at the moment but possible if Don Thousand is given more time to grow:

So far, the most agreed-upon and plausible size for Don is the “tol” variant for a number of reason. First off, the few people that encountered this Barian noted that he was much larger than the average Barian, but not towering by hundreds of feet tall. (plz for the love of god, imply square-cubed law doesnt apply for my sake im so tired) Secondly, despite not having consistent sightings of Don Thousand, there have been evidence of his carapaces, or the outer coverings:

Depending on when and where the carapaces were discarded, along with the usage of other trace evidence, such as tracks on the sand or cleared pathways among the crystal forests, safe estimates could be made about his size. 

Okay, but why is there even a debate on the size of a Barian? Especially if he is so large, shouldn’t it be a lot easier to spot him than the other, much smaller Barians?

Yes, Don Thousand is huge, but it is incredibly important to consider the type of environment he lives in. Earth is covered in cities and civilization, as well as satellites that keeps in eye on Earth’s surface. There are eyes everywhere, human or otherwise. If you plop a creature as large as Don Thousand onto Earth, he will be detected in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, Barian World is barren. The only thing on it is the vast acid sea, large crystalline structures, deserts, caves, and clumps of the dwindling Barian population. Not a lot of equipment is readily available to find Don Thousand either. He could be hidden within the acid sea or burrowed deep underground in molt. He could also be hidden in the fields of crystal trees, which are still large enough to hide a Barian his size, or buried under a layer on sand in the desert. Not to mention that Barians could grow, although rare, Don Thousand’s actual size could be changing as we speak. He may as well be a big boi massive since the last sighting. Unless we constantly send expeditions onto the hostile environment, Don Thousand will remain forever elusive and cryptic. 

There is also a plethora of other factors that make this more complicated. His size, again, contributes to this. Going back to my previous analysis where I mentioned that Barians grow or repair using molts (in this case, the rock cycle), molting is a process where its usage and speed depend on the size of the molting creature. Look back to the hermit crab, who I relate the Barians to often, for the size disparities.

Like Barians, hermit crabs have large and small sizes as well, which isn’t strange for most arthropods. A mature hermit crab could be much smaller than another mature but older hermit crab. In the case of the Barians, a Barian like Nasch is mature but he isn’t large like Don Thousand. This isn’t to say that Nasch can’t grow large like Don Thousand, and he might as well in the future, but Don Thousand went through hundreds of molt cycles before he reached that size. He may continue to grow until his size becomes a major deterrent to his survival. 

What makes this hard for us is that molting tends to be a process that gets longer the larger the creature is. For example, hermit crabs (Coenobita clypeatus) average molting times relative to their size in inches:

Micro/Teeny: Less than 1.0″ -  1 week

Small: 1.5″ - 3 weeks

Medium: 2.5″ - 6 weeks

Large: 3.0″ - 8 weeks

Jumbo: Greater than 3.0″ - 16 weeks

As you can see, the larger the crab gets, the more time it takes to complete a molt. Now if we consider that a Barian undergoes a similar process, ie the larger Barians take much longer to complete the rock cycle, it isn’t hard to believe that Don Thousand could take decades, perhaps centuries to molt. Which, may I remind you, is a very long time in the eyes of a dragon. It is easy to understand why Don Thousand is seldom seen or studied. But assuming that he stays above ground between molts (which means he stays above the crust for three times as long as he stays under), there should be a long period of time where he can be easily found, right?

This is where things get a little muddied. Due to his massive girth and thick, rocky shell, Don Thousand can stay submerged in the Sea of Ill Intent for a much longer period than a regular Barian (their shell could still be dissolved, yet the thickness relates to how long they can stay). This means that even if he finishes molting, he can remain hidden within the acid for an indisputable amount of time.  

So all of this discussion about his size… What does this have to do with his ability to vore?… 

Why plenty, in fact.

In nature there are certain animals that have natural predators when they are small/young (sally lightfoot crabs, elephants, rhinoceros, alligators, ect.) but as they grow larger and larger, they slowly lose that disadvantage. And guess which Barian is the biggest one around — yup, Donny K

By nature, Don Thousand is just an absurdly large prey creature.

His size alone is a deterrent against predators that want to challenge such a massive beast (except astrol). Even if an Astral Being, or many Astral Beings, attempt to harm him, he can easily swat them off since he is so big. And as previously mentioned, he can stay within the Sea of Ill Intent to avoid the deadly predators if he really don’t want to be bothered. To summarize, Don Thousand is highly undesirable prey who is much more trouble than he’s worth. 

Understanding this, the other Barians do not follow in Don Thousand’s footstep for a couple of reason:

1) Consistent shape and size means they don’t need to constantly get new carapaces. Every time a Barian makes a drastic change to their body, they must find or create new carapaces that will fit their new form, either by carving a completely new piece or altering their old one. Unless they prepared it before going underground to molt, the Barian will be without carapaces (which protects them from predators) for an unreasonable amount of time, increasing their chances of being killed.

2) Cost of maintaining a body that large is very high. We do not know what fuels a Barian, but the cost of making/transporting energy through a lengthy body, moving high-density limbs, and molting is very high for such a large Barian. If they expend all the energy inside their core without replenishing it somehow (solar power?), they might die of exhaustion.

3) Molting is dangerous but necessary to an extent. It consumes a lot of energy to dig down, melt, reform, rack-build, harden, and dig up, and this process is only harder as the Barian grows bigger. They can also face other dangers in mid-molt, such as being uplifted or disturbed by another Barian, and as the longer they have to stay underground, the chances of being disturbed only increases. For arthropods, interruptions during molt could be fatal or leave them deformed until their next molt. For Barians, molting should only be deployed if they need to repair their shell or work on their rack to ascend in their pecking order. Larger size is not a necessity nor is it worth it most of the time.

The large size is useful as a defense mechanism and trait for the pecking order, yet overcoming the threshold to reach that size is difficult and more trouble than it’s worth, especially since most Barians already have an adequate defense mechanism. Don Thousand is one of the few, perhaps only, Barian that chose to go the “larger size” route. This is made possible for one very critical reason — where he chooses to molt. It is difficult to pinpoint this incredible fact, but Don Thousand molts under the Sea of Ill Intent. 

The image below shows a crack on the seafloor, exposing a hotspot that Barians could use to burrow into and molt.

And the most conclusive evidence that Don Thousand specifically molts around here:

See that thing at the bottom of this hole? That is one of Don Thousand’s carapaces, located under the ocean, hidden in a whirlpool of acid and lava. Most Barians leave their carapaces close to them while they molt, usually several kilometers above the melting point to preserve it or prevent its destruction. The fact that a Don Thousand carapace can be found under the sea strongly suggests that Don Thousand is located very closely to this spot, several kilometers deep into the ground. 

Doing this solves some of the issues stated above:

1) Consistent shape and size means they don’t need to constantly get new carapaces. With Don Thousand’s size, he is able to stay in the acid for a long time without feeling substantial damage to his vital organs. Since the acid will protect him from being attacked while he is carapace-less (not that he has to worry about that), he is given plenty of time to make new ones before he needs/wants to emerge.

2) Cost of maintaining a body that large is very high. The cost of maintaining the body is still high. However, I believe that the effect is mitigated since Don Thousand may be a Barian with a lot of energy to begin with. His core energy (or rate of photosynthesis) may be unnaturally higher than the rest of the Barians, thus he is able to grow large to begin with. Furthermore, Don Thousand doesn’t need to worry about predators at that size. He wastes little energy dealing with them (fleeing, defending, fighting, ect.) and this is the trade-off he chooses.

3) Molting is dangerous but necessary to an extent. The acid sea deters offensive Barians and Astral Beings from harassing him while he is molting, unless they want to venture far and deep into the ocean, risking their life in the process. Uplifting will also only bring him in contact with the acid, where he can promptly dig back down. This is much safer in comparison to being exposed to predators on land.

^The above ends up creating a simple positive feedback loop where his large size prevents the acid from harming him, allowing him to molt into a larger size, which in turn protects him from the acid even more.

(Smaller Barians have a hard time breaking into this loop.)

Taking into account that his massive size will quite easily place him on top of any pecking order based on that alone, where exactly does Don Thousand fit? I’ll get into the idea of “Barian Colonies” in my discussion of the Fearsome Foursome later, but adding Don Thousand into a pecking order isn’t as simple as it seems. Actually, it is really simple, but there are some factors that complicate the issue. 

Due to his large size and the circumstance of his molting, Don Thousand seldom spends any time with the other Barians. If he isn’t in molt, he most likely spends his time within the sea. It takes a lot of energy to move around and if there isn’t an urgent need to emerge from the acid, he will stay submerged until the next molt (the only reason I can think of as to why he would emerge would be to photosynthesize, if Barians do that, or maybe harass the local Barian population). This means that Don Thousand is severed from the Barian pecking orders for the most part, but I assure you that if he does show up, he could effortlessly establish himself into the society for more than just his ginormous girth.

So this brief overview covers a couple of things about Don Thousand that is, in my opinion, highly fascinating. Although it isn’t clear yet, Don Thousand’s rocky shell and carapace borrow certain unique elements from the other Barians. Examples of shared defense mechanisms include:

”SWISH” mechanism* —> Scritch, Erazor, Mr. Heartland (FF)

Talons capped with carapace —> Scritch, Mr. Heartland (FF)

Insignia* —> Unique to Seven Emperor Barians (SE)

Center eyeball —> Mr. Heartland (FF)

This tells us a couple of things. Either the smaller Barians adopt traits from Don Thousand and incorporate it into their own body plan… OR Don Thousand incorporated some of the best defense mechanism of the smaller Barians into his form, thus increasing his overall fitness by being the best of the best, drastically reducing any chance he has of being killed. The implications of this is that Don Thousand doesn’t belong to one Barian group but to many Barian groups, and he reigns over all of them whenever he emerges from the ocean. Think of Don Thousand as a “God of the Barians” if you will. He will always be at the top of the pecking order (although the presence of an Insignia* suggests that he is closest to the Seven Emperor Barians).

*Further explanation in latter half 

Final Consensus: Despite being as intimidating as a predator, Don Thousand is still a prey Barian who utilizes his large size and in-common traits to avoid predation. He’s just very large.

heyyo fearsome fucksome time mothertruckers

Moving on from the God that is Don Thousand, let’s examine the Fearsome Foursome.

I know what you want to hear. “Dyzarc! What the fuck are you doing. Where in the world does the Fearsome Foursome fit into the Barian pecking order?? Does Nasch get dethroned by these buggy barbarian bozos?” 

To begin, upon looking at the two groups below:

I do not believe it is logical to integrate the Fearsome Foursome into the Seven Emperors pecking order. 

Why?

Simply put, these Barians groups do not belong together. Barians are similar to orca pods on Earth.

^^Example of different orca types due to regional differences. The same concept applies to Barians, but they show more severe variation due to the differences in their environments as well as natural variation as a direct result of unique rack-building and inconsistent molting environments. Different cultures also mean that the groups are not exactly equal to each other*

*This is not to say one group is inferior or superior to the other, but they are built for different purposes and thus are not comparable 

To be frank, the Seven Emperor Barians are actually very easy to distinguish from other groups by examining their physical appearance alone. The most concrete evidence of a Seven Emperor Barian is to look on their chest for a distinctive carapace, an Insignia, seen here:

SIDE-NOTE: Another Barian with an Insignia is Don Thousand. This provides further evidence that he may be a part of the Seven Emperor colony or allude to the idea that Don Thousand is truly the “Barian God” that presides over every Barian colony, thus adopting the customs and traits of each group (Ex. Wings and Needle (swish) of the Fearsome Foursome) in order to better his survival rate. 

Habitat and behavior also plays a major role in separating the groups, which applies more to the Fearsome Foursome due to their unique circumstance, but to simplify the topic, a general rule of thumb is: 

Insignia = SE

No Insignia = Not SE

The Fearsome Foursome Barians all lack an Insignia and therefore should not be included within the Seven Emperor pecking order. Instead, they have their own pecking order established, which relies on different traits than the ones of the Seven Emperor Barians.

Of course, a difference in body structure doesn’t inherently discern a Fearsome Foursome Barian from a Seven Emperor Barian, but these physical characteristics (just look at them and you can see that something is amok) tells us that the Fearsome Foursome Barians are reacting to something that Seven Emperor Barians are not. However, since their body plans stem from the presence of Astral Beings, a rather uniform factor all things considered, this tells us that the Fearsome Foursome Barians are tailoring their form in response to the Astral Beings specifically.

But how could this happen? A Barian is a Barian is a Barian. Shouldn’t they all be a single entity/rely on the same mechanisms since they live on the same planet?

It isn’t completely clear what truly distinguishes a Fearsome Foursome Barian to a Seven Emperors Barian (and any other colonies) aside from the Insignia or why the Barians separate themselves into colonies — although it could be due to a high territorial drive, since Barians need a lot space to molt, and the more populated the group, the harder it is to find a good spot to repair and regrow their form; creating colonies is a good way to ensure good molting locations or a safer place to live — but the best place to look is:

A) Where they live and What is the end goal of their body plan. These two are not mutually exclusive to each other.

(Note: SE has more territory due to being a larger colony than the FF; larger colony = more space required for molting)

For the Seven Emperors, their habitat range is located here:

Along with residing in the enclosed forest, the biggest takeaway from this is that the Seven Emperor Barians live very close to the Sea of Ill Intent. As previously discussed, the acid sea allows for the Barians to effectively retreat into the acid from a pursuing predator. Once in the acid, they are generally safe from harm and it is highly unlikely that they will get killed. For the Seven Emperors, since they reside very close to the Sea of Ill Intent, when they are in danger, they can easily flee into the acid to protect themselves. As long as they do not wander too far from the sea, their primary defense mechanism is the Sea of Ill Intent.

This also supports how Don Thousand, a Barian who frequents the Sea of Ill Intent, has an Insignia that belongs to the Seven Emperors on his chest. Since Don Thousand and the Seven Emperors live in the same general area, by being in close proximity alone, Don Thousand is most integrated into the Seven Emperors colony and uses the Insignia (which does little for protection; used more for aesthetic/pecking order) for no other discernible reason than to just have it.

Now note where the Fearsome Foursome live:

They are not near the sea. They live further inland within the crystal pillar forests or at the edge of the great Barian Desert, therefore they do not have a go-to “safe-zone” to retreat to if they are attacked. Their defense mechanism comes from whatever ingenious way they designed their bodies to protect themselves. I will cover these mechanisms later. 

(Think of these as the differences between bonobos and chimpanzees. Different species, yet they are very closely related. The discussion of these two species is intriguing on its own, but what I want to get across is that bonobos are less aggressive than chimpanzees. This is mainly due to the environment they evolved in, where the bonobos’ ancestors came from a place of “paradise” or abundance in food while the chimpanzees’ ancestor came from a place of scarcity. To survive in the hostile and tough environment, the chimpanzees became more aggressive/ingenious, as in they have territorial fights, engage in hunting activities, and use tools to find food.)

The analogy above can be used to describe why the Fearsome Foursome are so different compared to Seven Emperors.

For the Seven Emperors, the end goal is to create a body for placement in the pecking order. They use a rack system to establish pecking order (which is more for aesthetic when compared to the utter shit the FF put onto their bodies). Although they can use the racks to protect themselves, the usage of a huge rack shows that they devote valuable resources (or have resources to spare) to make themselves more aesthetically pleasing. In a sense, the Seven Emperors are living in a more calm, less hostile environment.

For the Fearsome Foursome, the end goal of their body plan is to make anything worthwhile in terms of defense to make up for the lack of Sea of Ill Intent. Most of their molting energy is devoted into creating a body that will protect them from a gruesome death, which means they have less resources for rack-building. In a sense, the Fearsome Foursome are living in the more hostile environment.  

Now that we covered why the groups are different, let’s examine what these differences are starting with a commonly shared trait among the Fearsome Foursome.

Aside from living in the same range, the clearest answer that links this diverse cast of Barians (Scritch, Chironex, Mr. Heartland, and Erazor) into the same category would be their usage of an elaborate Defense Mechanism. The Seven Emperors have a rocky shell and carapaces as their defenses against Astral Beings, and so do the Fearsome Foursome. Yet, the Fearsome Foursome Barian include those basic characteristics with the addition of something else. This could be seen in the carapaces alone.    

Even when excluding the Duel Disks, notice how heavily fortified the Fearsome Foursome Barians are compared to that of the Seven Emperors Barians. The Seven Emperors usually have smaller, one-sided pieces covering their shoulders or torso while the Fearsome Foursome’s carapaces tend to wrap around their entire body and more. This is one example to show the difference in defense mechanism between the two groups, but obviously the Fearsome Foursome goes further with this concept. 

So back in the Don Thousand breakdown, I mentioned something called the SWISH. Swishing is a type of defense mechanism.

To “swish”, one will need a frontal protection and a dorsal protection. In the case of the Fearsome Foursome, they use a frontal needle and dorsal wings. Barians are extremely heavy and do not require food to survive, so it is very unlikely that the needle belongs to a mouth piece and the wing pieces aid with flight (so far, there has been no accounts of True Barians in flight). Therefore, the wings and needles serve another purpose.

Okay. So how does SWISH work? 

(Simulation; no Astral Beings were harmed in the video above)

Standing for SWord/needle and SHield/wings as well as the noises it makes when a Barian starts flapping or stabbing (use your imagination) and found in ¾ of the Fearsome Foursome Barians + Don Thousand, this is a basic but effective defense mechanism witnessed mainly in the vulnerable Fearsome Foursome Barians. The wings on the back provide backside protection. The Barian can also rapidly flap the wing pieces in order to shake off any Astral Being latching onto its backside. If the Astral Being tries to attack the Barian from the front, it must deal with a piercing needle constantly jabbing at it. This means that if an Astral Being wants to access the Barians’ core at all — which is located at the center of their chest — they must deal with the swish. Compared to the defense mechanism of the Seven Emperors, this is a very elaborate gimmick.

And speaking of elaborate gimmicks, I am going to focus heavily on Scritch and Chironex’s gimmicks for two reasons: they both have fascinating defenses, and  Erazor and Mr. Heartland main defense strategy is “cover in spikes and carapaces” along with the swish mechanism. Overall, they are far less complex than Scritch and Chironex. 

(Also I am a duper lazy dragon and feel like this torture is long enough and I really dont want to stare at barian heartland and erazor for another 2 hours.)

Let’s first look at Scritch, who is my new adopted son btw. Scritch is one of the most intriguing Barians out of this group, and this isn’t my personal preference towards him playing a role into this. Despite not being the most complex Barian, he certainly employs an interesting tactic (if my theories are correct). 

Taking a glance at his coloration reveals a couple things about his mechanism, especially if we compare him to some similar species found on Earth. 

This banded coloration is a product of a variety of things, such as the Barian utilizing disruptive coloration or warning colors. In this case, the Barian environment consist mainly of shades of reds, thus the disruptive coloration may not be very useful to this Barian. But what is useful? Warning colors. This is a commonly-used tactic in animals with brightly colored or flashy skin, such as poison dart frogs. The bright and striking bands on Scritch will make this Barian an easy target to spot and kill in the reddish tint of the planet, yet it could also be a signal to the predators that he is “not a good meal to eat”. 

On one hand, the colors could be nothing more than a bluff, and it wouldn’t be too surprising if Scritch used the colors as a facade to scare off predators. But I think otherwise. If it was a bluff, Scritch wouldn’t have survive this long against bold or unaware Astral Beings, nor will his facade last if enough predators keep pestering him. My theory, and it is only a theory with no other evidence to back it up other than logic maybe, is that Scritch has pockets of some Alkali metals (pure sodium, for example) located in parts of his body like behind the mask carapace or within the bright red claws. For those unaware, Alkali metals are highly reactive to water, which is what the Astral Beings are made of, and can explode if they make contact with it. If an Astral Being attacks him, he can deploy the metals, harm the Astral Being, then skedaddle away while the predator is disorganized. 

This could heavily damage the Barian in the process, but since they could always molt: temporary losing a limb > death. The banded coloration on his body signals to the Astral Beings to back off or else they’ll eat a face-full of sodium. This is only a theory however, and I cannot prove it unless we throw water at Scritch to see if he can explode. Which I absolutely cannot legally do because the Fearsome Foursome Barians are critically endangered (some problem with an invasive species, but the less we talk bout those three hooligans, the better) and I should not make Scritch explode. 

Lastly, let us discuss a Barian who most likely won’t explode if water touches him.

Chironex is another Barian with the presence of a fully-mechanical mouth. As with the other Fearsome Foursome Barians, Chironex doesn’t follow the body plan of a Seven Emperor. His body is covered mostly in thick carapaces, which is similar to the other Fearsome Foursome members. However, his physical appearance is drastically different than the other Fearsome Foursome Barians as well, such as the lack of protective wing pieces and needle-nose for effective swishing. At first glance, it’s difficult to tell where this one belongs. Based on his physiology, he doesn’t look anything like Fearsome Foursome or a Seven Emperor. He could’ve belonged to his own colony altogether. 

This is a case where the similarities goes beyond their physical appearance. Take Canis lupus familiaris, for example, where the physical differences among each breed can look drastically different from one another yet they still fall under the same species (for dogs, they are considered the same species since most breeds can produce viable offspring if mated and they still have an exceedingly similar genome). 

Like a breed of dog, Chironex is a Fearsome Foursome. Chironex lives within the boundary of the Fearsome Foursome range, interacts with the other Fearsome Foursome Barians, and his behavioral patterns follows that of a Fearsome Foursome. He also has a valuable place in the Fearsome Foursome pecking order. Despite not looking like one, Chironex is most certainly a Fearsome Foursome.

So knowing that, about his gimmick…

Chironex has a gimmick alright. And boy is it a gimmick. I want you to look at this image. 

Note what the carapaces cover and what lies underneath the carapaces. 

Now here’s our high-quality artist rendition of Chironex without his thick carapaces:

And here he is standing next to an Astral Being for comparison:

Notice something peculiar about this situation? 

As you can see, the base form of Chironex (aka a Chironex without the layers of carapa—naked, i mean hes utterly nude) looks strikingly similar to the form of an Astral Being. Very smooth with a bluish tint, and a mouth, which is an extremely important body part on an Astral Being. And it is absolutely no coincident that Chironex looks like an Astral Being. 

It is completely deliberate because Chironex uses a very advance form camouflage — mimicry. Not only does his defense mechanism involve mimicking another species but he is mimicking his predator species. This means his facade has to be very convincing if he wants to survive. Impressively enough, the behavior of this Barian also changes in order to aid his survival, such as his fascination with water and so-forth. Furthermore, Chironex’s base form has a very “jellyfish” feel to it. This is noteworthy because jellyfishes are comprised of 95% water, give or take, and basing himself around jellyfishes add more layers onto his mimicry. 

The change in behavior coupled with well-done mimicry is one of the most elaborate defense mechanism in the natural world, so Chironex obviously has a good place in the Fearsome Foursome pecking order.

*In my opinion, I find the idea of exploding Scritches to be a lot more interesting than mimicry but y’kno how it is.

Here is the pecking order of the Fearsome Foursome:

And here is the pecking order of the Fearsome Foursome + Seven Emperors + Don K. for those curious on how the Barians compare to each other (if they had to beat each other up or sumthin idk)

And here’s the pecking order based on what I think the pecking order should be. No bias or anything, just based on logical progression

OKAY. If you’re still reading this, congrats! I love you.

We are on the final topic of this discussion. The VOREeee. Or are all Barians innocent or are only the Seven Emperors innocent?

Let’s look at the candidates for this:

Seven Emperors - Previously discussed 

Scritch and Erazor - SAFE*

Don Thousand - SAFEish** 

Chironex and Mr. Heartland - UNSAFE feel free to vore with em you sick fucks i know i will***

* Scritch and Erazor lack a visible mouth like the rest of the Seven Emperors, so they do fall under the “innocent” Barians.

**Don Thousand is a strange case due to one specific scene.

Right here, Don Thousand’s lowest eyeball turns into a gaping hole and proceeds to inhale Vector into it. This is clearly vore in some sense of the way, which I will not deny. HOWEVER, this opens the door to the concept of eye vore (not strange considering that anal vore, navel vore, cock vore, you-name-it exists) and since all the Barians have eyeballs, or what appears like functioning eyeballs, they are all capable of performing eye vore. wtf i didnt think of that and I do not know what to do with that information except say go nuts.

***With Chironex, I am willing to let him off the hook since he is involved in the act of mimicry, so the mouth could be false. This doesn’t let him off the hook for vore, of course, but my explanation is that the mouth is non-functional because it is the sole result of a mimicking disguise.

With Mr. Heartland…

uh his mouth is a…

oh god jesus chrisus hold up,, let me check my notes

#ask #*miyamoto voice* never ask me for anything ever again #this is my worst idea yet #i never want to look at another stupid barian for as long as i live #yo anon thanks for making me realize how beast scritch is #if you pester me enough maybe ill dig into heartland and erazor #but im gonna be busy again and prob wont get it done till after june #long post #dyzarc draws #dyzarc ramblings #barian biology #scritch #kaninja #mr heartland #erazor #semimaru #kurage #chironex #don thousand #barian tag

[aleapoffaithfiction]

II.

Sarai Nazaire

“You know what I forgot to get while in the city? A pizza. I kept telling myself over and over again that I needed to order a pizza to the hotel and never did. Don’t get me wrong, we have good pizza spots in Atlanta, but there’s nothing like a New York slice. Being that Jesse’s from Chicago, you know they have their own style out there and we debate all the time about which region has the better pizza, but New York takes it by a landslide. Just don’t tell him that I said that.” I stuck the applicator back into the tube of my MAC “Spite” lipglass while she plopped back against the seat in disappointment for having failed to fulfill her craving. I wish she had of said something last night when she decided to travel over from the city to spend her final night on the East Coast at my house. We ordered a couple of dishes from this local Mexican restaurant that left my stomach in shambles throughout the night. I still feel slightly uneasy. Had we gone with a pizza, I probably wouldn’t have had to skip breakfast this morning.

“You’ll be back. We can grab pizza then.”

“I will be. The question is, when are you coming to Atlanta? Come down so we can have some fun in the city. We’re not New York, but the southern hospitality is damn good.”

“As soon as I find the time, I’m on the first flight out there. Contrary to what you believe, I actually enjoy Atlanta. I wouldn’t mind living down there. It’s a great city.” My eyes caught her own as she glanced at me from a side angle and a snide snicker followed to match her mood.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re an east coast girl to the core. I remember when we were in Toronto at All Star. You looked like a fish out of water. I don’t think I can ever see you moving anywhere else for an extended period of time until you’re saggy and old.”

“First of all, just because I’ll be old doesn’t mean that I’ll be saggy. Have you seen Angela Bassett? That’s the goal right there. Second, I do love it up here but I’m not opposed to living elsewhere at some point in my life. It just depends on the circumstances and opportunities. Right now, aside from it being home, it makes perfect sense to be on the east coast. So, until something comes up, this is where I’ll be.” I was the third hire for The Sports Haven and it was a time clenching phone call that came just before I was due to take another opportunity ESPN presented me with out in Los Angeles. I contacted a realtor in hunt for an apartment and intended to return to settle where I’d be residing, but my destiny ended up being in Connecticut. Though I wasn’t mentally prepared to make such a move, I prayed on it, and was ready. I’m sure it may have been my mother’s prayers of desperation to God that kept me here. She dreaded the reality that I wouldn’t be within close proximity to her though I’m not sure why. We’re not in one each other faces much regardless.

“With the position that you have up there at ESPN, I don’t blame you.”

“And once you’re up there with me, we’re going to turn it up. I need a bit more estrogen on that panel from time to time, even though I hold my own against all three of them.”

“That you do sister. That you do.” Our hands met for a high five and I pulled my small mirror out of my traveling case to check and see if I put on enough concealer. I’ve been dealing with sleep deprivation for the past two weeks or so and it’s certainly starting to show in my under-eye area. The seemingly endless hours at work aside, whenever I do have time to myself it’s either invaded by wanted or unwanted plans with the very view people in my life or I’m trying to tie up loose ends that I am not able to do during the week. I’ve considered hiring a personal assistant but I don’t think I’m at a point where I have the potential to become disorganized or worn down just yet. I intend to give it a bit more time.

“Your face looks good. You don’t need to double check anymore.”

“I’m just making sure everything is in place. I refuse to have Linda touching my face today or ever again. I avoid it at all costs.” I’m not one to discriminate against anyone or much of anything for as long as it’s not arming people, but I absolutely do have a bias when it comes to who does my hair and make-up. I need black hands and talent involved in the process at all times. Sure, there’s talent in every ethnic group, but when it comes to those of your own, there’s a certain level of respect and dedication you’re not going to get elsewhere. I know my foundation shade is going to be on point and that the concealer shade won’t have me in front of the camera looking like Casper The Friendly Ghost. My baby hairs are going to be slicked down just right when I’m rocking some braids and the frontal on my wigs will blend into my hairline seamlessly. If it’s one thing that I don’t play around with, it’s my personal presentation and it’s because I know that I’m going to be critiqued the harshest for two specific discrimination types; my blackness and womanhood. During my contract negotiation, EPSN agreed to hire hairstylist Annagjid Taylor, a mutual friend of my sister and myself. I’ve yet to find a make-up artist but until I do, I’ll handle it on my own. Linda can stay out of my dressing room.

“That woman slightly messed up your make up once and you’ve been holding a grudge against her ever since.” I couldn’t join her in the laughter that filled the SUV. My ears, overall face, and neck were three different colors that day and it was beyond obvious. My mother was the first one to call me and ask what the hell was going on and she doesn’t even watch ESPN. Social media had a field day with it.

“And I’m keeping that grudge.”

“I forgot to mention that I saw you speaking with Odell at the party. That’s one of my favorite guys. He has such a humble spirit and he’s super nice.”

“Hm.”

During the time frame when I was researching his career and background, I viewed plenty of interviews where I can easily admit that he exuded a calmness that I did not expect. After having heard so many opposing and confusing opinions about his character, I presumed that he’d be the “push back” style of athlete who deliberately gave reporters a difficult time in drawing information and responses out of him simply because he could. I’ve dealt with many of those types and it takes the patience of God to be able to sit or stand before them without reacting to such brutal attitudes. Marshawn Lynch is a prime example of one, but I’ve gotten used to it and we’ve built up a mutual respect for one another. Beckham Jr., on the other hand, isn’t likely to behave that way. He’ll give you short answers if he’s flustered or dealing with the disappointment of a game loss. You might receive a deliberate straight-faced expression if he’s being asked the same probing question repeatedly, but he’s never disrespected a reporter. I have never come across any bad commentary about an interview with him.

“He’s been wanting to meet you, actually. He spends a lot of time out in L.A. during the off season. While in town last month, I ran into him at an event out there and in the midst of our conversation he asked about you. He thought you were there too. He mentioned something about you two having failed chance encounters. What is that about?

“I don’t know.” Friend or not, I refuse to get into the details about why I had no desire to meet him or the particulars of what he said last night. With Taylor, I know I’ll never hear the end of it.

“So, what did he say last night?”

“He thanked me for what I said and that was it.” Technically, that is it.

“And what did you say?”

“Uh…you’re welcome.” I couldn’t refrain from laughing at that. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you two would have ended up speaking more. He’s been eager for that moment. He’s a really big fan. One of the things that I respect about him is how much respect he has for women. There’s no discrimination on his end. The man hosts a football clinic for women every year and the camp that he does for kids is also extended to girls. Whenever we talk, he always gives me props for my career path and then he fangirls over you. He goes on and on about the way you read off career stats and how much you care about the talent over everything else. He’s confident that you’re the best analyst on the network.”

“I’m not the best.” Surely, I’m working to get there, but as of right now, I’m still learning the ropes.

“It’s his opinion, not yours. Stop selling yourself short either way.”

“Well, I appreciate his kind words.”

“He’s a nice guy.” Our eyes met and mine instantly narrowed at her emphasis on his niceness. Initially, I didn’t understand the point of it until that all too familiar smile appeared on her face. “I’m just saying.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so short about him?”

“Why are you so long winded about him? I thought Jesse’s your guy.”

“I don’t want Odell. I’ve never viewed him in that manner, but I’m not Stevie Wonder and neither are you. The man is fine as hell.”

“Okay.” I’ve encountered more athletes than I can count over the last four years. Initially, I found myself paying attention to the exterior of a few of them because all of that muscle is right there in front of you, but eventually, it became so normalized in my life that it began to roll right off of me. When you’re so focused on getting the job done, who gives a damn what they look like?

“You’re such a hermit crab.”

John slowly came to a stop in front of Terminal B at Newark Liberty International Airport. We’d made it in just enough time for her to comfortably get through TSA and to her gate without having to put her black Converses to the test.

“Text me when you land so that I can know you’ve made it back safely.” We tightly embraced one another as we always do whenever we greet and leave one another. “And don’t forget because you always do and then I have to call and curse you out.”

“I won’t forget. It’s been a fun week with you, even though I’m sure you’re drained because we’ve hung out just about every day after you left work. Finish up strong today and get some rest. I know you need it.” That’s a fact.

“I will. I’ll be in the bed with some sort of take out as soon as I get home tonight.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you soon.”

“You will. Enjoy Jesse, because I overheard that he’s heading your way in two days and it’s not for work.” It was my turn to imply what actually is the truth. Despite her playful denial about what they feel for one another and how they navigate it, I know what she feels is sincere. Her face instantly lights up at the mere mention of his name.

“You bitch. Shut up. You enjoy your day because I have a feeling that it’s going to be a pleasant one.”

“It’s always pleasant for the most part.” There are days when it isn’t, but anyone with a job can attest to that no matter what position held or how much money is being made.

“Love you. I’ll text you.”

“Love you.”  

With two years in, I’m still considered to be a rookie around the studio and yet I can’t recall too many moments when I’ve ever felt like one. The executives, producers, and all of my colleagues have been pleasant. One of the surprising perks has been my dressing room. Like all spaces in the beginning, it started off as nothing more than a desk and a chair in the corner of the room. Since then, it has transitioned from looking like a prison cell to being filled with the warmth of nude shades and the comforting scent of eucalyptus and spearmint. There are a few finishing touches that I’m going to work on, but even without them, it’s nearly as comfortable as my den area at home.

“Good morning Sarai.” Amy poked her head into a small opening at the door in the same manner that she always does, as if it makes her presence any less invasive since she doesn’t knock.

“Morning.”

“So, I just want to make you aware of a slight change on the docket today. We’re going to pull about twenty minutes of the show’s typical running time for a one on one with you and OBJ. It’s just preseason talk. Of course, you two can get into your commentary about him. It’ll be a full circle moment to put a close to that.”

“Excuse me? Is Chad not available for it? I thought we’re having Chris Broussard and Terrell Owens on today?” On Monday we went over everything for the entire week and although we do briefings every morning, nothing has changed until now. I haven’t heard a single comment of possibility that he would be joining us here at the network today.

“As a content creator yourself, you know that it doesn’t make sense for Chad to do it. This is a last-minute call by Chip. I didn’t even know about it.”

“I don’t have any questions prepared for this. This is bullshit.” For the first time ever, I blurted out profanity in the workplace and despite not being proud of it, I couldn’t help myself. I hate being put on the spot with a passion. I am not spontaneous. I’m no daredevil. No, I don’t do everything by the book, but I damn sure try my best to do so, because I can’t stand fucked up results.

“I’d say just pull from priors and maybe draw up a few over the next thirty.”

“Priors? I’ve never interviewed him. Amy, you know this.”

“And I also know of your capabilities, so this will go smoothly. It’s not an in-depth sit down. It’s preseason talk. There’s nothing to stress about. You got it Sarai. You always have it.” Before I could respond, she slipped out of the door.

And that’s the problem. You let people pull some crap on you once and they’ll continue doing it if you don’t put your foot down. They’ve had me go into a random one on one with Serena Williams that wasn’t expected and then there was another with Kobe, prior to his retirement and him being my colleague. Granted, it’s what made him respect me, but I still would have preferred to be ready.

“Girl, you get to sit across from that fine ass man today. Can I meet him? You know I never ask you to meet anyone, but him? I just want to stand in front of him and see if he’s just as fine as he is in magazines and on television. I don’t even care about sports, but I’d make a sport out of slurping him.” I nearly choked on air. Annagjid salaciously ran her tongue over her lips as I glared at her though the mirror and had the audacity to follow up her lewd behavior with a pelvic thrust.

“Just for that, I’ll make sure he keeps his distance. I’d hate for him to refuse to ever come here again.”

“Did you say cum?”

“Anna!”

“I’m just saying. The man looks like a Greek God. That’s Zeus and I’m trying to be Hera.”

“You do know that Hera was most famous for being extremely jealous and vengeful against all of Zeus’ lovers and the illegitimate children he had with them, right?”

“And that’s exactly what I would do if that was my man. Let a bitch try to come after what’s mine and I’m whooping ass on sight.” Her antics never fail to make me laugh and I needed something to lighten the mood after Amy’s curveball in my day.

“You’re nuts. I swear.”

“And your ponytail is looking bomb too. I made sure those edges are slicked to perfection. This dress is hitting every curve and got the ass looking right. You’re ready.” I’d chosen an ash blue sleeveless Roland Mouret pencil dress for today. The only other option I had in mind was this exact dress in black, but it’s Friday and I’d rather not look like I’m heading to mourn someone’s death. It’s classy and there’s something about the golden zipper in the back that makes it sexy. My mother would be pleased. I doubt she’d deem me to be her son in a skirt today.

“I’m ready for what?”

“You have to look your best while in front of him. Every woman should.”

“For what? If I could, I’d interview him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s not President Obama.”

“Obama and those Dumbo ears wishes he looked like that.”

“You know what? I’m not about to allow you to disrespect my forever President over a New York Giants wide receiver, so I’m going to act like you didn’t say that.”

“Oh, I said it. Know and remember that.”

Owens and Broussard were our first visitors which gave me more than enough time to figure out some type of format and direction to what I’d ask Beckham Jr. during every commercial break. I’d describe today’s show as rather lax because we spent far more time laughing at Chad and Terrell’s antics than we did speaking about the up and coming football season and the tension between Kyrie Irving and Lebron James that has lead to him wanting to be traded. You put a set of best friends who happen to be former NFL players together and what do you get? Endless jokes.

“Aye, don’t go too hard on Odell either. You nice as hell but you mean as hell too.” Chad squeezed my shoulders playfully as his warning went into one ear and right out of the other.

“I am not mean.”

“Shit. You boss my bald ass around all the time, but that’s okay, because I like it. You beat by the way. Face is snatched. Edges laid. The ratio between the front of that sandal and your big toe is on point. Apply pressure on they asses.” Chad’s my second favorite, after Fred. I don’t think he takes much of anything seriously and I appreciate it so much because it brightens my day around here.

“You are such a clown yo. Move.” Our laughter filled the set as he wrapped me into a bear hug from behind.

“Don’t laugh too hard because your foundation is going to crack and then you’re going to have smile lines.”

“Never that!” I learned a trick a long time ago to make sure that never happens.

The space where I’d be interviewing Beckham was just another set a few feet away. Though a bit too intimate in setting for what I planned on asking him, I’d take it. It’s less cameras and lights involved. There’s also much less man power around directing which way to sit, which camera to look into, and the timeframe in which you have to get your thought out before moving on to the next topic. When I think back to my days of strictly writing for ESPN Magazine and Sports Illustrated, I can admit that I miss it from time to time. There’s nothing quite like being able to sit down somewhere, with your laptop or even a pen and paper, and just pour your everything into whatever your focus is. I don’t want to say that broadcasting is microwavable journalism because that would be insulting, but it’s extremely fast paced and often time, stories are left behind as quickly as they’re told. I still have clippings of some of my favorite sports articles from my childhood. I have bookmarks online of articles that I’ve enjoyed over the years, some written by people I’ve met in school or elsewhere, and others from those I simply admire from afar. I still grab magazines from the newsstands in the city. Though I do watch all of the other shows on this network, I certainly do make sure to visit the website to check out what our online journalists are writing. There’s something special about studying a subject and descriptively writing about who they are in a manner that exudes the perfect imagery and it moves me unlike anything else. Though I don’t write as much as I used to, I still try to convey that art when I’m sitting down with someone. My aim is to humanize before anything else.

“Sarai Nazaire.”

His low-pitched and yet calming voice commanded my attention and I granted it by turning to where he stood. Much like a week ago, his piercing eyes pervaded my own, as his blonde curls poked out beyond the hood covering his head. He chose to be lax, in a warm green sweat suit and Nike sneakers.

“Hello.” I extended my hand for his own and our skin met in an instant. “How are you?”

“I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m well.”

“This is my mom, Heather.” It was easy to tell. He resembles the tall beauty quite a bit and they have identical smiles. Whenever he speaks of her, he hails her as his reason for not only being but also for the athleticism. She’d been a tremendous track star in her earlier days and even gave birth to him before she could head to the Olympic trials. It makes perfect sense for her to have believed in him when he assured her that he was going to be an NFL player when he was about eight years old.

“Mrs. Van Norman. It’s nice to meet you.” I released his hand and immediately reached for hers.

“Please call me Heather and it’s so nice to meet you. We’re huge fans. We all love you in our house.” If I were their complexion, I’m sure my cheeks would be the color of apples right now.

“Thank you so much.”

“Oh no, I have to thank you. You know, he’s a grown man but he’s also my baby and whenever he is or feels attacked, it feels like it’s coming down on me too. I have never heard anyone outside of friends and family speak as highly of him as you did and it caused such a shift in the way that he is reported on nowadays. He can be a knucklehead and all is fair when he’s having one of those moments, but it really does feel like he’s being given a fair chance to be himself without hell to pay for it.” I’m not a mother, but I can imagine what it feels like to turn on your television or surf the web and see such negativity about your child all over the place. It’s even worse when the negativity stems from situations that aren’t crimes. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I sounded off about him, but to hear the manner in which it comforted his mother means quite a bit to me.

“There’s no need to thank me for that, really. The one thing that the naysayers cannot negate is his talent. When he’s on the field, he performs. Everything else is just noise. I believe you birthed a once in a lifetime talent.”

“Thank you.” He voiced the answer for the both of them. She’d been too wrapped up in a huge smile to do so before him.

“So, I’m sure you’ve done a million of these. I’m only going to ask you a couple of questions. It’s a short segment. Anything off limits?” Usually, a manager or an agent would approach me prior to any interview and run down a list of details that are off limits. It’s a power move to make sure whoever they’re representing doesn’t have to face the music when asked a difficult question. If you’re smart, you’ll figure out a way to work around it or rework questions to the point of them telling on themselves.

“Nothing is barred. I’m cool with whatever you want to ask.”

“Oh yeah? So, I can ask about your girlfriends?” A light joke for what is sure to be a lighthearted dialogue between the two of us.

“I don’t have any, but you can ask. I don’t mind.” His broadly built shoulders shrugged while a smirk tugged on his lips.

“Is he telling the truth Heather?”

“I suppose so. I haven’t met anyone just yet. I’m waiting on it though. There’s going to have to be a point in time when someone comes to take over and take care of him.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” He glanced over his shoulder at his mom. I hope to muster up enough courage to ask her about her skincare routine because she has a glow that’s stunning.

“Of course not, but it’s the circle of life my child.”

As the room began to clear, I offered him the seat directly across from my own. I looked on, in observation of his body language. That’s the first marker of whether you’re going to have a smooth or difficult time. He chose to sit upright, with credence, and yet his back rested against the chair in an eased manner. Interestingly, he chose to mirror my actions by glancing over my frame to read me. The odd prickling in the nape of my neck that slowly spread all over was a sign that he’s doing a better job than I am.

“All set.”

It’s go time. This is my field and I’m the quarterback here.

“Welcome back to the Sports Haven. I’m Sarai Nazaire and we’re here with All Pro New York Giants wide receiver, Odell Beckham Jr. Odell, welcome to the show.” Much like our greeting earlier, we shook hands for the sake of the camera.

“Thank you for having me.”

“Now, you’re entering your fourth season with the Giants organization. You guys are coming off of a season where it all seemed to be gelling together towards the second half and that led to a playoff run which ended up being cut short by the Greenbay Packers. What are you most looking forward to going into this season?”

“Winning. I know it sounds cliché because that’s what everyone wants to do, but it really is what I’m looking forward to. It was disappointing to lose in the way that we did. It was a blowout but it just served as fuel for me in the off season. I went harder in everything, honestly. I took some for myself but even in the midst of that, I just worked.”

“Did that loss also cause you to have a hatred of boats?” I had to ask and thankfully, he took it in jest. The infamous photograph of a number of the Giants ballers and Trey Songz hanging out on a yacht in Miami just days before that Greenbay game instantly became a media sensation once they lost. The memes and blame game were non-stop for days. If I were them, I don’t know if I’d want to see another boat again let alone be on one.

“No, I still like boats. I spent time on a boat or two during this summer.”

“But given that you’re on this superstar level, you know that it comes with you living your life under a microscope more than most people do including many of your teammates. So how are you handling that now? For most people, it digs under their skin and it’s understandably so. I know you’ve had your moments of frustration. Unfortunately, it’s not something that’s not going to change. All good comes with bits of ugliness, right?”

“Right. One of the things I’m doing is trying to stay out of the microscope. I’ve found myself spending a lot more time at home and away from anything that draws too much attention to me. It’s been different but in a good way. It feels good to be able to comfortably strip away the guard that you have to keep up because of that microscope. Also, I’ve really taught myself not to take things so personally. I play a position in a sport and it comes with all of that, so I had to realize that it’s not so much of an attack on me and even if it is, it all really stems from that position. I can’t allow that to dictate how I live my life or have my happiness.”

“And you had that awakening during this off season?”

“Yeah. I spent a lot of time reflecting and dealing with a lot of emotions that I’ve never felt before and even some pain that I’ve never felt before. Some of it involved football and there were things that didn’t. I had to sort that out and it did a lot of good for me.” I’m always impressed when I hear athletes speak on their mental health. The world views them as figures who play a sport for a living and earns far more money than they deserve to have simply for being entertainers. The majority of them make more money than the doctors who repair them after injury, which can be quite mind boggling when you think about it. Because of that, spectators believe they’re entitled to dictate the manner in which these people live their lives, the way in which they speak, and the level that they believe each and every one of them should be performing at on the field day after day. People wave the entitlement flag at them when they’re not being puppets on a string and never once take the time out to think about the emotional strain the pressure of impressing an entire public of people can put on a person. I’ve had many conversations, off the record, with athletes who have admitted they’ve fell out of love with the sport they play and represent because of the unnecessarily harsh scrutiny and relentless pressure. 

“Do you feel like there are people who want you to fail?

“That comes with the territory. There are a lot of people who do, but it’s fuel for me. It serves as motivation for me to continuing grinding and moving forward for those who do support and believe in me. They’re the most important to me. I meet so many people who tell me that I inspire them to be great. On Instagram I see and sometimes I meet kids who go to their barbers and get the dye and haircut done. I can’t let down everyone who buys a jersey to represent me. After what you said about me, I can’t let you down either.” I held my breath as a faint fluttering filled my core and my body’s response was to reposition itself in the seat. My follow up question instantly became stuck in my throat.

“How does this new found inner peace contribute to the up and coming season and to the Giants locker room? How has Odell improved?”

“I’ve become a better route runner and catcher, but I think the most important part that I needed and have become is a better teammate and listener. I’m giving more and putting more into everything. I can feel it in my conditioning, I put it to the test at training camp, and I’m assured in what I intend to bring to the field this season. I’m excited.”

“I’ve been looking into the offense. There’s Brandon Marshall and your young tight end. Sterling Shepard is looking good. I think you guys have a good season ahead of you.”

“Yeah, the defense has always been there, so it’s up to us to get the job done and I think we’re in a pretty good position. We learned from that disappointment at the top of the year.”

“I’m looking forward to it Beckham.”

“You have to come to a game then. Not as an analyst though, just as a normal citizen coming out to enjoy some Sunday night football.” My laughter infectiously sparked his own fit of giggles and the smile that remained on his face warmed my soul like a ray of sunshine. Does this happen with everyone who sits across from him? How the hell does anyone stay angry with this guy?

“That sounds like a plan. I’m about twenty minutes from the stadium.

“And you have to wear this.” I hadn’t even noticed there was a jersey hanging behind his chair. What made me roar in laughter wasn’t the jersey, but the fact that the numbers were in snakeskin. I’ve been gifted many jerseys but I’ve never seen one customized like that. It’s interesting looking in a good way. I’d wear that as a cute top for a chill outing with friends if the circumstances were different.

“I’ve seen a lot of football jerseys but with snakeskin? Never. Thank you.” I held it up for the camera to see for the sake of good TV and placed it across my lap.

“You’re welcome.”

“Odell, it’s always a pleasure to have you up here. You have to come back soon. I wish you all the best on this up and coming season.”

“Thank you, Sarai.” Yet again, we shook hands and I held up the jersey once more before we officially wrapped.

I’m usually a bit more courteous in the way I send guests off before disappearing into my dressing room, but my goodbye was brief and my heel clad feet couldn’t move fast enough to escape the odd tension in the room. I’ve never wanted him to feel like he owes it to me to be nicer than necessary because I said a couple of decent words about him. While I don’t believe that he has any ulterior motives, I do wonder if there’s this sense of sympathy for the manner in which it worked for and against me. I don’t want to be Odell Beckham Jr.’s charity case because he isn’t mine and he certainly wasn’t that day either. I did my job as an analyst; nothing more or less.

Though she insisted on meeting him, Annagjid left for a weekend at home in Philadelphia but made sure to send me a text message ogling over the way Beckham’s sweatpants hugged his thighs throughout the interview. I’m thankful she’s gone, because if given the opportunity, she would have audaciously told him what I read in that message and it would have been the reason I combusted into a pillar of dust out of sheer embarrassment. With that segment done and no Podcast episodes needing to be recorded today, I can get started on my weekend. I’m not only going to grab a bottle of red wine on my way home, but I’m leaving my favorite spirit shop with two. Once I have my take out ordered, I’ll curl up on the floor in front of my living room table a la Olivia Pope and skim through whatever the premium networks are offering OnDemand. I’m behind on Homeland. Then again, I’m way behind on House of Cards, so a lonesome Netflix and chill sounds much better.

“Come in!” My heels were idly lying next to my chair. I walking out of here in Converses. The bougie can go for the week. Street chic is where it’s at.

“Sarai?”

I’m convinced I’m suffering a karma for something that I don’t quite remember doing or the universe is trolling the shit out of me. Whichever way you put it, over the course of these last seven days, all of the silent and yet minimal requests I’ve had for God and my subconscious have not only been the opposite, but have also been a ferocious time frame of mental gymnastics.

“Beckham. What’s up?” With no hesitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. The oxygen supply is diminishing as we speak.

“About those tickets. Look.” There were two of them in his hand.

“You never said anything about tickets.” He didn’t. He only encouraged me to come out and support the team. I figured it was in jest.

“How could I invite you to a game and not have tickets for you? These are for the Philly game. We play the Cowboys during week one and the Lions during week two, but I feel like our Philly games are super competitive and fun to watch. It’s the better choice.”

“At home or in Philly? You really didn’t have to do this.” And he shouldn’t have. It’ll only worsen the claim that I baby him and deliberately overlook his transgressions because I have a soft spot for the young players. I never want to be differentiated based upon gender but it’s the way of life and I get the short end of the stick depending upon what I say and who it’s in reference to. It goes beyond people questioning my job and instead, they question my character. My credentials are online for all to see and yet I still am accused of fucking my way to the top. Gossip blogs have connected my pussy to every athlete that has stood within five feet of me and I don’t personally know any of them beyond the former ones I work alongside five days a week. My dating life is endlessly analyzed though the only thing I’m in a relationship with has batteries and sits inside of my bedside drawer. I don’t know what narrative will be painted if a camera catches me at one of this man’s games and I don’t want to know. I’m looking forward to the day when I’m no longer identified by his story. I’d like to think he’s just as sick of seeing my name synonymous with his in the headlines.

“In Philly. I can get you a ride out there if you need one. 

“I’m sure that I can manage. I don’t have a car, but I’m looking into a couple of Mercedes Benz dealerships in New Jersey so that I can finally get the car that I’ve been eyeing.”

“What kind? My guy Phil Campbell manages the inventory in both Manhattan and Paramus. I can reach out to him for you. He’s a cars guy, believe me when I tell you. He’ll get you right for sure. 

“Nothing too special. Just an A-Class sedan for now. My pockets aren’t as deep as yours.”

“I’m still on my rookie contract. I wouldn’t say they’re that deep.” Rookie contract or not, with his Nike deal and all of the other endorsements he has, he’s a millionaire many times over already.

“Well I’ll tell you this much, my ESPN contract certainly isn’t worth ten point four million dollars.”

“It should be.” This guy. What a paradox.

“So, this Phil guy can help out?” I don’t care about cars enough to research specs and special features. “All I want is a sunroof, seat warmers for the winter, and an amazing sound system. Everything else is whatever, honesty.”

“He knows his shit. I can send him your information. Knowing him, he’ll get back in touch with you within the next hour or so.” Help is help and my pride can shrink enough to get out of the way when it comes to something that I don’t know. I’ve had my fair share of being loud and wrong and it’s not fun being the idiot in the room once it’s all said and done.

“Okay, hold on.” On my desk, I have my ESPN cards to purposelessly give out in exchange for the management or agent cards of our guests. In my wallet, I keep a few business cards where my personal phone number and e-mail are for the sake of obeying my father’s rule about a business card being “far more professional” than stating your phone number out loud while they plug it into their phone. I don’t give much of those out either. “This is my business card. My e-mail and number is there. You can give him the information whenever. I’m not in that much of a rush.”

“I’ll send it to him in a few minutes, that way you’ll be able to go over the specifics about whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. So, about that Philly game. You’ll be there?”

“I’ll try to make it out.” I’m not going. I wish he had of gifted these to a super fan who would have loved to be in attendance.

“Okay then. I’m looking forward to seeing you there. I already helped with one part of your outfit; you just have to figure out the rest.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be in Giants gear? What makes you so sure that I’m not an Eagles fan? It’s looking like they’re going to have a damn good season this year.”

“If you are, I intend to change your mind.”

“Hm.” The universe can kiss my black ass and it’s quite black by the way.

“I’ll see you soon Sarai Nazaire.” What’s his fascination with saying my first and last name? I’ve never met anyone who has done that and admittedly, it doesn’t roll off of anyone’s tongue in the manner that it does his. Maybe it’s the French connection in Louisiana that aids in him pronouncing it so well.

“Goodbye Beckham.”

Last Friday I had no desire to hear anything playing on the radio and yet the end of this week has John and I bopping to my best of the 90s Hip-Hop playlist on Apple Music.  Who the hell wouldn’t start an eighty-seven-degree Friday off with Craig Mack’s “Flava In Ya Ear” remix and an Oreo Cookie Blizzard from the Dairy Queen? The next stop is for the wine and then I’m free to lounge in my living room in nothing more than an old t-shirt and the lace black thong covering my lower half. I may even turn my phone on “Do Not Disturb” until sometime tomorrow. Hell, is Monday morning a stretch?

The buzzing of my phone in my lap paused my backseat party and the foreign number along the screen riddled me into confusion.

You’re not an A-Class sedan type of woman. That’s not for you. An E-Class Coupe fits your mold; sophisticated, sleek, and breathtaking. If I had a say so, that’s what you’d leave the dealership with, but I don’t. Maybe you’ll take my advice? Have a great weekend Sarai Nazaire.

My eyes panned down to observe the minor trembling of my hand and the appetizing blizzard that was now turning into a milkshake.

Or maybe I’ll throw my phone into the Hudson River.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic

[writingsofawanderingwonderer]

Right. So this is a response to @norbezdraws video, "Should We Fix Our Mad Geniuses?" 

Norbez, you asked me for my thoughts on Twitter, so I'm gonna go post a novel of an explanation here, so get comfy in a nice reading chair. :)

If there's anyone else reading this, go listen to the video first, it's really interesting and it poses a rather fascinating question.

Also, sorry for the long wait for my response. ^^;

Also note: Everything I write here is about and from a storytelling and media perspective. Not real life.

I’m gonna use bullet points for my thoughts.

- On a moral level, the character should want to change. This is why Rick's capture in Rick and Morty and the protagonist in A Clockwork Orange (I haven't seen this film) are considered tragic. Because even though their capture will save people from getting hurt, they don't want to be captured or changed.

- I feel like drugs and other forms of addiction should be separated from mental illness, and that abuse should also be separated in the character examples list of flaws, because audience members' views on those different subjects could be contradictory.

For example:

Drugs/addiction is self-harming (a character flaw), so viewers may likely say, "Yes, the character should be fixed and have this removed."

Abuse (emotional/physical--and quite honestly, I think these two type should also be sub-separated; they're so different) harms other people who are around that character. This can make characters who have this type of flaw more villainous (Gothel from Disney's Tangled has been cited as an emotional abuser to her daughter) because if they don't want to change, then we as the audience see that as bad and/or irredeemable because they’re hurting people they care about and/or are close to.

Mental illness affects the character's mind. The mind is linked with personality. Therefore, if you "fix" the character by removing their mental illness, do you make the character no longer "them"? Who do they become?

Additionally, many works (such as Hellblade--which I haven’t played) frame the main character’s mental illness as not something to be cured. Rather, the story frames it as a part of the character. The challenges in the story come more from the outside world not understanding the main character’s different perception of the world.

Particularly with mental illness, opinions will vary depending on the viewer (as well as the individual character), as to whether the character should be "fixed."

Also, some examples, like Sherlock, make the addiction a flaw rather than a trait that is required for them to still be themselves/a genius. Sherlock would still be a genius without drugs. The drugs are his flaw[1], not his strength (intelligence). Take away Sherlock’s addiction and he’s still Sherlock. He’s still a detective.

*Footnote: In the BBC series and in original novels' canon, Sherlock supposedly only uses drugs when he has no case to solve. So drugs actually equals "Sherlock is not acting like a genius." BBC Sherlock actually wrecked this idea with the plot holes in season 4, but I'm going off tangent at this point (and at this point, a lot of BBC Sherlock fans--myself included--are currently not considering season 4 to even be series canon, given the amount of plot holes, out-of-character moments, and retcon-ing it contained. Seriously, what was up with that last episode?! THAT GUN DIDN’T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE A TRANQUILLISER! ARE YOU KIDDING M--).

- When I read the title of the video, I at first thought you meant "eccentricity": Characters who act outside social norms and don't follow the status quo/expectations (in an unharmful manner). Quirky characters. Characters who walk to the beat of a different drum. I understand that's not what you meant, but I might as well say my opinion on eccentric characters: It takes all sorts to make a world. They do not need to be "fixed."

- I also think misanthropic characters don't need to be fixed. I have to be clear on this, because SO many writers get misanthropia wrong: It's disliking humanity. Not wanting harm towards humanity. They just don’t want to want to deal with humanity. It's like being a hardcore grump/hermit rather than a jerk/murderer/rude person. A misanthropic person can have strong bonds with other humans, they just don't like dealing with strangers (often because they have been "burnt" before in past experiences) and can be very caring, selfless individuals with healthy relationships. Misanthropes are often the way they are because they care a lot, rather than a little (the latter being the stereotype I see a lot in fiction). Often, you can’t even tell if someone’s a misanthrope just by looking for them. A misanthrope looks at a smoker and thinks, "Why do THEY get dibs on the clean air?", etc. There is a difference between a grump and a jerk.

- I think series like Rick and Morty and BBC Sherlock have mad geniuses that treat their partner badly/questionably, yet we still like them as characters is less because of their “gifts,” and more because we see that when push comes to shove, Rick/Sherlock will act selflessly to protect Morty/John.

That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Rick is showing signs of being more caring (and hopefully less abusive) towards Morty. As Mycroft predicted, Sherlock is showing his heart more by being with John.

Their characters arcs are actually “fixing” them.

Another example of this type of relationship (or a similar type of relationship) is Eddy and her daughter Saffy’s relationship in Absolutely Fabulous. There’s an episode where Eddy protects her daughter from a guy who keeps bothering her (Saffy). Even though Eddy and Saffy constantly insult each other, at the end of the day, Eddy cares about her daughter. We don’t necessarily see their relationship as good, but we understand why they stay together.

And Eddy doesn’t even have “mad genius” nor traditionally heroic qualities. She’s the epitome of a “UK Comedy Series’ Unsympathetic Protagonist.”

Okay, now some character examples:

I'll start off with examples of abuse/addiction that are either BAD, start off as bad/questionable, or in a grey area:

These examples don't inherently make the works bad. I like all of the works listed below. These are just examples of problematic portrayals that we should pause for thought and reflect on.

- Bullet in the Face (a Canadian-American series about a criminal mastermind helping cops track down a bigger criminal mastermind) has Gunter attacking other characters to help solve cases. Gunter is portrayed as a villain protagonist, and most if not all of the characters he attacks are villains as well, making the protagonist ironically less problematic than if the writers portrayed him as a heroic character. The series basically says, “He’s a villain. So he does villainous things.”

- Dirk Gently: (We're talking BBC-2010-TV-series!Dirk, not the original books/other adaptations, nor the 2016 series.) Dirk is a detective who can solve mysteries others can't because of his odd philosophies. He has a partner, named Richard, who he hypnotises into giving him money, uses as a guinea pig (he injects him with a computer chip without warning him), and steals money from him. Yet Richard still stays with him (which is considered to be one of the biggest plot holes the adaptation has).

- Rick and Morty: Rick still continues to be abusive towards Morty, his own grandson. Rick's selfless act at the end of season 2 hints that Rick may slowly be trying to change his ways. Unity's note to Rick when it dumps him also implies that the writers are self-aware that Rick's abusive traits are a flaw, not a "kooky trait," so Rick could be interpreted as a "good" example too, because the series shows the negative effects of his behaviour.

- BBC Sherlock: As I said above.

Okay, now some examples (you asked for) of GOOD examples of abuse/addiction being portrayed in a non-romantic/kooky/positive/problematic light: 

 - Captain Haddock: In The Adventures of Tintin: The Crab with the Golden Claws album, Tintin meets an alcoholic who is the captain of a ship. Together, they escape the ship's crew and solve a mystery together. Haddock wouldn't really be considered an archetypal "mad genius," but by being with Tintin, his alcoholism decreases (though never actually disappears completely--writer Hergé liked to portray things realistically). His alcoholism decreases because of Tintin's support and friendship, which is really heartwarming to me.

- Dirk Gently: Here, we're talking book!Dirk. Irony, eh? In the original novels, Dirk is still abusive to his crime-solving partners (he, again, hypnotises Richard into jumping into the River Thames--which is not a nice place to go swimming, unless you like plastic bags and abandoned shopping trolleys). What makes the books different than the BBC series however, are the endings: Every partner Dirk gets, in each book, dumps him by the end of each adventure/novel they have with him because of his abusive tendencies. They don't want to be with him. That paints Dirk’s abuse as a more negative thing, instead of a “quirky” thing.

- Croak: The main character or this novel, Lex, is introduced as a teenage girl who recently developed anger management issues. She lashes out at people, especially at her school. It’s portrayed in an untraditionally human way: She describes it as feelings she knows are harmful, and she doesn’t enjoy these feelings of charged anger. She struggles to stop herself from lashing out. She also takes great care in making sure she doesn’t hurt her sister. (I haven’t finished the first book yet, so I don’t know how her character arc ends.)

- The Jennifer Ann Group’s yearly game jam focuses on creating games that educate people on teen dating abuse. The game Grace’s Diary is a notable example.

I hope this answered your questions on what my thoughts were on this subject.

#series #literature #films

[betterneko]

ABCs of Me!

I got tagged for this fun little thing by the adorable partners in crime, @tothepit and @spice-ghoul.

A - Age: I feel like this question comes up all the time for some reason.  I think I’ve answered this more on tumblr in the last couple of months than in my entire life.  Which has been 37 years so far.  Yup!  Old.

B - Biggest fear: Oh...the fears.  So many fears.  Um….I don’t know about the BIGGEST fear I have, because there’s just kind of a static layer of fluctuating fears going on from time to time, but I guess the most irrational fear I have is the deep, dark water fear, which is at odds with the complete fascination I have of a lot of things that live in deep, dark water.  The most rational fear is having something bad and beyond my control happen to my children.  Just typing that makes me feel nervous.

C - Current time: 11:16pm

D - Drink you last had: Red wine.  Don’t get excited, it was from like a six dollar bottle of Pinot Noir from the Wal Mart Neighborhood market.  Before that, a cup of coffee.  Yup, that seems like a stupid combination to me too!

E - Every day starts with: If I get to sleep until my 6:45am alarm, I wake up to Deus in Absentia.  If I don’t, either my cat comes and stands on my chest and meows until I get up and feed her, or my oldest son comes and sits on my legs until I get up and feed him.

F - Favourite song: I’m with Spice and Pit - there’s no such thing as one favorite song.  My favorite song right this very second, today, is Scenario by Subvision. It will change again in an hour.  

I do have a few songs that I always love and have loved for a years.  It’s a longer list than I’ll type out now, but here are a few of them:  Modern Love, Station to Station, Cat People, and Five Years by David Bowie - Nantucket Sleighride by Mountain - Famous Blue Raincoat, Who By Fire, First We Take Manhattan, Hallelujah and Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen - Waltz #2, Alameda, and Pitseleh by Elliott Smith - Bring On The Dancing Horses by Echo & The Bunnymen - Close to Me by The Cure - The New Zero, Watch T.V., Things I’m Gonna Do, and Hunter’s Kiss by Rasputina - Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd - The Last Polka by Ben Folds Five - Save Me by Queen - The Decline, Thank God It’s Monday, Bottles to the Ground by NOFX - Time Bomb, What Do You Want Me To Say and The Ice of Boston by Dismemberment Plan - Haunted, Wild, and Amazed by Poe - Devil’s Night Out, Awfully Quiet, Pictures to Prove It and Toxic Toast by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones - and if you’re still reading at this point, I am so impressed and I know I need to wrap this up - and lastly, the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack in it’s entirety.   

G - Ghosts, are they real?: I want so much to say yes, because that’s kind of fun and I love ghost stories, but really, no.

H - Hometown: Somewhere extraordinarily boring in Arkansas.  

I - In love with: So….is it just super dull if I say my husband?  ‘Cause that’s the answer.  We met when we really young (he was 17, I was 19) and had this crazy instant connection and have been together since then. So, that was 18 years ago.  We’ve been married for 13 of those.  He’s been my best friend pretty much my entire adult life.  

J - Jealous of: You know….I don’t really feel a lot of jealousy very often?  If I do, it’s usually about some skill someone has that I would love to have but have also never put much effort into acquiring?  Like, I’m jealous of people who can sew really well.  Ooh, I’m jealous of people that have enough free time to sit and read for like eight hours.  I’m jealous of all those girls who have gotten Cirice’d by Papa III at a ritual, although I am fully aware that if I were the one in that position I would be so nervous that I would THROW UP, probably on Papa’s hand, and I’d prefer to spare him that.

K - Killed someone: Huh?  Um...with kindness, I guess, weirdo question.

L - Last time you cried: Ugh…..Sigh.  So, I’m going to answer this, but I’m going to answer it in a separate post because the answer is just sad and personal and while I don’t mind sharing it with my sweet Ghost and Fox Fam, answering it here would just drag this whole kind of fun post into something sad.

M - Middle name: Lea Anne

N - Number of siblings: I have a brother who is five years younger than me, and also two younger brother in laws who I am super close to and who have known me since they were little and over half their lives now, so they have always felt as much like my brothers as my actual brother.

P - Person you last called/texted: The last person I both called and texted was my mom.  We talk all the time, so the answer to questions like this is usually her.  

Q - Questions you’re always asked: I am a total hermit, so most of my questions come from my husband or kids.  Those are usually food or item location related.  I get asked “what are you reading?” a lot in public, because I take a book everywhere I go, always.  

R - Reasons to smile: Talking to my Fox and Ghost Fam, Niels using my logo on the little demo he posted, having Ghost tickets for June.

S - Song last sang: If You Have Ghosts

T - Time you woke up: 7am

U - Underwear colour: Leopard print

V - Vacation destination: Of places I’ve been and would happily return to, Manhattan and Playa del Carmen.  Of places I haven’t been but would love to go to, Japan and Italy.

W - Worst Habit: Fixating on things that aren’t really important and letting social anxiety prevent me from doing things I really want to do.

X - X-rays you’ve had: Oh my god, this is a long list.  Aside from dental x-rays, I’ve had to have x-rays on my right hand, left pinky finger, left wrist, right ankle, both knees, left foot, ribs, spine and tailbone.

Y - Your favourite food: Black olives, broccoli, fried okra, sweet potato fries, salmon, crab legs, avocados, pretty much all Vietnamese food, macadamia nuts, soft pretzels, pot roast with potatoes and carrots, my great grandmother’s deviled eggs, pretty much all Italian food, peanut butter, flourless chocolate cake.

Z - Zodiac sign:  Unsolved murders followed by taunting letters to the San Francisco Chronicle.

Alright!  I’m tagging........@bearfeat42, @silverthurible, @ghulehtela, and if they’ll kindly comply, @askpapaemeritusiii and Lilith and Aether of @lilys-tiger.  =)

#going on and on at length about nothing! #hope you like your number of words to importance of meaning ratio really heavy on the words

[2traveldads-blog]

We’re big on camping.  Roughing it doesn’t scare us…because we are car-campers and only go where there are actual bathrooms and running water.  Well, we’ve taken our oldest, Oliver, camping many times and he loves it.  He’s such a trooper and could play in the dirt for days.  We’re prepping to go on a big camping trip to Wyoming and Montana though and we needed to practice a bit before we ventured out.  Also, our newest addition, Elliott, hadn’t spent a night in a tent yet, so there was a bit of a fear factor there.We did it.  We took the boys out to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State and camped.

Our fear was that Koala wasn’t going to be able to sleep outside.  You know, there’s the sound of random birds, other people talking, kids screaming somewhere, pots and pans at a neighboring campsite.  The list of what could wake a baby is endless.  Despite the cacophony of the night, both kids slept like rocks.  And I don’t mean that they slept until 4:30 am and then got up with the sun, but slept until 7:15 and we actually got rest.

Beyond conquering sleep, there were other adventures to try out as a family of four, such as hiking, whale watching, swimming in the ocean, playing in the creek, tide-pooling…  Of all of the things we did on the OP, here’s our list of the most enjoyable activities with both an infant and toddler.

Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula

The perfect start to an adventurous weekend on the Olympic Peninsula is with a day in PT.  Established in the 1800s as the primary seaport for the Puget Sound (prior to the railroads declaring Seattle as such), the town was built to be beautiful and have all of the features of a keystone city:  Victorian downtown, mansions uptown, amazing courthouse complete with looming bell tower…and a castle.  Today, it’s got everything that a tourist could want.  Local beer (PTBrewing), local wine (Fairwinds Winery) and cider (Alpenfire) are available throughout the town.  The NorthwestMaritime Center is right on the water and ready to pull you into wooden boat culture.  Fort Worden has beach, woods and WWII bunkers for exploring, as well as the Point Wilson lighthouse and the most amazing field for flying kites.  I didn’t get into all of the shops in the downtown, because that’s its own day, but hit up what I just mentioned and kids and adults are set for fun.

Tip:  there is a ferry that goes to PT from Whidbey Island.  It’s a tiny boat and it gets full very quickly.  The best route is to ferry from Seattle or Edmonds and then drive across the Hood Canal Bridge.

The Beach

We live by a beach, but we are really far into the Puget Sound, so there’s not actual ocean waves.  Also there’s not a ton of sand. Cue the Olympic Peninsula…  Such cool beaches:  enormous drift wood at LaPush, the softest sand ever at Salt Creek, tide pools on the Strait of Juan de Fuca (see below).  What makes the beaches here so different and fun is that they are playable.  The sand isn’t dry and blasting your eyes with from the wind.  The shore is gradual, so there’s lots of sandy space.  The waves aren’t the size of tsunamis straight from Japan so you can actually play in them when it’s warm.

Also, when you go to the beach with an infant, chances are that there’s going to be a lot of time for one parent and the baby to just sit on the beach and play ON A BLANKET.  These beaches are both great for that due to the beautiful views and flat surface.

Tip:  bring binoculars year round to watch for passing grey, humpback and orca whales.  We’ve been able to see grey and orca whales with the naked eye in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Tip 2:  a baby at the beach will be sandy no matter how hard you try.  Be okay with it in the moment, but be swift in addressing it when you leave the beach.  Sand stuck in tiny baby fat rolls can be painful and wear at their skin.  Bathe/shower them immediately for the happiest results.

Tip 3:  remember back to when you were little and how tired you were after a day in the sun and sand.  Know that kids will be worn out after this.  Plan for tired kids and parents directly following exodus of said beach.

Tidepools on the Olympic Peninsula

I’m a bit obsessed with the ocean and not actually being a merman I have to enjoy it in ways other than living underwater.  Luckily, our oldest son is the same way.  He loves to play in the water and sand, but now he’s been exposed to something even better: tide pools!  Tide pools, for those who don’t know, are the low spot in rock outcroppings that are full of water after the tide goes out.  This means that there is an environment that can hold life even at low tide.  For a child who loves the sea, this is the perfect spot to see all of the tiny friends that normally are out in the water.  We saw hermit crabs, anemones, sculpin (fish), chitons, huge barnacles feeding…  Also, the rocks are home to many pelagic seabirds, so it’s great for birdwatching. The tide pools on the Strait are really fantastic.  They are easy to traverse as an adult, toddler or parent wearing a baby in a pack.  Also, the rocks go far enough out that the danger of being caught in a wave is truly minimal.

Tip:  the best shoes for tide pooling are sandal-type shoes with a little traction.  They’ll provide good footing on the rocks and then dry fast.

Tip 2:  if the Olympic Peninsula isn’t close enough when you’re visiting Seattle or Portland, check out Whidbey Island’s tide pools, or if you’re south, the Oregon Coast has a plethora of opportunities for them.

RULE:  do not take anything from a tide pool.  Example: an empty snail shell might actually be a hermit crab’s home.  Would you want somebody to take yours?

Hiking on the OP

The Olympic Peninsula is where the mountains literally meet the sea.  What this means is that you can either hike hike or walk hike.  For hardcore folks they can traverse the Olympic Mountains from all sides, climbing Mt. Rose or heading up out of Staircase by Lake Cushman.  For those of us with kids, we’ve got some other options.  The Hoh Rainforest is one of my favorite places because it makes me feel like I’m walking with gnomes.  I know, silly, but when you’ve got a 3 year old to entertain along the way, it’s nice to be able to look for gnomes.

The Hoh is so dense with moss and fallen trees that it’s almost like another planet.  The streams are so fully of algae and other plants, the look like alien rivers.  Other easy hiking includes heading to the beach areas for walks in the sand or if you’ve got the time and energy, trekking all of the way out to the Dungeness Spit lighthouse.  There’s such a variety and with something different to see at each stop, you can’t go wrong.  Hurricane Ridge is also a great day hiking spot, with views going all the way to Victoria, BC and Seattle.  **beware of mountain goats at Hurricane Ridge.  They’re not indigenous and are still angry about it, so they’re not friendly.

Tip:  despite being called a temperate rainforest, the Hoh can actually be rather hot and dry.  Be prepared with lots of water and the energy to carry little people, as the mugginess can be draining.

Tip 2:  for younger kids, having an actual hiking pack is very helpful and will make you all feel much better about your adventure when you realize how much more comfortable it is than just a standard baby pack.

Whale Watching on the Salish Sea

There are a few approaches to whale watching.  1.)  Set up a chair on a bluff or beach and wait for the whales to swim by, hoping to catch a glimpse.  2.)  Hire a random guide in a marina in Sequim or Port Angeles to take you out on a small boat and hope that they are whale-wise and responsible.  3.)  Spend the extra money to go on a whale watching expedition with a company that guarantees sightings.

It sounds weird that they can guarantee sightings, but here’s why:  the reputable companies all work together to share whale locations, thus making for quicker sighting and more positive guest experiences, thus building their businesses and awareness of whales and their plight.  It’s all a rather good set up.  Since the tour companies are regulated and the Fish and Wildlife chaps are out in their boats monitoring, the whales are treated well and given wide berth for going their own way.  The experience is great and there’s nothing like seeing the wonder in your child’s eyes when an orca jumps out of the water in front of them.

Tip:  you can book whale watching either from the Olympic Peninsula or the mainland (Seattle/Everett).  Excursions are typically 4-5 hours, but it’s worth the time to be on the water and see such beauty.

Tip 2:  there’s no shame in being prepared with a little entertainment for younger kids, as boat travel isn’t always the most exciting part of the day.

There is, of course, far more to do and see on the Olympic Peninsula.  Native American culture thrives in several areas, so watch for totem poles.  The Twilight Saga was filmed on the OP and going out of Port Angeles and Forks, you can go on Twilight themed tours.  There are some beautiful National Park lodges to visit or stay at, Lake Quinault, Kalaloch or Lake Crescent.  Seriously, you could do a two week vacation here easily, and everybody in the family will have an amazing time.

To see more photos of Olympic National Park, the Salt Creek area, or other spots on the Olympic Peninsula, peek at other posts we’ve done!  And to check out another great town, Port Ludlow, read our Behind the Picture post about this wonderful port town.

Here’s a quick sunset on the Strait of Juan de Fuca to leave you with:

The Olympic Peninsula: almost paradise in the PNW We’re big on camping.  Roughing it doesn’t scare us…because we are car-campers and only go where there are actual bathrooms and running water. 

#camping #day trips #family travel #gay dad #gay family #gay travel #glbt #hiking #national park #olympic peninsula #orcas #pnw travel #port townsend #tourism #victorian #washington state ferries #whale watching