#And how much Margaret cares for Sid

[midground]

Listen. every time I rewatch Starstruck (especially the scene between Margaret and Auma) I become convinced of 3 things

Auma tried flirting with Margaret back in college but Margaret never even noticed because she was so hung up on Lucienne

Margaret and Lucienne will NOT last. I don't think Lucienne's quarter-life crisis will end with her developing the same heroic values as Margaret. That and Margaret's role in ruining Lucienne's life will eventually drive a wedge between them once the honeymoon phase ends

Sid will hear that her Mommy and her Aunt Margaret could have been a thing once and will want to Parent Trap them

What I'm saying is, Margaret/Auma is the real sleeper ship of Starstruck and I need more people to understand this

[blueskrugs]

closure | Sidney Crosby

happy (belated) birthday sid, sorry your present is an angsty fic. 

I started this one a year and a half ago, picked it back up a few weeks ago to try and get it done by 8/7, wrote 2000 words, decided to change half of it, went to summer camp for a week, got writer’s block for one last scene, and now we’re here. finally.

length: 4.5k words

It’s been a long time And seeing the shape of your name Still spells out pain

Margaret Thomas didn’t hate Sidney Crosby. No, that required too much energy. Margaret would just rather not think about him, which was easier said than done. He was no longer “Sid the Kid,” but he was still a force to be reckoned with on the ice. Sometimes he seemed inescapable—there were commercials featuring him running on ESPN, and it seemed like at least once a week he pulled off some ridiculous feat that only Sidney Crosby could do that was in all the highlight reels for days. It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part, though; Margaret didn’t watch much hockey these days, and her ties with the hockey world had been severed as abruptly as their relationship. Margaret hadn’t quite moved on, but she was okay again. 

Margaret wondered sometimes who knew all of the details of their breakup all those years ago. Her relationship with Sid had been as quiet as Sid could keep it, but she had been there for the Cups, for the gold medals. Those memories, those pictures, would go down in history alongside his name, engraved in silver and gold. It had been a cute story once, the boy who saved the Penguins falls in love with a girl from Pittsburgh, settles down and sticks around. That’s how it was supposed to go, at least.

Margaret is surprised when she gets a letter in the mail, mixed in amongst junk and bills. Who sends letters anymore? The return address is unfamiliar, but the careful, spidery handwriting spelling out her name and the little “SPC” in the corner is as familiar as her own.

Of course Sid would send a letter, after all these years, after cutting off all contact after the break-up, stubbornly old-fashioned person that he was. She was annoyed that that thought was still laced with fondness underneath the bitterness. Margaret wondered, too, how he’d gotten her address; Margaret had moved since the breakup, and she didn’t keep in contact with anyone on the team or their wives enough to warrant ever sending a Christmas card. 

Margaret carefully slides her finger under the flap of the envelope and pulls out the letter inside. It, too, was handwritten, because of course it was. Margaret takes a deep breath and begins to read.

I’m sure you’re surprised to be hearing from me after all these years. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about reaching out, but I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear from me. I’ve even started writing this a few times, but I could never get the words right.

Margaret scoffs, more than a little bitter. She wonders what was so important to finally make him reach out after all these years. She briefly thinks of crumpling up the letter and tossing it in the trash, but her curiosity got the better of her. Margaret keeps reading.

I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way things ended between us. It wasn’t fair to you. I wish I could’ve done it differently, or not done it at all, but there’s no way to change the past, is there? I didn’t realize it at the time, but I probably really hurt you. I should’ve apologized a long time ago.

Sid’s words were uncovering a hurt Margaret thought she’d buried deep long ago. He was right, though, there was no changing the past. She brushes away a tear before it can land on the sheet of paper in her hand. There was more to the letter.

I’ll be playing in my 1250th game soon. They’re treating it like a big milestone. Jen’s been talking about rounding up some people for interviews or something. I saw your name on a list and wanted to give you a head’s up before she called. 

Margaret remembered the videos from Sid’s 1000th game. No one had reached out to her to make a video for Sid that time. She doesn’t know what she would’ve said, anyway.

I don’t know what she’ll ask you to do, but I want you to know that you’re not obligated to do anything. You certainly don’t owe me anything. 

He had that right. He hadn’t even offered Margaret a proper explanation for why he ended a years-long relationship, or a proper goodbye.  

It happened the day of Sid’s Cup party in 2017. Sid pulled Margaret aside as the party was wrapping up, nothing more than a few drunken stragglers and friends and family sticking around to clean up. Sid looked nervous as she followed him into a quiet room. 

“What’s up?” Margaret asked.

Sid didn’t make any move to sit and neither did Margaret. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I think this needs to stop,” he said. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“What?” Margaret asked. Drunk on summer sun and champagne, she wasn't following. 

“I-” Sid looked uncertain for a moment. “I think we need to break up.”

“What?” she said again. Margaret didn’t know what she was expecting when Sid asked her to come with him, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“I want to break up,” Sid said firmly. “I need some space.”

Margaret had lied. She knew exactly what she’d been expecting. A ring, a future and a life together. They’d talked about it, even. Margaret felt like Sid had punched her in the gut. She almost wished he had, actually. That would hurt less than this.

“I don’t understand, Sid,” Margaret said. She thought they were happy. She thought Sid loved her. She had been wrong about both, apparently.

“I’m sorry,” was all Sid said as he brushed past Margaret and went back outside. She faintly heard a cheer go up as he reemerged. Margaret slipped upstairs. Despite all the people milling around, Sid still valued his privacy, and he didn’t have anyone staying in any of the guest bedrooms. It was easy to move her things into one down the hall while the party wrapped up outside. 

Margaret flew out from Halifax the next morning. Her things were cleaned out of Sid’s house and into a new apartment of her own before Sid was back in Pittsburgh for training camp in September. She deleted his phone number in October. She never saw him again. It was probably for the best that way.

Margaret’s hands shake. Frustrated, she throws the piece of paper, but it simply flutters to the ground at her feet. She isn’t sure who she’s more upset with—Sid, for still holding a piece of her heart, or herself, for still allowing Sid to break her heart after all these years. Margaret steps over the paper and wanders into her kitchen. She pulls open the fridge and stares aimlessly into it for a long moment. On the floor behind her, Sid’s letter sits, only half read, taunting her. Margaret slams the fridge shut. The rattling of the things on the door is only satisfying for a moment. 

She walks back over and picks up the letter again. She slides to the floor to read the last few lines.

I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s too much to ask that you could forgive me one day, but I do hope that we can talk about it sometime. But I guess you don’t really owe me that either. 

There was no closing, no autograph signature either, just “Sid” scrawled in messy cursive at the bottom of the page. 

Margaret crumples up the letter and throws it again. It lands somewhere behind her couch. It, too, doesn’t feel as satisfying as she’d like. 

Margaret carefully puts it out of her mind. Or tries to, at least. The letter stays crumpled on the floor of her living room, but it doesn’t matter because it feels like she's committed Sid’s careful words to memory, echoing in her head when her guard was down. 

Margaret’s phone rings a week after the letter arrives. It’s a Pittsburgh area code, a number she doesn’t have saved to her contacts, and she answers it warily. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maggie,  this is Jen with the Penguins communications department, do you remember me?”

Of course Margaret remembers Jen. Jen was solely responsible for keeping the team from making fools of themselves most of the time. 

“Of course,” Margaret tells her. She knows why Jen is calling. 

“Well, I’m sure you know that Sid’s coming up on a new milestone soon, and we’ve been tracking down some friends from over the years for some more videos like we had for his 1000th game, and maybe to get some stories about Sid when he was younger,” Jen says, as businesslike as ever. She doesn’t mention the fact that Margaret had been left off the list of friends for Sid’s 1000th game, and neither does she.

“Yeah, uh, Sid gave me a heads up that you might be calling,” Margaret says without thinking.

Jen pauses. “I didn’t realize you two were still in touch.”

“Something like that,” she says wryly.

Jen continues. “We’d love to have you come out to PPG one day soon to get some footage, whenever it works for you.”

Margaret hesitates. Even with Sid’s heads up, she somehow wasn't prepared to be asked for an in-person interview. She had thought Jen would just have her record something in her apartment and send it back to Jen. It would give Margaret unlimited takes to cuss out her ex in the privacy of her own home before she could string together enough warm and complimentary words. Driving down to PPG came with the risk of running into Sid, and Margaret wasn't sure there was ever enough time to prepare herself for that.

“Can I think about it? It’s been a long time,” Margaret hears herself say. 

She hears Jen’s sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, but when she speaks again, she sounds unbothered. “Sure! I’ll leave you be for now, but get back to me in a few days, alright?” Margaret wonders briefly what Sid told Jen about their breakup. He had to have some explanation, some warning, for her, in case she’d taken the “crazy jilted ex” route and exposed him on social media or something. Lucky for him, that had never been Margaret’s style. 

In the end, Margaret agrees. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find it in herself to feel so much contempt for Sid to not do this small thing. She wished she could. She hated that she couldn’t make herself hate him. 

Margaret drove downtown to PPG Paints Arena on a Saturday afternoon. Jen had assured her that the players would be cleared out after film review and an optional skate, and that she had no risk of running into anyone. Margaret  wanted to avoid Sid most of all, but she wasn’t sure she could handle having to make small talk with Tanger or Geno, or meeting some young player who didn’t even know who she was, after she and Sid had carefully erased each other from their histories. 

Jen meets Margaret at the door and quickly ushers her into a small, dimly lit room. It isn’t crowded, just a couple of cameras, a camera operator, and Margaret and Jen. Jen shuts the door behind her and takes a seat across from Margaret. She spares a second to be thankful that she was staying, a familiar face. Brighter flights flick on, and Jen smiles as Margaret blinks a few times to adjust.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been around, how have you been?” Jen asks.

Margaret isn’t sure if the cameras are rolling yet. She forces a smile. “Things have been good,” she says. It’s not a lie. Things were better before she found herself back in the story of Sid’s life.

“We’ll start easy,” Jen says. “What’s a story about Sid most people don’t know? You two were so close when he was younger.”

That’s also definitely not a lie. Margaret had tried to prepare herself for anything Jen might ask her, but Margaret still takes a moment to answer, wracking her memory for something to say.

Margaret and Sid had met in a bar, just before the 2009-2010 season started. That wasn’t a cute or wholesome story to tell. Margaret takes a deep breath.

“There was this time I dragged Sid to the animal shelter because I wanted a dog.”

“Maggie, I don’t need a dog,” Sid is saying, gamely allowing himself to be dragged towards the doors of Humane Animal Rescue.

Maggie stops and turns to face Sid, hands on her hips. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve still got Sam back home, I know. But I want a dog, so we’re here.” 

She pulls open the door and lets Sid walk ahead of her inside. He nervously touches the brim of his hat and looks around. A smiling volunteer makes her way over to them.

“Hey guys, what can I help you with today?” she asks. 

Maggie smiles back at her and takes Sid’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about adopting a dog,” she says.

“Perfect, we have plenty of those, hopefully one will be your perfect new friend,” the volunteer says, already turning and heading towards the kennels. She asks Maggie questions as they walk—what exactly she’s looking for, what her apartment is like, if she has any other pets— and Maggie is suddenly overwhelmed. Sid trails a few steps behind, only half listening. Maggie can hear the barking dogs before the volunteer even opens the door to their part of the shelter. 

Maggie glances over her shoulder at Sid. “You sure you don’t want to adopt one, too?” she teases, noticing Sid’s soft smile, always a sucker for a cute face. “I’m sure we could find you a good match.” Sid just shakes his head at her.

The next hour is a blur of meeting dogs and Maggie trying not to fall in love with all of them. Sid ends up on the floor with her, happily cuddling and playing with each new dog that’s brought out to Maggie. In the end, she falls for a sweet Pit mix named Biscuit. Even Sid seems enthralled by her when she licks his face. 

Maggie’s got Biscuit on a leash, and she’s following the volunteer back to the front desk to fill out all the paperwork for adoption when Sid stops short. Maggie stops, too. Sid’s standing next to a glass door labeled Kitten Room, watching a little boy play with a kitten. The little boy notices Sid watching and looks up. Margaret can tell the moment he recognizes Sid as Sidney Crosby by the way his face splits into a grin. He carefully sets the kitten down and runs to open the door.

“Do you wanna play with the kitties, too?” Maggie hears him ask. Sid glances at her. Biscuit, eager to make a new friend, whines and tugs on her leash. The kitten the boy had been playing with is attempting to make an escape.

Sid scoops the kitten up and edges carefully into the Kitten Room. “Of course, bud,” Maggie hears him say. To Maggie, he adds, “I’ll catch up with you, yeah?” The door shuts behind him before she can answer.

By the time Maggie’s finished with the pages and pages of adoption paperwork, Sid still hasn’t caught back up with her. She and Biscuit make their way back towards the Kitten Room to find him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the little boy, and there’s a kitten climbing on his shoulder, trying to eat his hat, another one curled up in his hands. Maggie stands next to the glass door and watches them, a smile on her face. Next to her, Biscuit wags her tail at them. The little boy notices them and waves. Sid carefully hands the kitten in his hands to the little boy and disentangles the claws of the other one from his hat. 

He’s grinning as he makes his way back to Maggie, easy and relaxed. He drapes his arm across her shoulders for a moment when comes through the door, and Maggie leans into his side.

“Have fun making some new friends?” she asks. 

“He asked me if I could score a goal for him tomorrow night,” Sid says, laughing a little.

“Y’know, a cat would probably be a better pet for you, with all the travel and stuff,” Maggie says.

Sid digs his elbow into her ribs, but he kisses Maggie quickly against the car before opening the back door for Biscuit. 

Margaret’s eyes were wet when she finished telling her story. She twists around in her seat to dry them before facing Jen again. It’s not even a sad story. She’d almost forgotten the memory altogether. It’s been a few years since Biscuit had passed now, but that sweet little dog had been Margaret’s anchor during the aftermath of their breakup. She should look into adopting another dog, Margaret thinks absently. Jen seems unfazed by, but not unsympathetic to, Margaret’s crying. 

“And what do you want to say to Sid?” she asked. 

Margaret had thought about this part, too. She remembered someone saying that Nathan MacKinnon’s message for Sid’s 100th game was too personal to show on the broadcast. She’d considered saying something vindictive, something petty. Her relationship with Sid had always been personal, and a part of Margaret wanted this last message to be just between them, too. But she worried that Jen would just scrap the footage if she said anything too cruel. 

So Margaret settled for sincere, or as sincere as she could muster.

“Hi, Sid,” she starts awkwardly. “It was such a privilege to be by your side over the years, to be able to watch you grow into an amazing leader. To be there for the Olympics and for the Cups…it’s not something anyone is going to forget. I know it wasn’t easy to get this far, but you did it and you’re still going. I’m proud of you, Sid,” Margaret says. She takes a deep breath. 

There is silence in the room when Margaret finishes speaking. She clears her throat. “Right, is that all, then?” she asks, already standing up. The small room they were in suddenly feels claustrophobic, and Margaret needs out.

Jen stands with her. “It’s perfect, thanks so much for coming in. I’m sure it wasn’t easy…” she says. Margaret wonders, again, how many details of their breakup Jen actually knows. 

Margaret was already opening the door and rushing back into the hallway. She didn’t stop to check if the hallway was clear first, which is how she bumps straight into someone walking down the hall.

“Oof,” she hears, from a voice that was once as familiar as her own. A hand reaches out to steady her elbow. Sid hasn’t seen Margaret’s face yet. 

“No, it’s okay, it was my fault,” she says, carefully not looking up at Sid. She pulls her purse strap back up and tries to edge around Sid before he recognizes her.

“Maggie?” Sid asks 

Margaret freezes. Sid’s still gripping her elbow tightly. “Margaret,” she says.

“What?” “It’s Margaret. No one really calls me Maggie any more,” she tells him. Sid’s grip tightens even more for a moment before he drops his hand back to his side.

Margaret stops peering down the hall behind him and chances a look at his face. Sid’s jaw is tight, and he’s looking at Margaret like he can’t believe he’s actually seeing her. A member of team staff walks past behind Sid— Tags, Margaret is pretty sure— and pats Sid on the back as he goes past. Sid startles a little.

Sid takes Margaret’s arm again, and she lets herself be led into an empty room a few steps down the hall. Sid pushes the door mostly shut behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come out,” Sid admits.

“I was told there wouldn’t be any players here,” Margaret counters. Sid winces, and it’s satisfying to see, briefly. 

“Maggie,” Sid starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s still staring at Margaret like he doesn’t believe she’s real. 

“Stop calling me that,” Margaret says. She’s drained after sitting in front of that camera for Sid, and she doesn’t have the patience, suddenly, for whatever Sid’s about to say next. “Look, I should just go,” she says. “I should’ve never even come in the first place.” She finally wrenches her arm free from Sid’s grip. 

Sid blinks at Margaret, confused. “I just thought-” he says, but, again, he doesn’t finish his sentence. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess,” Sid says, taking a step back. “It means a lot, I know it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Margaret says. “Yeah, well, I guess now we can go back to pretending the other of us doesn’t exist.” She moves to brush past Sid and out the door. 

“Wait,” Sid says. He reaches to grab Margaret again, but thinks better of it. He shuts the door all the way. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? You made it very clear you didn’t want anything to do with me when you broke up with me. We went our separate ways, and I did my best to forget I was ever in love with you,” Margaret says. She makes a move to push past Sid again, but Sid stops her with an arm around her waist. Margaret spins back to face Sid, now boxed in against the closed door. 

“Everything was happening so fast, I didn’t know what to do,” Sid tries, talking fast like he can keep Margaret from leaving by sheer force of will.

“So fast? Sid, we’d been together for almost seven years, when all of a sudden you broke up with me instead of giving me a ring!”

“Exactly! You wanted a ring, and I wasn’t ready for that,” Sid argues. “It was just-”

“Just so overwhelming you couldn’t even talk about it? Fuck, all I got was a ‘I want to breakup,’ and then we never spoke again.” Margaret didn’t think she had it in her to be angry about this after so many years, but Sid standing so close to her was bringing out all sorts of emotions. Fury, longing, heartbreak.

Sid makes a frustrated noise. “You’re the one who cut me out of your life!”

Margaret feels like she could scream. “You broke up with me, what the hell else was I supposed to do?” she says, trying to keep her voice level. She isn’t sure if she’s going to scream or break down crying. 

“I just needed space! I needed time to figure out where we were headed,” Sid says. 

Margaret opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, Sid’s mouth is on hers, kissing her fiercely. She lets herself melt into it for a second—the way Sid’s lips slide against hers, once so familiar, her back pressed against the door, Sid’s hands on her body, one clutching her hip and the other resting on her cheek—before she comes to her senses and pushes Sid away. Sid goes, breathing raggedly and looking stunned. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Margaret asks. Her hand is on the doorknob. 

“I- I don’t know,” Sid says honestly. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

Margaret should leave. She knows she should leave. She can’t help but ask, “Which part?”

Sid makes a face at her. Margaret hates the fondness she feels for that damn nose scrunch. “All of it. Everything. I’m sorry,” he says again. 

They’re both quiet for a long time. There’s footsteps down the hall. “I should go,” Margaret finally says. 

This time, Sid doesn’t stop her.  Margaret pulls the door open and steps back into the hall. She looks back over her shoulder. Sid hasn’t moved. 

“Goodbye, Sid,” she says softly. 

She doesn’t pass anyone else as she makes her way back to her car. She drives home in silence. She doesn’t ever hear from Sid again. It’s probably for the best that way. 

 A few weeks later, Margaret gets a text from Jen. The game’s tonight, it reads. Margaret still hasn’t decided if she’s going to watch the game or not. She hasn’t seen a Penguins game since they won the Cup in 2017, hasn’t watched one on TV in even longer.

She turns on her TV.

1250 games isn’t nearly as big of a milestone as 1000 games was, but they’ll still be showing some of the pre-recorded clips throughout the game, mixed in with highlights of Sid over the years, or so Potash is saying when Margaret finds the right channel. There’s no pregame ceremony, just Sid blushing when the PA acknowledges the milestone before puck drop. It’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of watching hockey, though Margaret has to keep the roster pulled up on her phone to keep track of who’s who. The team is very different than she remembers, only a handful of players left who’d remember her. 

They play Margaret’s video clip just before the end of the second period. The words underneath her name simply describe her as “friend of Sid’s” which is a bit of a stretch. “Sid’s ex-girlfriend” would certainly have been funnier. She mutes the TV; she already knows what she said, doesn’t need to hear it again. They’ve interspersed the clip with pictures of Margaret and Sid, some she’d even forgotten existed— Margaret and Biscuit and Sid with his dog Sam one summer, one a teammate had taken of them in a rare moment of PDA with Sid’s hips pressing Margaret into a wall in a hall at PPG, Margaret’s arms wound tightly around his neck, and the last one is one from Sid’s day with the Cup in 2017. She remembers that picture being taken, poking fun at Sid’s sunburn to get him to give the camera a real smile. The memory is bittersweet now. Margaret wonders which poor intern had to dig those up, or if Sid had offered them up himself. 

“I’m proud of you,” on-screen Margaret is saying. 

Margaret clicks the TV off. She stands up, stretches. Sid’s letter hasn’t moved from its place of honor on the floor behind the couch. Margaret fishes it out before heading into the kitchen. She smooths it out on the counter. The words are familiar, imprinted on Margaret’s memory. She rereads it anyway, then again. She misses Sid fiercely, all of a sudden, something in her chest aching at the thought. She stares at the letter without really seeing it, Sid’s thin, careful handwriting blurring together until the letters are indistinguishable.

 With a sigh, Margaret crumples the letter back up and throws it in the trash. 

She pours a glass of red wine and starts over on putting Sidney Crosby out of her mind forever.

[pawpunkao3]

The Wurst’s Love Languages

Barry: Barry was always surrounded by people. Now, not having one person (at LEAST) crushing in on his personal space just feels odd. He gives the best hugs. (Physical touch)

Gunnie: sharing his boundless confidence. Gunnie brings up anyone he loves. (Words of affirmation)

Sid: even before Sid realized she could want things, she found excuses to spend time with people. She justified it as “this person probably wants me around” but really, she wanted to be around them. (Quality time)

Margaret: there’s a reason she starts out her stay on the Wurst by getting her whole crew nice shit. They deserve it, and this is how Margaret knows how to show people love. (Gift giving)

Riva: they’re Always There, in your head. They know when you’re sad, and exactly what you need to hear. Some may doubt their sincerity, but Riva has no reason to lie. (Words of affirmation)

Skip: Oh boy does Skip love having a body, and he’s gonna use it! He’s gonna use it to hug, and hold hands, and high five- everything! (Physical touch)

Zortch: They’re used to having everything done for them, and they hated it. Zortch was always connected to Rubian V and its people, and they love more than anything to take care of them. Cooking for the Wurst is the happiest they’ve ever been. (Acts of service)

Norman: Norman doesn’t get people very much, but he does know they like having shit done for them. So even if the things he says never sound like he imagined, he can carry something heavy and hold the door for them, and they can’t object to that. Right? (Acts of service)

Lucienne: Lucienne used to coast on her own status and charisma. She. Can’t really do that anymore. She’s trying to learn how to get used to her new life, and that means spending a lot of time watching and learning. If only she could work up the courage to talk to Margaret. (Quality time)

[queer-quester]

Spoiler Warning for like almost all of the second episode of Starstruck Odyssey

OKAY SO I have no one I know who watches/cares about this and the first episode was hard enough but I've gotten to a certain point where I need to express my fucking bullshit internal monologue at all this nonsense so I'm sending it into the Tumblr void, starting with:

IS HIS REAL CHARACTER THE FUCKING PARASITE IM GONNA SCREAM

Rip anyone who was really attached to the Skipper lmao

I can't believe everyone was like wow, Zac is getting to unleash his inner cunt, just like with Lapin, he's breaking the mold from his usual character type- NO! xD we get that for one episode then back to lovely, slightly off but very amicable characters, Zac cannot play just a straight asshole for an entire campaign it's physically impossible the universe won't allow it

God they know, they KNOW the skipper has been body-jacked or some shit and they do not give a single fuck coz by god that funky lil parasite is so much nicer xD

The value of kindness my dudes lmao

"Can we have *insert ridiculous and/or dangerous thing here*?"

"OkAy" *shrugs*

"Roll an insight and deception check against yourself"

Ally: 'do a hotness roll?'

Brennan: *does a hotness roll, winces*

Brennan: 'shes stunning'

'im not gonna brush my teeth tonight just to feel something'

'i psychic dump ✨the feeling of being myself✨ onto you'

'i want to be able to want something without needing someone else to want it too and without thinking of a practical reason'

Cool welp I'm gonna go cry in a corner but everything is fine, Emily how dare you.

Take a shot everytime Brennan says 'want' if you want to die of alcohol poisoning

'gunnie doesn't really own anything because anything he owns is taken by the people he owes money to' LOU IS2G MAN

Do you think like the D20 team were seeing all that love for Skipper after the first ep and just 👀😅 because they knew the second episode was basically just gonna be 'yeah so actually he's a dick, fuck that guy'

(Like I ain't mad at it personally tbh, I think loveable assholes should be loveable in the context of the universe they preside, not just from an outside perspective and like I get it was only one episode but he wasn't seeming too loveable tbh with the way things were going)

Parasite!Skip just saying 'youre important' to Margaret?

IM SOBBING, I love him

You gotta love the like classic 'abstract alien perception' thingie Brendan and Zac have going like, "there is a build up of some internal secretion in your lower appendages" Brennan, my dude, my guy, what the FUCK does that mean xD

Brennan: "You can see your eyes are getting kinda bloodshot"

Zac: "Oh am I forgetting to blink?"

Brennan (who definitely meant he's getting tired): 👀😈 "give me a check to find out"

THE SECRETION IS LACTIC ACID IN HIS QUADS COZ THE DUMB BITCH HASNT SAT THE FUCK DOWN

I love this, truly a crew full of dumbasses and Margret who is I think getting dumber by association, yes, this is how it should be

YES SID! ENJOY YOUR EXPLOSIONS BABY I LOVE YOU!

Right on!!!

I could listen to Mr Mulligan describe fantasy planets all day man, yes please tell me more about the blood red gas giant with swirling diamond dust I'm utterly enamored with this good good visual imagery caressing my brain

(channels Zelda) YES 👏 SID 👏 FEEEEL 👏 IIIIIITTTT!!!! 👏

I would fucking die for Sundry Sidney my poor baby (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Margret's Reddit account:

One post of really important whistleblower documents totally exposing her company and calling for a revolution

Another post (only a day after the first one) that is just a neck down nude selfie

*Guy selling sandwiches asking if Riva has a mouth and a butthole*

The cast: oh no it's a sex thing!

*Guy coming to the conclusion that Riva can eat a sandwich*

The cast: oh, it's a… sandwich thing?

Someone teach Riva about lying please, the poor babey

Put your tongue AWAY sir (can't believe I was saying that to Lou and not Brennan xD)

(Not that Brennan kept his tongue in this this episode, I think I'm just desensitized at this point)

Gunnie on a high is a delight

THE 'MY FARTS SMELL AWESOME' CLIP FROM THE TRAILER WAS HIM COVERING FOR AN (EXPENSIVE) PERFUME BOMB THAT SID UNLEASHED!?

'we didn't take names coz we didn't ask them'

The commitment to them all making it so much worse. I've never seen a group of people collect so many disadvantages on their rolls by just being unapologetically ridiculous

The sudden fucking SWITCH between them all cry laughing at the table and then Brennan saying that one thing about the Barrys and Murph's face just drops, all signs of joy VANISHED

Okay I know we've never met this Princeps Zorch but I think Margret should date them

OH!? Lucienne is nearby? 👀

JUST THE THREE OF THEM CLOBBERING A GUY THAT HASNT EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO STAND UP

He managed to make one (1) dramatic threat then they all fuckin beat the shit out of him xD

Episode ends and their ship is still utterly fucked, beautiful

If I sounded insane this whole time i blaming it on the fact that the episodes released at midnight for me

[fandomroulette]

OK I have many feelings re: Wallop at the Swallop and I'm gonna list some of them 'cause I can. This season is so heckin' fun. Fuck, I love the kind of shocked thrill that goes around the table whenever things are actually going well for the crew of the Wurst. The fact that we were half an hour in before anyone said the ball is rolling up, it's like they didn't even need to hype themselves because they were just kicking so much butt.

I love that initiative divided things into a kind of general Good Guy turn and Bad Guy turn because it really gave space for the battle to feel careful and not rushed as gunner channel gets down to business while also having this building tension and genuine danger when it was the bad guys turn to do the walloping.

I loved Barry just yeeting himself into the rafters to get out of the way after absorbing all that damage.

I loved Sid and Margaret behind the bar. Sid getting the Kublucaine back and just wrecking house with her grenades as Margaret was crouched down (administrating the battle from her phone as usual) and just sneaking a bump when the drugs showed up next to her.

Margaret not at all being a traditional fighter and still delivering clutch battle rolls is my favourite. That 3 to get to 21!!

I love how absolutely feral Skip gets. All his weird noises and the classic Zac Oyama physical comedy. And that nat 20 intimidation? oh my goodness.

I also love the running bit of Brennan kissing players dice after killer rolls. He plays it up for the camera so much every time and I will never tire of it.

The casino is a terrible idea and I'm here for it. Gunnie my beloved. The bit with him talking about his roll of managing the experience of customers and "leading by example" at the gambling tables? My stomach hurt from laughing.

Should we be worried about debt collectors coming for the ship specifically now that Gunnie is a part owner? I know half the galaxy seems to want to murder them all anyway but I was like hmmm.

Still got very emotional. They've also chosen each other so intensely.

Also can we talk about how sly Riva was this episode? Fully no longer the guileless sweetie we met at the start of this season. Still a sweetie, just again having so fully chosen and invested in these shady but lovely weirdos that are the Wurst.

Ok ok last thing. My absolute favourite part of this episode was Brennan's Crunch Moon Jones voice. I could barely handle it. The way he kept saying friend like ~frahnnd. I was so surprised too because it was the first time in ages I had heard him do a voice that didn't sound like a variation on a familiar character or accent. No one else in the whole d20 canon sounds like Crunch Moon Jones. What a delightful doofus.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

“Ugh.” The Doctor’s head flopped face-first onto his desk. “Someone give me something, anything, to do but this paperwork. If I see any more black text on a white background, I’m going to get dusted.”

As if sent from the heavens at his request, Whislash walked into his office. “Doctor, can I borrow you? I could use some he- Everything alright?”

“It is now that you’re here. What can I do for you?” He sprung to his feet, as if he hadn’t just collapsed into a pile of annoyed tiredness.

“I just want you to help me carry some things.” Zofia smiled at his initiative - already putting on his coat before hearing her request. “Car’s at the loading dock waiting for us. You’re just dying to get out of here, aren’t you?”

Oh, she had no idea. “Jessica’s off on an assignment for Closure with her girlfriend, so I don’t have an assistant.”

“I thought you liked doing bookkeeping, Doctor?” The Kuranta flashed him a teasing smile as they left the office.

“That’s like saying Magallan likes snow,” he grumbled in response. “She’d hate being buried in an avalanche as much as I’m hating the amount of ones and zeros I’ve seen in the past four hours.”

Four hours? That number didn’t sound right. “It’s only eight o’clock now...you started work at four in the morning?”

“Yeah? I’ve got strength training in the afternoon with Sid, and I teach a night class on strategy, so if I don’t start the day early, something’s not gonna get done.”

“Oh my.” [translator’s note: “Oh my” means “Ara ara”] The ex-gladiator (by a fancier name, but a gladiator nonetheless) stopped in the hallway, grabbing the Doctor’s arm when he took another step. “On second thought, I’ll get the girls to help me with that later. None of it’s groceries, so it can sit.”

He sighed. “Well, if you don’t need me for anything, then-”

“That’s not what I said, Doctor. You’re coming with me.” Whislash’s right hand tightened around his wrist, and she led him off in another direction.

“You’re not worried about me, are you?” It certainly seemed like it. “I thought I was a burden-beast to you.”

Zofia shook her head. “If I’d known you were working that many hours, I would’ve gone easi- no, that’s a lie, but I would’ve been a bit more understanding. Honestly, it’s not healthy to keep that up for long.”

“It’s just my daily rhythm. You get used to it after a while.” From what Kal’tsit had told him, he’d almost always been like this.

“Well, you’re going to have to find another one.” The Kuranta and her captive were passing by Engineering, heading towards the barracks. “Luckily, you know someone who’s made all kinds of schedules in her day.”

The Doctor smirked. “If you want to talk training regimens, you’ll have to find Sid-”

“I will, but right now, you and I have some things we need to talk about.”

“Whislash- wait. Why are we...” He stood, dumbfounded, at the door to her room as she unlocked and opened it. “You brought me to your dorm?”

She pulled him across the threshold and closed the door behind them. “I don’t have an office, and I need something to take notes...Besides, if we’re going to relax, I want something to drink.”

“It’s not even time for lunch yet, though.” That didn’t seem to stop her from sitting him on her couch and walking to a small liquor cabinet.

“A glass of wine won’t hurt anything - you can ask Hibiscus about the health benefits, if that’s why you’re worried.” Zofia smiled at him. “I think you’re focused on something else, though, aren’t you?”

Definitely - Maria had told him stories that started with “one glass of red wine,” and they never went anywhere RI’s fraternization policies would like. “I’d like some water, but I can’t drink. Dr. Kal’tsit’s orders.”

“That’s fine. Like I said, this is for me.” She poured herself a glass of wine and left it on the cabinet while she got him his water.

“Alright, then.” The Doctor sighed. “So, you want me to work less?”

The Kuranta looked back at him, eyes focused on his hood. “No, you need to work less. What do you do between that shift and your training?”

“Eat lunch and walk to the gym.”

“...And?” Nothing. Whislash couldn’t believe it. “Doctor, do you really not have any time between lunch and eating?”

He didn’t think lying would help him here. “Sid and I eat together, walk to the gym, and talk until our food’s settled. Training starts there and goes until I’ve done what I need to for her to let me go, then I change clothes and either get ready for that class or, on weekends, go back to my room to get some extra sleep.”

“Wait, so outside of not having to teach that class, your schedule doesn’t change? That’s more than a 60-hour week including those training sessions, Doctor.” Not even Dobermann was that brutal on her trainees-

“More like 80,” he clarified. “I go in closer to midnight on the weekends.”

It took her a moment to recover from that - after bringing him his water, Zofia drank her first glass of wine like a shot before pouring her second and setting it back on her table. When she’d stopped herself from storming off to get Amiya for a proper intervention, she fully collapsed into the couch. “I know who my next project is going to be, then.”

“Project? Whislash, I’m-” The Doctor stopped when she turned to look at him.

“I know what being a workaholic is like.” The wine glass was back in her hand, resting just below her lips. “Honestly, it’s because I’m such a busybody I want to do this for you. Before we came to RI, I had Maria to fuss over, and even Margaret before...Now that they’re settling in just fine, though, I don’t have someone who needs me anymore. Hearing you talk about how ‘easy’ working yourself to death is for you doesn’t worry you at all?”

Well, if she put it like that. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“You, that’s exactly what it is. And, even if it seems fine now, if you don’t take the time to stop and enjoy yourself and the people around you, you’ll regret it later...”

“Speaking from experience?” He didn’t receive a reply as they each took long sips from their respective cups. As the Kuranta went to pour her third glass, he set his drink down and slid off his hood. “You want me to enjoy some time with you, then?”

Whislash managed to stop herself from dropping either glass or bottle, but it was a close thing with her left hand. “Are you trying to get me to make a mess, Doctor?”

“I’m serious. That’s why you brought me back to your room, isn’t it? Wanting me to make some free time, talking about ‘enjoying the people around you,’ mentioning that you feel aimless without someone to take care of - isn’t that where you were taking this?” It was a bit of stretch, considering they didn’t talk much, but if he knew anything about the ex-gladiator-

“Yes.” It was that wine made her honest. “I really am worried about you, but it’s...It’s not all selfless, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The Doctor slid his water along the coffee table as he moved into her space. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I just wished you’d said it before those two glasses of wine.”

“Like I said, I needed to relax for this.”

“I get that,” he replied, “but now I’m going to have to call Sid and tell her to take the night off.”

The Kuranta set everything down to look him in the eye. “Because…?”

“Because it’ll be lunch time before that alcohol’s fully metabolized, and I’m not taking any chances with HR.” Especially since Amiya was in charge of that stuff.

“HR- Oh my.” She nonetheless leaned forward, a smile spreading across her face with every millimeter closer she came to him. “I’d be more than happy to give you a workout tonight, Doctor.”

He smiled back before standing up. “I’ll be looking forward to it. Right now, though, I need to get back to those reports; should only take an hour or so.”

“Don’t you still have another fou- three hours left now?” Not that she wanted him to leave, of course, the math just didn’t check out.

“One hour for paperwork,” the Doctor replied, “one to get ready, and one to talk about this new schedule you think I should be on. After that...I’ll be all yours for as long as you want me.”

[amirajones]

The Pirate and the runaway Princess pt. 8

Pairing: Amira White x Captain Hook/Killian Jones

28 years in storybrooke maine was the worst that could of happened to all of us, me included. For one I was in the beginning stages of being pregnant and because of this curse nothing progressed! For the first 14 years my life in storybrooke consisted of a job working in Granny's diner. Regina had come in there frequently but I never worked the time she was in there until one day she noticed me working there and our paths crossed. Clearly she had it out for me cause she made me quit working for Granny and work for her as her assistant. In this town you didn't say no to the mayor no matter what. The first four years were a living nightmare doing all her errands and she didn't really care. Needless to say I was there when she had Henry growing up, I'd have to walk him to the school bus when she was pulled in for meetings or pick him up from school. Yes, my sister and I crossed paths but we didn't remember we were sisters after all her name was Mary Margaret Blanchard and I was Selena Marriott. Let's just say there isn't anything to really tell but the moment the curse was broken after my niece had been there awhile, My memories came back in a rush.

"Killian, Snow" Amira said softly as I dropped the papers

Regina wasn't there at least not at first so I set the papers down and I ran out going to find the crew. You probably thought I was going to find my sister first, right? Nope, I went to find the crew first knowing I needed to get my story straight on how I was going to tell my sister she was going to be an aunt. Needless to say i came across Smee first and even though I didn't have my pirate attire I had to keep my act on it.

"Smee!" Amira said

Smee looked at me almost as if in shock and went over "Selena, we wondered what happened to you and the captain." Smee said to me

"I saw him before the curse, he tried to break me out but my step mother interfere offering him a deal. Have you found him?" Amira asked

"I'm sorry Selena, when we were brought to this land he wasn't with us." Smee said

Those words went through my head several times, he wasn't with us here? All I could wonder is where was he and if he was alive. He told me he was a survivor so in my heart I felt he was alive. I didn't have to even tell Smee as he ran off and rounded up the men who surrounded me seeing I was there but our Captain was not.

"Selena, what should we do? Without the Captain we don't know." One of them said

"Your in charge Selena, it's your call." Smee said

'My call? I'm not the first mate Smee was.' Amira thought as she looked at her crew members "Wait why me? Smee your the captain's first mate." Amira asked

"Sorry Selena, but your the captain's girl now. You spent more time with him then any of us." The men said

'Spent more time with him? Oh yeah, we spent time but it wasn't always talking that's how I ended up the way I am now. Pregnant and unsure if I'll ever get to tell him.' Amira thought but she smiled at them "Everyone just stay local and for now keep updates." Amira said

I left them later to find my sister, to face what I knew would be probably disappointment. It was a little time before I found her and her husband hugging each other. Distracted as they were kissing I snuck up on them and laughed a bit. Snow was startled by what I did but I couldn't help it.

"Ami?" Snow asked

"Hi" Amira said

Snow embraced me and I hugged her back knowing I couldn't be more happy to see my only sister. We were the last living family members we had for the longest time and now she was married, her daughter was close in age with us. Talk about feeling old when you're still young and well there's Henry who's my Great Nephew.

"I was going to come look for you but I didn't know where you were." Snow said to me and I laughed a bit rubbing the back of my head.

"Yeah I know but I had to find some of my crew mates." Amira said

It was no lie I was a pirate, even now without my pirate gear I just needed to find the Jolly Roger or some portal to go home to get my outfit back. Snow could tell something was up, needless to say we always could figure out the other had something to hide and I had something to hide big time.

"What's wrong?" Snow asked

"Nothing's wrong entirely just well How do I say this?" Amira said and I thought about my next words to my sister. I chose the only words I could figure was logical "Your going to be an aunt."

I waited but Snow hugged me which was more than I expected but it was true. "I'm so happy for you, have you told him yet? Wait where is your captain?" Snow asked me

I sighed and shook my head "No I haven't told him yet, I never had the courage too. He's not here snow. I don't know if he's alive or dead cause of Regina." Amira said

I wished that was the least of my worries finding him, knowing where he was but it was only the beginning. A mist formed and everyone freaked out, true our powers were gone in this land with no magic. Yet there was a purple mist coming our way and well David pulled my sister to him and I hugged my sister knowing I didn't know what was going to happen as it went in the town. I felt my powers return, yes I'd practiced light magic for going up against my step mother.

Everybody gathered together and for the first time I got to meet my niece who I'd wanted to meet for a long time. You could imagine my surprise when she had blonde hair when both her parents did not and she was powerful I could tell that.

"Emma, right?" Amira asked

"Yeah and you're Selena." Emma said

"Well actually I'm your Aunt. Snow's my sister." Amira said

Emma was taking in all this and I couldn't blame her yet now that magic was returned. I knew there was a way to find Killian. I was going to find him, like he found me in the castle Regina locked me up in but I knew in my heart somehow we'd always find each other. I spent most of my time with my sister and some of it with my crew mates keeping the peace of what was going on.

Keeping my pregnancy secret from them was no problem, I'd come accustomed to lying to protect myself in any case necessary so they never saw anything past what I said. Still when a Wraith was in town I knew that was not going to be good.

"Hide! Stay away from the Wraith!" Amira said

The men followed my directions, one wanted to stay with me but I insisted he stick to the plan. We were lost without Killian and I was biding my time to find him. I didn't think much was going on in town after all it's only been two days of peace with Regina locked away.

The wraith was flying all over town, I didn't know what to do but just stayed in the shadow and follow it to see what was going on. Needless to say it was first led to the jail where Regina was locked away. Now I had two choices here let it take her and we'd be free or save her from what was going on. My answer was simple, I needed the answers about Killian so I helped in preventing it from getting her this time.

"What are you doing here?" Regina asked me

I used the key to unlock her cell and grabbed her by the shirt collar "Where Is My Pirate?" Amira said to her

Regina looked at me for a moment before she laughed knowing who I was talking about. "He's alive Amira. He did as asked but clearly he didn't get to you in time dear." Regina said

"So where is he?! He's not in town!" Amira sid

When I said that she wondered what that meant, still she didn't give me an answer so I had to find him on my own. We all had a plan now on how to catch the wraith and let's just say I planned to jump in with it. One way or the other I was going back to our home land and finding him, I had to do this for me and for my unborn child. So when the plan was started I didn't get the chance to act in time because the wraith grabbed hold of my niece Emma.

"Shit." Amira said

When Snow jumped in needless to say I jumped in after her but it wasn't entirely to help my sister. Partly I was being selfish for once in my life going for the thing I wanted most but if there was a way to get back what I lost I'd do anything. When we landed let's just say it wasn't an easy landing nor was it probably the best choice to jump in knowing you were only going to get the love of your life. I don't know exactly where we landed as I was unconscious with Emma and Snow but my magic changed my outfit without me knowing.

[airsignss]

Y’all want me to talk about Gene and Snafu’s daughter? Bc i wanna talk about their daughter.

In my god forsaken modern au, i always see them like legit married as husbands, rings and paperwork and all in like 10 years. Putting Gene at we’ll call it 36 and Snafu at 38ish. So they have been in each others orbit for nearing 20 years at that point.

Gene, ever the do-gooder, starts to work with kids bc his papa instincts have begun to kick in and he needs an outlet since Snaf never really talked about kids seriously only in abstract “one day, Genie.”

Catholic Charities in New Orleans has the best reputation and the most orphaned children in the care so he begins to volunteer there. He knew choosing Catholic Charities would also make his mother happy.

He spends time there for about a month and in that time falls head over heels for a little girl, about 3 years old, named Brigid. He notices her bright red hair in a similar shade to his own but it is in ringlet curls and she has the biggest, bluest eyes he has ever seen. She is the most adorable child he has ever laid eyes on.

The sister who runs the program notices how taken they are with one another and suggests Gene look into adopting her since she had no living relatives to claim her. He says he would need to convince his husband, but he had been considering that already. (Again this is in like a decade, in an alternate universe, where in my head things are a bit more progressive)

His plan was to get Snafu down to help on a Saturday with him. Gene considered it a miracle that he was able to convince him. He was glad he was coming in general, but his real goal was to see if Snafu had the same pull to Brigid as he did.

Of course he took to her right away. Gene was overjoyed to see the bond that formed over the course of the day. He almost seemed pained when they had to leave at the end of the day. That night, after dinner Snafu brought up the idea of getting a kid. Gene could only smile, because he knew which kid Snafu wanted.

From start to finish their adoption process for Brigid took 2 1/2 years. Getting approved was the longest part, but her case went through relatively quickly once it reached the judges desk. Brigid Margaret Walker became Brigid Margaret Sledge a week before her 6th birthday.

Gene’s family came to New Orleans to celebrate her joint Gotcha Day and Birthday party, as did Burgie and Florence with their kids, and Sid and Mary with their family. Snafu’s Mom and Sister came, as well as his best friend from childhood Roe and husband. Brigid had gone from no family to one larger than she could have ever imagined. She would never lack love or support again.

As she grows up, she becomes a mixture of her dads. She is introspective and thoughtful like Gene, and a snarky little shit like Snafu. They wouldn’t want her any other way though.

She loves the color yellow, and has to wear it in some form every day.

Snafu got her a kitten for her 7th birthday and a puppy for her 8th.

Its just so cute and soft and domestic and i love this so much

[thoughts-and-more-sadness]

It’s nice to have my car back. I got new glasses for the first time in 3 years. I got myself quiches from a local bakery and went to the dollar store. He wasn’t happy I went to the dollar store alone but I had a lot of fun. I’m really anxious because everyone is telling me to get a new car. Dad only meant for my car to last until 200,000 miles. Which is where it’s at. Then he thought I’d get a new one. He sends me cars he finds that I should buy for like 6 thousand dollars. I barely have 2 thousand dollars. So there’s no way I can buy a car right now. I really need a job now. I’m going to start calling places. I feel like there’s no point for me to get another job because I’m not gonna be working there in 6 months anyways. I’m just so discouraged because I never thought I’d be quitting jobs or not staying in one place. So now it’s like what’s the point of trying. But I need money because I only have so much savings to live off of. I made a mini to do list. Of things I want taken care of asap before it’s too late and I have a baby. It’s been hard because a lot of it is stuff I have to depend on him to do. He’s not up to do most of it when I ask him. I’m making him do his doctors appointments and vet appointments. His dog will finally get spayed when she’s 4 years old. A lot of it is stuff he has to make time for, which is such a challenge there’s never time. I deleted all of social media except for instagram. Because I was so upset he was deleting friends and things off my accounts. No point in having social media if it isn’t your social media. It took two weeks for Sid to check on me, I guess Margaret was worried too. My social life is so dead. The other day we went to the winco and his key fob is broken in several places and he hasn’t gotten it fixed for months but it finally wasn’t locking and unlocking for him. He lost his shit and kept telling me in the parking lot that he was gonna brake something. He went full on mental breakdown. Punched his radio. I’d be upset too the key fob itself costs 130 bucks and to connect it to your car is 170. Just to have the buttons work to unlock and lock the car. But I just sat there and cried and thought how this was bound to happen when something is that broken and you don’t fix it for so long of course it’ll stop working. I looked at Starbucks and wished I was in there having coffee and playing a game with Margaret and Eric. I’ve had two dreams about him lately and being at school and wanting to go home to his house. I read that supposedly I’m gonna have whack dreams because pregnancy. I’m also really sad because I want to go to the menzingers concerts but I have no one to go with. I want to go with Kylie but she’s been deleted from my phone. Plus it’d be weird probably. I’m also really sad I’m probably going to miss Richards memorial. It’s probably a good thing I don’t go. If I do it’ll just mean a night of getting yelled at. Before his key fob stopped working as we entered the winco parking lot. He was already mad at me. Because he told me to bring in the box turtle we have outside. He thought it’d drown in the rain. I said it was covered by plastic and cardboard so I felt it was safe and I left it and wanted to check on it later. He got mad and said I don’t think or have a brain because I should take it out so we don’t have to check on it later. I hate keeping the turtle in a bucket because it just slams into the bucket repeatedly. It feels like abuse because it literally won’t stop slamming into the bucket wall. The noise drives me so mad I pick up the bucket and shake it. Try and scare the turtle into stopping. I can’t stand that noise. I told him how I wasn’t worried about the turtle because it was literally safe and dry in his cage. I even admitted if it died I wouldn’t feel bad. He said that’s not you. But I still felt nothing. Turtles better off outside then in a literal bucket where it slams into the wall over and over.

[gamerszone2019-blog]

Why it's Time For Video Games to Address Climate Change

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/why-its-time-for-video-games-to-address-climate-change/

Why it's Time For Video Games to Address Climate Change

Climate change is often seen as a distant problem, a burden for future generations to bear. This comes as no surprise; the sheer scale of destruction that human activity has brought upon the planet since the middle of last century is overwhelming. Earth has heated dramatically. Islands and coastlines have begun to sink into the rising seas. Extreme weather events, such as heatwaves, droughts, wildfires, storms, and floods, have drastically increased in frequency, displacing and taking the lives of thousands of people each year. Ecosystems have begun to collapse. Extinction has become a daily event. And all these problems are accelerating. Right now. The climate future is already upon us.

The solution to our climate crisis will require immense social and political transformations. Rebellion and civil disobedience – what we demand as non-negotiable to governments – will also be key in shaping the future of our planet. We are already seeing promising early signs of this in vital protest movements like Extinction Rebellion and YouthStrike4Climate. But there is another piece to the puzzle.

The 15 Hardest Contemporary Games

I am not about to suggest that a single piece of art will save us, but rather that cultural shifts in how we talk about our climate emergency are vital to confronting our planetary present and future. Art and society inform one another. You can glean a great deal about a period of history in a society from its art alone, particularly via culturally dominant storytelling forms such as the novel or film, and historically also the popular theatre. But art can also, in special cases, direct society towards change. We might look specifically here to: Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852), which was seminal in emboldening anti-slavery sentiments, prior to the civil war; or the Jonathan Demme movie, Philadelphia (1993), which, though not groundbreaking by today’s standards, is widely credited as playing a crucial part in de-stigmatsing HIV in mainstream America; or Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), the renewed relevance of which, alongside its timely adaptation to television, is disturbingly clear today.

With their oft-cited two billion users and emergence as a new storytelling medium, a claim to such cultural relevance should theoretically extend now to video games (https://www.statista.com/statistics/293304/number-video-gamers/). And yet, video games – particularly the big ones, the kind we drool over during E3 announcements – have not engaged with human-made climate change on a serious level, at least not to the same degree as other storytelling media, such as the blooming literary genre of ‘cli-fi’ (climate fiction), which has spawned hundreds of novels about climate change in recent decades.

I am left to wonder: when are video games going to begin to say something about the defining crisis of our time?

Squint, and you might just make out the initial traces of climate change discussion in simulation and strategy games of the early 90s. SimEarth (1990) and Civilisation (1991) incorporated pollution and global warming into their game design, with the former going so far as to include melting ice caps and rising sea levels, rising temperatures, extreme weather events and ecosystem collapse. But the intervening decades did not witness an increase in the development of games that reflected intensifying public concern around climate change. It would seem, then, that as climate politics grew ever more complex and heated in the real world, video games, willingly or not, drifted into more tepid waters.

It’s not like nobody is trying. Strange Loop Games’ Eco, an ambitious society simulator that encourages players to work together toward collective sustainability, exemplifies such endeavor. Certainly, more climate-focused games are coming out nowadays, particularly in the educational and fast-paced indie spaces. Educational games, often targeted at younger audiences, are great in principle. They have a place. However, as researchers Benjamin Abraham and Darshana Jayemanne observe, games like NASA’s Climate Kids ‘lack both the artistry and mainstream engagement sufficient to make contributions to the public understanding of the issues wrapped up in our current climate challenge in the way that cli-fi does.’

Indie games, on the other hand, have undoubtedly offered artful visions of climate-changed environments in recent years. But these backdrops rarely connect explicitly to human-made climate change. A clear example of this tendency is Earth Atlantis, a 2D side-scrolling shooter, the opening titles of which read:

“The ‘Great Climate Shift’ struck at the end of the 21st century. Ninety-six percent of the earth’s surface is underwater.

Human civilization has fallen. Machines have adopted the shape and form of marine animals. The ocean is full of creature-machine hybrid monsters.

You are a ‘Hunter’ and the new journey begins!!”

While games like these might encourage us to explore and play in changed environments, it would be a stretch to describe them as having any kind of commentary on climate change processes or the plight of our planet.

As a doctoral researcher, focussing primarily on how climate change is communicated within fiction, I am often asked: ‘What are some good climate change video games to play?’ It’s a thorny one; I am still asking myself that exact same question.

To be blunt, considering how many video games feature post-apocalyptic settings, there aren’t many. As we race uncontrollably towards countless irreversible ends, when one million species teeter on the edge of extinction, when Earth’s great marvels – the polar ice, the Great Barrier Reef, the Amazon – are vanishing, when the planet is increasingly being deprived of all it needs to support life, video games are still throwing us into zombie apocalypses, pestilent plagues or nuclear holocausts.

There is so much creative potential here to envision a better world and how we might problem-solve our way there, or a powerful warning of what is to come if we do not act now. Video games’ capacity for setting rich and detailed stories in extensive open-worlds (potentially modeled in deeper, geological timescales) are well suited to the demands of carrying a topic as complex as climate change.

Video games have long explored climate aesthetics, but not climate politics. Floods, fires and all manner of catastrophes and wasteland visions abound, but they are rarely linked to our current emergency. I don’t think this is due to a failure of imagination, or because developers don’t care. It is telling, however, that Dennis Shirk, the lead producer on Sid Meier’s Civilization VI, whose expansion pack Gathering Storm affords players the chance to work with climate change modeling and scenarios, has stated that: ‘No, I don’t think that’s about making a political statement … We just like to have our gameplay reflect current science.’ While it’s possible that big publishers might currently view a climate change game as too niche and too politically risky an investment, we can only hope that, sooner rather than later, we will begin to see climate change feature more seriously in major video games. Who knows? Perhaps Cyberpunk 2077 will do precisely this.

I have been careful not to state categorically that there are no climate change games in the triple-A echelon, only to highlight that they are disappointingly scarce. There is one major exception: Horizon

Zero Dawn.

On the surface, it is easy to dismiss HZD (because … well … it has really cool robot dinosaurs) but it would be wrong to do so. Without going into spoilerific detail, Guerilla Games’ exquisite RPG is ultimately unequivocal that we – the ‘Old Ones’ in our time of rampant techno-capitalism – are complicit in the climate apocalypse. Perhaps this is HZD’s greatest trick: its relatable backstory of climate breakdown is revealed slowly and in pieces, not all at once. We are emotionally invested in young protagonist Aloy well before we can fully comprehend her bleak world and what led to it. But the game also does so much more. It has a utopian pulse and deep moral core, a belief that radical transformations are still possible and that there is something worth fighting for today.

HZD marks a critical step towards bringing climate change to the fore of the global gaming community and carving a space out for more overtly climate-focused games to thrive. To date, HZD has sold over ten million copies worldwide and is one of the most successful new intellectual properties on PlayStation 4. It comes as no surprise that a sequel is in development. There is clearly a huge demand for this type of blockbuster.

Maybe it’s just that I see my three-year-old daughter in Aloy, but something about HZD moved me deeply. It is a damn good story, filled with nuance and poignant detail, whose shimmering world invokes sublime feeling. It reminds us of what we should truly value. It’s somewhat abstract, but by whatever narrative alchemy, HZD makes me want to make the world a better place, to leave it better than I came into it. It is a rare and precious artifact, and perhaps, one way or another, a sign of things to come. We need more games like it.

JR Burgmann is an Australian writer and editor. He is completing his PhD at Monash University, where he teaches and is a member of the Climate Change Communication Research Hub. He is writing a novel. You can follow him on Twitter @JBurgmannMilner

Source : IGN

[linniehopman79-blog]

Adult ADD & Anxiety.

Meena Ali's prolonged loved ones-- The Strongs-- are actually loaded with married couples which reside in affection, yet she can not appear to move past the break-up from her parents that was brought on by an affair. Sarah walked previous grabbing the trash can filled with Dave as well as Margaret's damp and stained baby diapers. Without a well-maintained and sober lifestyle, individual objectives are a waste of time. Given that I could never ever acquire back the time I lost, I experience my lifestyle is actually passing through. He fell http://2beauty-healthy2.info/ils-ont-tous-onycosolve-mentionne/ his shorts and it was substantial 9" and I maintained pushing my other half's pussy and she began drawing Gus she sid little one lube my gap so I may take Gus boner and with that I can be found in 5 moments and also I pulled out as she told Gus I desire your significant cock in me so he mounted her and also I could not feel she had that whole cock in her little bit of pussy. Grownups frequently experience evaluated regarding their parenting capabilities, as well as any sort of means you may help them to feel great as moms and dads is a good idea. Her legs were actually still spread wide available as she bent back as well as I stood and also pitched onward at the midsection as I started to push my upright penis into her pussy. During the course of this adventure, Skiles has actually been moved by the hard work as well as dedication from every nurse practitioner she is actually fulfilled-- from the emergency room registered nurses to the radiology nurses to the chemotherapy medical clinic nurses to the whole nursing staff at Youngster's. I am actually not worried about her, she'll be fine and possesses a kid to care for thus she won't possess time to stress over our team or even exactly how we believe and I hesitate that is actually specifically how our team need to be actually. Move on with the tray of our lives and also aim to put everything behind our company. I recognize a single thing, I would certainly walk away once more if dealt with emotional force over grandchildren. You mentioned the initial one already: that this involves little ones and that does not. Smith felt that this form of advertising limits kids to the suggestions concerning just how they participate in and also exactly what they enjoy with as well as may eventually limit the types of parts they try when they mature. She takes place to become the a single who has expanded kids, has actually constantly been quite clingy, and also has time to run down to visit him fairly commonly. I was feeding you as well as handled you, today I'm the one in nappies, acquiring whipped through kids! My guidance, get out as fast as you can easily as well as steer clear off harmful adult youngsters. Perhaps your grown-up little one doesn't feel opportunity permits day-to-day phone conversations, however daily text messages could be actually a means to maintain your link as well as to really feel much more consisted of in his/her life. While she still stroked my balls as well as butt she securely gripped my penis with her hand and also drew it out tight extending it as for that will go. This felt like she had actually been actually stretching my cock for a long period of time when she finally freed as well as started to movement that gently. Skiles described several of the significant and tiny factors these nurses perform each day, as they handle looking after several clients, job quietly via the night as well as locate techniques to carry pleasure as well as convenience to sick children consequently a lot more. In a 22-slide PowerPoint she created for a discussion on water contamination at the public library, she shows 2 pictures of them with each other in 2009, with the inscriptions: used to grin continuously," and also experiencing secure." They married in 2013.

[kasprsg]

REVOLUTIONS PER MINUTE

Published in Studija Magazine 87 (2012 December) following exhibition H at KKC, Riga. 2012

Two threes are rotating around an axis. The longer they are spinning, the less they look like figures, twisting and dissolving as they move. Two threes spin around the axis thirty three times per minute, and along with them there wobbles and ripples one more third and three small letters – RPM (Revolutions per minute). For a Latvian mind like the one I have, the letters standing for revolutions per minute make me first of all think of fundamental changes in power per minute. How many revolutions are there really per minute? To be more exact, how many fundamental changes are supported by a thought or action per minute? Maybe somewhere someone is drawing three lines on squared paper, lines that are later to become an international event, while elsewhere one more breakfast fortifies a personal commitment to do away with cheese with holes in it, once and forever.

Long-playing vinyl records are still played at 33.33 RPM, but their manufacturers will certainly remember the time when a cassette player was part of the stockpile of sound gear in people’s bedrooms, lounge rooms and kitchens. People were able to record music from the radio, copy and share recordings with friends, acquaintances and strangers. With the help of a pencil, you could wind up the time captured in the tape.

In 1980, Annabella Lwin, dressed up as a pop-music pirate, repeated in a strident voice the words written by the godfather of punk music, Malcolm McLaren: “C30, C60, C90, go!” The song in Burundi beat eulogized the most popular cassette formats of the day and at the same time, and to a certain extent, marked a flagging of the initial rapture in the punk revolution, but let us return to that later. C90 meant that a cassette could hold approximately two longplaying records (2x45 minutes), and all of a sudden time was slightly easier to take hold of. Thirty years later it is so difficult to imagine any limits to data carriers that even the Guinness Book of Records no longer thinks it worth maintaining the category of “The World’s Longest Album”. And Nam June Paik, possibly, would be forced to admit that books have ceased to be “the most advanced technology”.

The punk coup in the UK was launched by the word “shit!”, scornfully spat out live on TV. Upon Malcolm McLaren’s solicitous advice, the boutique of his girlfriend, Vivienne Westwood, acquired a new name – ‘SEX’, and a timeless accessory: the band Sex Pistols. The punk revolution had already started, but the expletives the Sex Pistols members uttered on Bill Grundy’s afternoon TV show in 1976 echoed the next day from the front pages of British papers (“The Filth and the Fury!”), and straight away also in the minds of anxious parents, lunch-time conversations and scratchiti on public transport seats.

The word “punk” was, and still is, protected and cared for with pride by its keepers. It was in angry slogans that they found their identity, to be enhanced by squeaky guitars and the rebellion manifested in their clothing. Multicoloured mohawks cut through the crowds like festive banners in the streets of London, Liverpool and Manchester, soon to spread from Paris to Moscow and further on.

When, in the late 1970s, Derek Jarman’s film Jubilee appeared on the screen, Vivienne Westwood offered her customers an open letter of denunciation to the director: “I had been to see it once and thought it the most boring and therefore disgusting film I had ever seen” said the wobbly handwriting of the letter printed on a T-shirt.

It seemed to Westwood that in this work, promoted as the first punk film, the street subculture had been used as stage design, giving the wrong impression about punks. A culture invoking anarchy and freedom was suddenly threatened by a homosexual film director from “artistic circles”, offering his version about a certain time in a certain place. Shortly before his death, Jarman wrote that the film had later turned out to be prophetic. Many of the original anarchists were soon basking on TV in Top of the Pops, while Adam Ant, one of the lead actors in Jubilee, entertained soldiers at a ball celebrating the victory of the British (and Margaret Thatcher) in the Falklands War.

In 1853, Édouard Manet’s painting Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe (‘The Luncheon on the Grass’) sparked the displeasure of the Parisian public. The picture features two respectably clad gentlemen who have sat down in rather roughly daubed woods, together with a nude lady gazing serenely at the viewer. The men, lost in conversation, scarcely notice her, just like they ignore the woman clad in a nightdress who is bathing in a nearby river or lake. Manet’s uneven strokes were re-echoed ten years later in the newspaper Le Charivari, with Louis Leroy sarcastically satirising a bunch of – in his opinion – inept Parisian painters. And thus the mocked-at impressionists were drawn into the modernist whirlpool.

More than a hundred years later, The Luncheon on the Grass shocked society once again. This time Annabella Lwin, at the time a 15-year-old girl, joined in the meal, with her mates from the band Bow Wow Wow posing in the roles of the city dandies. The not-too-precise photographic interpretation of Manet’s painting was to be used for the cover of their album See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang, Yeah. City All Over! Go Ape Crazy. The young singer’s mother, meanwhile, sued Malcolm McLaren for the exploitation of a minor.

Bow Wow Wow was Malcolm McLaren’s next “project” after the punk revolution, a weird attempt to destroy the music industry from the inside, using to this end the underage Annabella, lewd lyrics and a whole load of erotic photographs. Managing the Sex Pistols had finished in massive disagreement, the breakup of the group and – finally – the death of the notorious bassist Sid Vicious. But McLaren’s plan to stir up a nationwide paedophilia scandal by publishing, with financial assistance from the music giant EMI, a kids porn magazine called Chicken, again featuring Annabella Lwin, failed. Punk rock had become too slow.

Lydia Lunch, “the official face” of the New York No Wave movement, was to sneer some time later: “I thought punk was lousy Chuck Berry music amped up to play triple fast. (..) I thought it was really too much orientated towards fashion.” Lunch’s howls, clusters of booming noises and screaming wails of saxophone that tore the air in New York artists’ dives had finally decimated rock music, leaving behind a mutilated carcass.

Although the No Wave overthrow took place mostly on the cover of the No New York vinyl record while its participants maintained obstinate silence, foregoing slogans and grandiose future plans, it rumbled on like a thunderstorm in summer, making many sit up. While Jean-Michel Basquiat was rubbing shoulders with crowds at the concerts of Lydia Lunch and her group, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, in the west, east, south, north and centre of America the hollow rumble reverberated in furious incitements and piercing vibrations of guitar strings. Young and angry, keepers of the punk legacy offered a new version of mutiny and anarchy – hardcore punk, alluding to the term used by the porn industry to denote heavy porn. The hardcore version of punk rock was uncontrollable, like a vein throbbing on one’s neck, with music crashing through clapped-out loudspeakers as fast as the drummer’s extremities would allow.

In the mid-1980s, mutant monsters, named after bebop and rocksteady genres of music, scared the kids from TV screens. Loaded with chains, wearing military style clothes and brightly coloured mohawks, mutant punks fought ninja turtles in the New York City underground. For the most part unsuccessfully. The ninjas, in turn, were being cheered on by one of the 80s mainstream rappers, Vanilla Ice, with a spirited Go ninja, go ninja, go!. The clashes of subcultures had entered into popular culture, thus obtaining many of the stereotypes we know today. In the city slums, aggressive punks wallowed in garbage, the hip-hop culture left behind it defaced walls, while antisocial Goths pined away in basements, messing around with the occult. “A brain, a beauty, a jock, a rebel and a recluse. Before the day was over, they broke the rules (...)”

While Soviet children were being scared by a hippie wolf with a cigarette in its mouth, American television screens were lit up by Ronald Reagan’s smile, but the punk rock in stale cellars and beer-soaked bars had become much faster and more violent. People’s bodies rolled over the edge of the stage and band members sometimes mingled with the crowd in order to have a punch up. Hardcore music embodied young people’s protest against the existing division of roles and became the soundtrack for the mood of a certain strata of society. Amidst the flailing feet, hands and hair, Jello Biafra yelled, with a TV evangelist’s tremor in his voice: I’m your hope dope pusher!”

I remember, round about the time when conductors had just appeared on public transport in Riga, an elderly bus conductor expressed her horror about my friends’ pierced ears, lips, eyebrows and noses. To which somebody replied, with a snigger, that their god was a magnet – the more metal in your body, the closer you are to the almighty.

The number of bands and small independent music publishers grew in proportion to the number of broken jaws. Information travelled from town to town via records, cassettes and home-edited issues, slowly building a definite community where information circulates like well-lubricated conversation. During a longer communication, the words accumulated meaning, to an outside observer they seemed like sentences dropped in a hurry. A commonplace word or simply the geometry of eyebrows allowed a person conversant with the language to continue with a communication in which pieces of clothing, graphic signs and tattoo lines have their place. As in similar subcultures, the language of communication in hardcore communities remained, for as long as possible, as opaque as any ‘insider joke’ that is funny only for those in the know.

Like before, the punks of the 1970s inevitably felt weary – from the shards of glass under their feet, from the incessant brawls, the conflicts with the law, an abstract enemy and the monotonous beat of the music. A community that still nurtured a vision of independence from the state system tried to absorb bloody fists and the owners thereof, fierce individuals for whom a comrade’s shoulder served as a catalyst for violence. Hardcore subculture slowly went through change, with many of its original adherents growing up and getting tired of destruction and roaming around (Seek & Destroy). As they fought unsuccessfully to avert the imminent capitulation through indelible individual promises of their flesh, time inevitably pointed towards new uprisings.

Sitting alone with the rumble of Riga trains, nothing can be stated with any certainty, however, doubt and revelations began to creep into the recordings emerging from the punk community in the mid-1980s. Collectors of music stories will later credit this time with being the starting point for a number of genres, but they too will hardly be able to say that for certain. New events unfolded at every moment. Possibly at some point the punk community had very little left in common with those drunkards who a decade earlier had styled their hair with beer and burnt the flag of their country. The ecstasy of negation is followed by a stage when slogans should be put into practice, and perhaps doing things had left a bitter aftertaste. And all at once the punks were so sad as to tell you everything.

The name emo, from the very first day detested by the ones who were called this, slipped out of somebody’s mouth as inadvertently as that which was once uttered by Louis Leroy. In twenty years’ time, emo was already a global movement with its own language and rules. As a quiet reply to the increasing dominance of hooligans at concerts and the predictable musical algorithms, emo (from the word emotional) punk rock began to drown in longing and visions. Somewhere, the still existent authority sneered menacingly, and emo seemed to say: “It is difficult for me to fight all that on my own.”

After 1991, when the Western world was shaken by Nevermind, a record by Nirvana, the movers and shakers of the music industry seemed to suddenly realise that hysterical yelling and a hatred of yourself and those around you can be sold. The next year saw the screening of the film Wayne’s World, which features two unlucky metalheads unexpectedly ensnared by a greedy media corporation. Although this flirtation turns out to be a failure, and the characters learn the meaning of “selling yourself”, the movie has a happy end: the scruffy rebels come under the care of a “good” corporation and live happily ever after. Wayne, the one whose world is depicted in the film, finally gets his Filipino dream girl, whose looks and musical career in the film strangely resemble the case of Annabella Lwin.

You would have thought that with the weapon lent to Cobain by Dylan Carlson everything should have come to an end, but still that was not the case. By the time those who fought against music piracy had become alarmed by developments in computer technology which allowed time to be grasped even more firmly than on cassette, alternative rock had blown up. Grunge had ceased to be something that young people played somewhere in Seattle – even in the little houses of godforsaken Limbaži, decrepit guitars were being tuned to repeat the magical chords of Come as you are.

The cries of sad losers were burnt into thousands of CDs. It turned out that everybody was having a hard time – both the hooligans and their pretty girlfriends as well as the geeks and the loners. Punk rock had become the soundtrack for a high school get together, where all of the above have gathered to smoke marihuana on the school football grounds, trying to forget about the decade into which they had landed against their will.

In 1895, Swedish writer and painter August Strindberg refused Gauguin’s request that he write a preface to the exhibition catalogue, saying in his letter, among other things: “I cannot understand your art and I cannot like it. I have no grasp of your art, which is now exclusively Tahitian. But I know that this confession will neither astonish nor wound you, for you always seem to me fortified especially by the hatred of others (..) For moment you were approved and ad-mired and had supporters, they would classify you, put in your place and give your art a name which, five years later, the younger generation would be using as a tag for designating a superannuated art, and art they would do everything to render still more out of date.”