#anyway this is me tossing my hat in the prediction ring

[buttercupbuck]

lmao but the way that if it goes from buck being jealous of eddie and tommy to buck and tommy maybe starting something, buck will probably go from thinking he’s upset about eddie and tommy hanging out because he knows he’s worried about his place in eddie’s life (correct) to concluding that it was just because he’s super into tommy (also probably correct) but then just completely glossing over the fact that even if he wasn’t attracted to tommy he would absolutely still have been losing his goddamn mind over the possibility of being replaced in eddie’s life and not you know. giving that any further thought

[puttingfingerstokeys]

how to date the god of thunder

this title is officially the worst, like, worse by far than reception but I’m SOOOO tired of just holding this shit back because of shitty titles or weird little misgivings about aligning the timelines. Dedicated to @apexhearted / @shardhearted who reminded me that none of it matters ‘cause it’s all riding on my imagination anyway. 

pre-faraday cage, shaolin rowdy boys implied, happens after a friend but by how much, idk

prevented timeline

“It is uncanny, but there really is nothing to it,” Liu Kang observed, arms crossed, in the shade of a wall at the Wu-Shi academy. His companion, notably absent the wide, bladed hat, shook his head.

 “I am TELLING you, there has to be something going on—there HAS to be! How many mortals do you think can just… walk up and do… THAT!” Kung Lao gestured at the well timed movement of an arm, tossing itself carelessly about the shoulders (the attempt was there, anyway) of the thunder god. The owner of the arm was, almost predictably, Johnny Cage. Johnny was gesturing as if to display the far horizon to the deity, who was nodding and shaking his head in turns, potentially conversing, but possibly just grunting at the interminable stream of words that came from the Hollywood superstar. 

 The man had been in special forces a long time, initially dividing himself, then committing wholly to SF and, now that the war was ostensibly over (and what a conclusion!), had returned in a part-time capacity. He had been considering retirement, but there was still so much to do. With the Triarchy establishing itself, the Tarkatans still fighting the Shokan, and the remainder of the Kytinn in the Shokan ancestral home, Outworld had its hands full. The soldiers and monks and assassin clans of Earthrealm were more than happy to help, of course, but it did demand extra training. That was why SF was here. 

 “I am sure, Kung Lao, that if I wished to lay a hand upon Lord Raiden in friendship, he would permit it,” responded the Chosen One mildly. “Now come, just because SF is here for training does not mean we can neglect OURS. We are their example.”

 “Always training with you,” Lao grumbled. Liu Kang shook his head as his friend summoned his sacred accessory and they headed off toward the sparring rings. “Anyway, have you ever tried?”

 Liu Kang reflected that he had not, but once more buried the thought in favor of his duty. He was the Chosen One of Earthrealm and, though his duty had been rudely thrust aside by Shao Kahn’s advances, Raiden’s refusal to participate in whatever farcical nonsense the Outworld dictator had attempted was giving Liu and Lao another chance at earning their place among the pantheon of Earthrealm heroes. Lao’s neck still bore the evidence of the blow dealt him by a deceitful Shao Kahn, who had attacked him after being defeated in fair kombat. 

 The part which burned Kung Lao most was that the blow was not even meant for him, not really. Evidently, Shao Kahn had assumed that by murdering his best friend, the Chosen One would have been thrown into an uncontrollable rage. In fact, he very nearly had. Kung Lao reflected that he should not, perhaps, be so suspicious of Lord Raiden; the deity HAD saved his life, expending great effort to do so. Going from doubting Thomas to skeptical debtor was an uncomfortable change for the arrogant man.

 Be that as it may, Kung Lao still thought it was odd that Raiden had decided to make one of his infrequent appearances on the temple grounds the very day Special Forces arrived, however. He had seen them in action plenty of times, was well aware of their capabilities, and had no real, visible reason to be here. ‘It is not for us to know’ was not yet an appropriate explanation for things the thunder deity did or did not do. 

 Between Special Forces and the White Lotus, the Shirai-Ryu (being carefully tended by Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi, a restored wraith), and the Lin Kuei (with Kuai Liang, brother of Bi-Han, holding the titles of Grandmaster AND Sub-Zero), they were well positioned to hold the line against any other realms who sought to invade. Outworld was off the chessboard, for the time being, but the fact that there were other options worried Kung Lao and took his mind off the Johnny Cage conundrum for a while.

 The war had lasted twenty-some-odd years, with plenty of bumps and bruises along the way. After the initial tournament and betrayal, Johnny and Sonya had attempted to make a life for themselves, conceiving Cassie. Shao Kahn’s incursions had started in earnest within a few years of Raiden’s refusal to play the Outworld dictator’s games, however. Despite pleas to the Elder Gods, there were evidently no rules being broken here and so, unwilling to sacrifice those he had come to love best, Raiden had asked of them all their combined strength, to fight the battle he had sought to prevent by initiating the first Mortal Kombat tournament.

 Sonya rejoined the fight, but Johnny, with their little girl to think about—Cassie was now a formidable foe and a lieutenant commander in SF, a chip off the old Sonya-shaped block—had fled kombat entirely, focusing on his acting career, raising his girl, and doing his best to get along largely without his ex-wife. Loneliness had entered the game and Johnny was weak, but he held on by the skin of his teeth for Cassie. Temptation arose many times and he was certain to have given in had it not been for the presence of many friends. He would have been the first to admit it, if asked. 

 What had prompted him to rejoin the battle was unclear, but once Cassie was old enough to understand why he might do something like that, he had done it. She spent plenty of time at Uncle Jax’s farm with her sister from another mister, Jacqui. In the end, however, she, too, had become a formidable kombatant and worked within Cassie’s unit. The two were a force with which to be reckoned. Johnny couldn’t have been more proud of his little girl and he had pride to spare for Jacqui, whose father was resentful of her choices, but held his tongue as civilly as he could, recognizing her talent and the necessity.

 And now Johnny was here, a SF special agent of some kind—the details were “Cagey” in his words—and chatting with a few of the Wu Shi leaders, shoulder-to-shoulder (relatively speaking) with the god of thunder. His proximity and evident lack of deference unnerved the old men, but did not seem to have upset Raiden in the least. He continued his conference with the abbot and his assistants as if nothing was amiss, having an actor-turned-soldier part of the conversation. If he respected Johnny, they felt they should also do this, but it was difficult.

 “Johnny Cage,” Raiden said, turning aside presently. “Perhaps you would like a tour of the temple grounds; they are breathtaking this time of the year.”

 “You honor us with your compliments, Lord Raiden,” said the abbot, bowing low. His closest acolytes mimicked the action, in awe, as always, of the rumbling declarations of their patron deity. Clad all in blue and white, he was the picture of statuesque grace, power, and—if a certain sorcerer had been asked, though he had not been, nor was he present, thank the Elder Gods—exquisite beauty. His face was fine-boned, despite the broadness of his shoulders and even Johnny could not help noticing the way his waistline tapered to create an intensely pleasing hourglass shape. 

 “Yeah,” Johnny said, “sounds good—where’re the Shaolin Rowdy Boys? Bet they’d dig the chance to show off.”

 Johnny jogged away, leaving the abbot and his followers stunned once more, groping for words. Finally, the abbot himself spoke. “Forgive my presumption, Lord Raiden, but—”

 “You wonder why I tolerate him, Master Li Bing,” Raiden filled in, interrupting but not unkindly, “why he is allowed to irreverently refer to me by whatever name comes to his mind.”

 In the course of their conversation (and on approach), Johnny Cage had referred to the god of thunder as “Ol’ Sparky”, “Electric Slide”, and “Raidude”, with many more, the abbot was sure, bouncing around in his otherwise empty brain. The current head of the Wu Shi was quite elderly, and had seen much, but he had never, in all his life, witnessed this kind of blasphemy—and directed toward the god himself. What was even more curious was that Lord Raiden seemed to respond to it with placid resignation, bordering on fondness, as if he could not have stopped the man if he had wanted to do so.

 “Forgive me, Lord Raiden,” repeated Li Bing, bowing low. “My humble mind cannot comprehend—”

 “It is the same reason you have allowed Kung Lao, in the past, to sleep in a tree behind the temple while your class was in session and you gave him lines, rather than the cane,” said Raiden with the ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Simply put, I am fond of Johnny Cage. He has a potential which is almost limitless and to judge him based on the façade he affects would be foolish. I believe that is one of the Wu Shi’s teachings, is it not, Master Li Bing?”

 “It is, wise one,” admitted the abbot, face flushed with embarrassment. “I will endeavor to remember that the next time he refers to you as… Thunder Cat.”

 “See that you do,” Raiden rumbled, not without humor. “For the time being, however, I must take my leave. Thank you for speaking with me.”

 “You honor us,” the abbot reassured the deity, bowing low. Once more, the acolytes mimicked the gesture and then, in a flash of lightning, Raiden was gone. They all breathed a sigh of relief and went about their business, minds full of the strange preferences of gods.

 “Oh—yup, there ‘e goes,” grunted Johnny, noting the unseasonable thunder clap with a grin as he strutted about the temple complex, searching for familiar red pants and a headband. Lao’s hat was easy to identify as well, but it was likely to be in the air and looking for it might not guide him to the man… initially, anyway.

 He wandered a little farther until he heard the sounds of rhythmic practice. Here were assembled the neophytes of the order. Within their ranks, Johnny was surprised to see Liu Kang, though he reflected he should not have been. Ever the humble monk, Liu would take every opportunity to drill the basics of his order into his mind, that he should never forget them.

 “I do not understand it either,” said a voice emerging from a nearby doorway. By the sound of it, the mouth was full and, as Johnny turned, he saw that it was Kung Lao, pushing the rest of a piece of toasted bread into his mouth and swiping crumbs off his cheeks and chin. “But it is his way, and he will not be convinced otherwise.”

 “He’s like... the perfect monk,” Johnny groaned, gesturing. Lao pulled a face.

 “Do not remind me.”

 Johnny grinned and laughed through his nose as Lao retrieved his hat from where it was lodged in a nearby stump. Johnny kicked himself for not noticing that before, but excused himself on the grounds that he had been busy staring at Liu Kang’s muscular back. 

 The actor was far beyond making any secret of what he thought of his hot friends. Of course, he would never have made any kind of advances; he was just about sure there was some kind of vow of chastity thing happening here. But looking was free. Anyway, his mind was elsewhere.

 “Lao, I got one for ya,” he said suddenly, turning to his friend. 

 “Yes?” Kung Lao’s eyes narrowed, the crows feet around their outer edges just now visible.

 “How do I tell someone I kinda wanna blow their back out, but that I also wanna say they’re doing their best without sounding—”

 “Like Johnny Cage?”

 “Ouch.”

 Lao’s lips, still fairly full in his middle age, were pursed in thought, wondering just where Johnny was even going with this. It was incongruous, of course, to be asking something like this in the temple of light, or really any holy place. Then again, Kung Lao was dubious with regards to the sanctity of a place where he could hide in a broom closet with his best friend and… experiment. 

 “Where are you going with this?” Lao crossed his arms and looked Johnny up and down, clearly assessing him for the presence of bullshit. The guy seemed sincere, but of course, as usual, his phrasing needed some work. 

 “Not sure yet,” Johnny responded, his attention waning as if often did. It had shifted to Liu Kang, who was approaching them, adjusting the braid of his long, black hair. It was shot through with silver in places, but of course, he being Liu Kang, it looked distinguished. Johnny definitely understood Kung Lao’s frustration. 

 “I am guessing you would like the… ten cent tour?” Liu’s voice was laced with amusement as he stopped a little ways off and gestured that he was free to play tour guide. 

 “If you’re down, Liu,” said Johnny, “else I was just gunna rope Lao into it, so…” He shrugged, as if indicating one chesty monk was as good as another. In truth, he wanted them both along, and not for the usual Johnny Cage reasons. He genuinely valued their insight, much as he also enjoyed flirting at them. 

 Liu Kang’s smile was sun on a cloudy day and Johnny would forever be enamored with it. The chosen one turned and gestured that Johnny should follow. Lao was content to tag along as well, having nothing better to do at the moment, or perhaps just not wanting to do anything else. Besides, what Johnny had asked him had caught his attention and he needed to see its conclusion. 

 Each building was more beautiful, serene, and older than the last until finally, they reached the chambers of the Jinsei, the sacred dragon grotto. Per procedure, Johnny had been blindfolded as Liu and Lao deactivated and led him past the traps, all the while enduring his BDSM-based humor for that particular situation, and wondering if he would ever run out. 

 He did not, and only ceased when they were before the intricately carved stone and blue-white “water” of Earthrealm’s life force. Johnny’s eyes were wide and he actually removed his sunglasses for this particular view. He had heard stories, of course, but given their current situation, the chance had not exactly presented itself to simply “pop in” to the Wu Shi academy and the temple of light. 

 “It is a lot to take in,” Liu confirmed, surreptitiously wiping moisture from his lower eyelid while Lao pretended he was not doing the same, swallowing hard and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

 “So that’s… earth blood, pretty much, right?” Johnny was not fully comprehending the various intricacies of divinity and all that entailed at the moment, nor would he ever, and neither monk saw fit to correct him or embellish.

 “Essentially,” said Liu, nodding. “And it is harmful to mortals, so take care.”

 “Why’s everything pretty gotta hurt so much?” Johnny’s comment, though spoken sotto voce and in an offhand sort of way, caught the attention of both monks and they turned toward him. 

 “What do you mean, Johnny?” Lao was beginning to make a few connections and assume this statement, as well, was linked somehow to his earlier inquiry regarding how to express one’s amorous affection without being abrasive. With that and a few other suspicions which had been taking up residence in his brain since SF touched down, Kung Lao had started to paint a very strange picture indeed. 

 “Oh y’know… how stuff that’s worth it is always hard, it always hurts.” The response was generic, not untrue, but did not reach the heart of the matter. He could not meet Lao’s gaze, or Liu’s, and so he focused on the ever-flowing stream of Jinsei from the mouth of a coiled, stone dragon. 

 He had never been here, but felt, in this place, of all places, he was supposed to be, that his existence was not in futility, that it had worth and that it mattered to someone, perhaps many someones. He knew his friends, those to which he had earlier referred as “Shaolin Rowdy Boys”, cared for him. He knew his late ex-wife had cared, in her way. He understood well that Cassie cared, that it was why she spoke so sharply and in such earnestness as she did with him. There was trust and love there.

 But what am I to him? Johnny wondered, his mind painting a picture of the broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted deity in question. He did not know what Raiden looked like under his hat, but Johnny’s imagination filled that in, as well, with the long, white, silken hair he had once seen on Raiden’s brother, Fujin. The combination was strange, but not unpleasant, and heady with the intoxication merely of allowing one’s mind to wander. Johnny wondered if it was his proximity to the Jinsei that prompted these thoughts. 

 “Are you home, Hollywood?” It was Lao, waving his hand gently before Johnny’s face. Snapping back to reality, he turned and met the gazes of both monks, who looked genuinely concerned. 

 “Just thinkin’,” he admitted. 

 “Well that is a first,” Liu jabbed.

 To the mutual surprise of both Shaolin, Johnny Cage did not retort. He did not seem abashed, either. His mind was awash with other thoughts and he had no desire to offer riposte. Liu Kang and Kung Lao locked eyes for a few moments before moving to usher Johnny away from the Jinsei, coming to the conclusion that the fumes were getting to him. There were no fumes, of course, but the alternative was far stranger:

 Johnny Cage was nursing deep, affectionate feelings toward a deity, an elemental, an unquantifiable entity of another class entirely, however friendly. 

 And that simply could not be the case. 

 Could it?

[togglesbloggle]

So, @argumate is up to some more prosocial atheistic trolling.  As is usual with such things, the conversation isn’t particularly elevated, but it does make me nostalgic for the old bbc days.  So I thought I’d be the Discourse I’d like to see in the world.  This is the post that kicked things off; correctly noting Platonism as a philosophical foundation underpinning most versions of Abrahamic faiths.  And it’s probably the most useful place for me to target also, since hardly anybody just identifies as a Platonist but most westerners are one.  So, without further ado, a halfhearted and full-length defense of Platonism:

Well, strike that.  A little bit of ado.

I’m not a Platonist myself, so this is a devil’s advocate type of thing.  Or maybe you could call it an intellectual Turing test?  As I discuss here, my philosophical commitments are mostly to skepticism, and for instrumental reasons, to reductionist materialism.  That combo leaves me some wiggle room, and I find it fairly easy to provisionally occupy a religious mindset, so I can generally read and enjoy religious polemics.  I also have a fairly deep roster of what are often called ‘spiritual experiences’; I’m probably in the set of people that are by nature predisposed to religion.  I am not religious, and I approve of Argumate saying things like ‘God is not real’ a lot.  This is in no way a retread of the arguments in The Republic or Plato’s other writings; you can go read those if you want, but I’m going to play around with stuff that I think is better suited to this audience.

Attention conservation notice: yikes.  This got pretty long.

Anyway, on to the argument.  Argumate’s main point is pretty clear, I think: ‘forms’ in the Greek sense are a function and product of the perceiving mind.  Birds don’t conform to bird-ness; instead brains naturally produce a sort of bird-ness category to make processing the world easier, and to turn a series of wiggly and continuous phenomena into a discrete number of well-modeled objects.  Basically, we impose ‘thing-ness’ on the wavefunction of reality.  And there are some good reasons to think that it might be true!  Our understanding of categories gets a lot sharper when reality conveniently segregates itself, and whenever that boundary gets a little blurry, our ability to use categories tends to break down.  If the recognition of animal-ness came from contact with a higher plane of reality, you wouldn’t necessarily expect people to get confused about sponges.

But.  While there’s certainly plenty of support for Argumate’s position, it doesn’t strike me as anything near self-evident, or necessarily true.  So what I’ll argue is that Platonism isn’t obviously false, and that if we ever converge on a true answer to the question of our reality, then that truth could plausibly be recognizably Platonist.  My opening salvo here is, predictably enough, mathematics.

‘Mathematical Platonism’ is a whole other thing, only distantly related to Classical Platonism, and I only really mean to talk about the latter.  But nonetheless, mathematics really actually does appear to be a situation where we can simply sit in a chair, think deeply, and then more or less directly perceive truths.  Basic arithmetic can be independently discovered, and usefully applied, by almost anybody; ‘quantity’ comes naturally to most humans, and the inviolable laws of quantity are exploited just as often.  It’s also very hard to argue that these are ‘mere’ linguistic conventions, since fundamental natural behaviors like the conservation of mass depend on a kind of consistent logical framework.  In most chemical reactions, the number of atomic nuclei does not change, and the atoms added to a new molecule are perfectly mirrored by the loss of atoms in some reactant; this remains true in times and places where no thinking mind exists to count them.

There are a lot of debates about what math is, fundamentally.  But inevitably when we study math, we’re studying the set of things that must be true, given some premise: we’re asking whether some proposition is a necessary consequence of our axioms.  The so-called ‘unreasonable effectiveness of mathematics’ suggests that the phenomena that Argumate mentions- hotdogs and birds and whatnot- are observed only within the auspices of a sort of super-phenomenon.  Loosely speaking, we can call this super-phenomenon self-consistency.  

We treat phenomena as having a natural cause.  Platonism, at its crunchy intellectually rewarding center, represents a willingness to bite the bullet and say that self-consistency also has a cause.  Plato himself actually provided what might be the most elegant possible answer!  Basically, posit the simplest thing that meets the criterion of being A) autocausal and B) omnicausal, and then allow the self-consistency of the cosmos to follow from its dependence on (in Platonist terms, its emanation from) that single, unitary cause.  The universe is self-consistent for the very straightforward reason that there’s only one thing.  Any plurality, to the extent that plurality is even a thing, happens because ‘the only real thing’ is only partially expressed in a particular phenomenon.  To skip ahead to Lewis’ Christian interpretation of all this, you’d say that humans and moons and hotdogs are distinguished from God not by what they have, but by what they lack.

And for present purposes, I do want to take a step back and point out that this does feel like a reasonable answer to a very important question.  Materialism fundamentally has no answer to the question of self-consistency and/or the presence of logic and order, and that is (for me) one of its least satisfying limits.  We’ve got things like ‘the origin of the universe’, sure.  But we probe the Big Bang with mathematical models!  That’s a hell of an assumption- namely, that even at the origin of our universe, self-consistency applies.  It’s not like materialism has a bad explanation.  It just remains silent, treats the problem as outside the domain.  If we’re adopting the thing for utilitarian reasons, that’s fine.  But if we’re treating materialism as a more comprehensive philosophy, a possible approach to the bigger questions, then it’s a painful absence.  In that domain, far from being self-evidently true (in comparison to Platonism), materialism doesn’t even toss its hat in the ring!

Which, uh, gets us to the stuff about Forms and shadows in Plato’s Cave and all that- the intermediate form of existence between the omnisimple core of Platonism and the often chaotic and very plural experience of day-to-day life.  And frankly, we’re not especially bound to say that the forms are exactly as Plato described them, any more than atomism is restricted to Democritus.  Whether there is some ‘bird-ness’ that is supra- to all extant birds might be contestable; however, it’s easier to wonder whether ‘binary tree’ is supra- to speciation and the real pattern of differences between organisms that we map using Linnaean taxonomy.

But, this is an attempted defense of Platonism and not Toggle’s Version of Platonism that He Invented Because it’s Easier, so I’ll give it a try.  Fair warning to the reader, what follows is not fully endorsed (even in the context of a devil’s advocate-type essay), except the broader claim that it’s not self-evidently false.  And on the givens we came up with a couple paragraphs ago, this is a reasonable way to tackle what necessarily follows.  So let me see how far I can defend a very strong claim: in a self-consistent (or: mathematical) cosmos, beauty cannot be arbitrary.

Remember that Plato never argued that his Forms were arbitrary, or even fully discrete as such; their apparent plurality, like our own, emanates from the unitary Thing What Exists.  And so, bird-ness is treated as a contingent thing, not an absolute.  It’s just not contingent on human experience.  And so for us to believe in ‘bird-ness’ is to believe that there exists some specific and necessary pattern- a Form- which any given material bird must express.

Let’s take an obvious example: any flying bird will, for fairly simple aerodynamic reasons, tend to be symmetrical.  Usually, this means two wings.  In theory, you could… have one in the middle?  Maybe?  Even that seems rather goofy to try to imagine, but you could probably get away with it if you were extremely creative biologically.  And if we see a bird with only one wing (without a prosthetic or other form of accommodation), then we will tend quite naturally to recognize that something awful is in the process of happening.

A fully materialist explanation of our reaction here would say: we think of the one-winged bird as problematic because A) we have been socialized to recognize and appreciate two-winged birds, and spurn deviations from that socialization, or maybe B) because natural selection has given us a set of instincts that recognize when a body plan has failed in the past, so things like ‘being crippled’ or ‘being sick’ are recognizable.  

Platonism, I think, would offer a third option, that C) we recognize (as emanations of The Real Thing) that a one-winged bird body is insufficiently reflective of The Real Thing, and that accordingly it lacks the ability to keep existing.  Plato had some… basically magical ideas, about how Forms are recognized, but here I’ll point out that ‘deduction’ is a completely serviceable kind of magic for our purposes.  It is, after all, our direct experience of the self-consistency of the cosmos, which follows from the fact that we are ourselves an expression of that same self-consistency; it meets the criteria.  

Materialists, obviously, would agree that deductive reasoning could allow a person to recognize the problems inherent in a one-winged bird, but as I said a few paragraphs up, their(/our) explanation of this process is rootless.  “Yes, logic and a few high-confidence assumptions let you assume that a bird with only one wing is in trouble,” they might say.  And we might ask- “what makes you so sure?”  And then the materialist must respond, “Well, let me be more clear.  It always worked in the past, and my Bayesian priors are strongly in the direction of the method continuing to bear fruit.”  True enough, but it’s not an explanation and doesn’t pretend to be.  The universe just does this weird thing for some reason; it works ‘by magic’.  So why not call it that?  Theurgy for all!

So, consider.  We recognize (deductively, let’s say for the sake of argument) that a one-winged bird is on the road to becoming nonexistent, absent some change in circumstances.  It may keep going for a little while, but it’s not in homeostasis.  And if we reasonably admit this very basic duality to our thinking- things which can persist, and things which cannot- then we start to recognize a sort of analogy between physical phenomena and mathematical propositions.  A lemma can be right or wrong, albeit sometimes unprovably so.  Basically, it can follow- or not- from the axioms we’re working with.  And in a softer but very real sense, that one-winged body plan is wrong analogously to the lemma’s wrongness.  Not ‘wrong’ as in ‘counter to cultural norms’, but ‘wrong’ as in ‘unstable given the premises, given the Thing That Exists Most’.  Look up research on fitness landscapes, if you’re so inclined- actual biological research isn’t totally unacquainted with the notion.  There exists a surprisingly discrete ideal or set of ideals, both for flying birds as a whole and subordinately for any given flying bird species.  And we have discovered this using magic.

Insofar as beauty is something to be admired, or pursued, or is otherwise desirable, then our sense of beauty must necessarily correlate with those abstract, and dare I say supra-real, qualities which allow things to persist, and which can therefore be understood deductively.  And that set of qualities does, effectively, meet the Platonic criterion of a ‘form’.

The immediate materialist objection is: hey, wait a minute.  The supposed ‘objective’ criterion of a bird is contingent, not absolute!  It follows from the strength of gravity, the thickness of the atmosphere, the availability of food sources, and on and on.  This is one of the most important reasons why genetic drift and speciation happens in the first place, because the ‘ideal’ bird depends on an environment that’s in constant flux.

True enough.  But!  How do you think the atmosphere got there?  It’s an old trick in religious discourse, but in this case I think a valid one.  The rightness of the bird depends on the atmosphere, the rightness of the atmosphere depends on the planet, the rightness of the planet depends on the solar system, and ultimately it all depends on that necessary self-consistency which (we proclaim) implies our unitary Most Real Thing.  This does mean that we can’t really think of Platonic forms as wholly discrete objects, unconnected to one another and without internal relation among themselves- unfortunately, that’s part of the original Plato that I don’t see as defensible, even with maximum charity.  But there’s such a thing as a ‘ring species’, and if we admit Platonic Forms of that type, a kind of dense network of paths being traced through higher-dimensional spaces that correspond to the shadow of That Than Which There Is No Whicher, then it’s more than salvageable.  It’s both satisfying to imagine and, I think, quite consistent with the spirit of the original philosophy.

One thing this doesn’t mean.  Even if we were to accept all of this, we aren’t obliged to resign ourselves to the lot of that one-winged bird.  Indeed, if anything this gives us a rich language by which to justify a prosthetic wing or other form of accommodation: we can talk about ‘making the bird whole’, and can see how our compassion for that bird might lead us to create the conditions of homeostasis once again.  But it does mean that if we take a position on the merits of existence- if we’re in favor- then we don’t treat a one- and two-winged bird as coequal scenarios.

Anyway, this has gone on hideously long already for what’s basically an intellectual exercise, so I won’t dive into immortal souls or any of the other ancillaries.  I mostly want to reiterate that, far from being obviously false, I do think that (some forms of) Platonism are quite defensible, and can provide coherent answers to questions that I A) care about very deeply and B) can’t resolve to my own satisfaction.  Of course, it is not obviously nor trivially true, either.  But one can be Platonist without being willfully wrong.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous; continuing from this post)

“Alright, you have everything, right?” Flamebringer was checking his pockets to make sure he had all his things. “RIIde, the money Saria gave you, everything?”

“Yep! I can’t believe the Doctor said this was okay.” Ifrit, standing at the door, watched him intently, as if every move he made had some hidden wisdom to it.

His flashback to the hell-talk that had been was brief but painful; nevertheless, he hid it to avoid her getting the wrong impression. “Alright, then let’s go meet Lena at the pad. How do I look?”

“How do you look?” She gave him a once-over. “Like you tried today.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes but flashed her a smile.

She stamped her foot. “Come on, come on, let’s go! Keeping her waiting won’t make you more handsome!”

“Oh, now it’s ‘more handsome,’ huh?” As Flame took her hand and closed the door behind him, he laughed at the look she gave him. “You are so easy to read, Sis. There are going to be fireworks, right?”

“Tons of them, the book said. They have to have enough to scare off the Nian, after all.”

He blinked. “The what?”

“The Nian!” Ifrit saw his confused look and snickered. “I know something you don’t! That’s never going to happen again, is it?”

“I haven’t always been your older brother, so I wouldn’t put it past you.”

She shivered. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, are you going to propose tonight?”

“Am I going to what now?” Flamebringer sighed. “No, I still don’t have a ring.”

“Do you need a ring to propose?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but...suddenly, he didn’t have an answer. Instead, he turned back to the hall ahead of them. “Once the fireworks are done, we’re coming back, even if the booths are still open, okay?”

“Okay!” Ifrit squeezed his hand. “Look, there’s Lena!”

“I see her.” As nonchalant as he made it sound, Flamebringer didn’t just see her; no, that was too mundane a word for the rapture he felt as his eyes traced the brim of her sun hat, reflected the yellow of her dress, tangled in her hair which had broken free of its usual bow-binding. He delighted in her existence, and if the way she looked at him was anything to go off of, the feeling was mutual.

Ifrit, completely oblivious to all of this, ran to her and hugged her, obscuring his view as she and Perfumer were roughly the same height. “Thanks for coming with us! I don’t think I could entertain him the whole time.”

“Right, that’s why I’m here.” Lena chuckled, returning the embrace. “Are we ready to go, Flame?”

“Certainly. You’re positively divine tonight, my dear.” He didn’t wait for Sis to move before hugging the both of them, sharing a kiss with Lena with a rather awkwardly-sandwiched Sarkaz between them.

Said Sarkaz slipped out and made herself comfortable in the car they were taking. “Come on, lovebirds, we’re burning moonlight!”

“If we must,” Flamebringer whispered, allowing the moment to pass as they settled into their transport. “Lungmen, Market District, as fast as you can.”

“Maybe not that fast,” Perfumer suggested, which the driver seemed to take as his actual guidance. They had time as they rolled by to see the other districts embracing the night life if only for the one night, lanterns lit in the twilight like low-hanging stars on the streetside. Even so, it was clearly not their final destination, as the lights ahead shone brighter still, and Ifrit was entirely focused on those. The other two were less entranced by the beauty of it all, as they had other things on their minds, but it was certainly undeniable. 

Once they arrived at their destination, Ifrit ran off ahead, and the happy couple followed after her, stopping at the booths she found interesting and keeping within sight-lines when something caught their eyes. There were a few booths where the girls looked to Flamebringer to win the prizes, and they cheered when he easily won them each a stuffed animal large enough to wear on their backs, among other things, at a ball toss booth.

However, it was Ifrit who shone the brightest, literally, when they found a fire juggler asking for volunteers. “Ooooh, Bro, can I can I can I?”

“I won’t stop you.” He smiled as she dashed over to the man and took two torches when offered.

“Are you sure-” Lena began, but stopped mid-sentence as the Sarkaz began to juggle them effortlessly. “She can juggle?”

Flamebringer nodded. “She’s quite talented, actually - she’s got amazing hand-eye coordination, surprisingly sharp reflexes for a Caster, more than enough willpower.”

“You sound like you want to make her a swordsman,” she smirked.

“I mean...” He watched her set the torches alight at both ends. “She asked, but I worry it would accelerate her Oripathy.”

She elbowed him. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“I’ve swung this sword with crystals on my skin longer than she’s been alive. She...She’s young, and I don’t want to send her down the wrong path.”

“So you’re protecting her.” Lena squeezed his arm. “That’s sweet.”

Flamebringer smiled. “Not as sweet as you, sunflower.”

“Oh, stop it.” She walked her hand down his arm as Ifrit began doing proper baton-twirling stunts; for her final stunt, as she stuck the landing, a gout of fire roared from each hand as she extinguished the torches mid-arc. The crowd, for once, was not literally on fire, but metaphorically as they let loose an absolute torrent of applause.

“Thank you, Lungmen!” Ifrit gave her fans a devilish smile. “Enjoy the rest of the festival!” With that, she walked back over to her family, who picked that exact moment for a kiss. “Hey, lovebirds, I’m done!”

Lena held out a hand for her to high-five. “I didn’t realize you were an acrobat, Ifrit.”

“You spend enough time dodging crossbow bolts, you’ll probably be pretty flexible, too. Oh, hey, I think the fireworks are about to start!”

“You mean you weren’t the fireworks?” Flamebringer took her hand. “Sis, if the Nian was real, I’m sure that would scare them off right then and there.”

She blushed as she kicked his foot. “You weren’t even watching.”

“Oh, we watched the whole thing; you just caught us at the exact moment we weren’t.”

“Yeah, sure.” She let go of his hand. “I’ll go find a spot to watch the fireworks; you can do whatever.”

“Sis-” But there was no stopping her; Flamebringer sighed as he watched her dash through the crowd.

Lena squeezed his hand. “Do you want to go after her?”

“...No.” He squeezed her hand back. “If she doesn’t want to use her words like an adult, I’m not going to indulge her. We’ll find her before we leave.”

“Okay...”

They followed the crowd through a maze of buildings and up several flights of stairs to the roof of one of Lungmen’s smaller high-rises; Flamebringer locked eyes with the back of Ifrit’s head long enough to register where she was before the show began. As colors flashed across the sky and explosions roared with dragon-cowing fury, he looked at Perfumer and smiled. “This evening’s been wonderful.” Most people would need to shout. Flame was not most people.

“Almost perfect,” she agreed, much more loudly. “I’m glad Ifrit invited us to come along.”

“Invited us? No, I brought her-” He realized, as Lena gave him a knowing look, the mistake he’d made. “I brought her here to spend the evening as siblings.”

Lena kissed his cheek. “Go talk to her. I’ll still be here.”

“Right...I love you.”

“I know.”

Flamebringer stood up and walked over to Ifrit. “Very pretty.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” Like him, she didn’t need to yell to be heard over the show. “When I’m not mad.”

“How about over sushi?”

No response. He nodded to himself before sitting down, going to put his arm around her shoulder but hesitating, leaving it hovering behind her. “...I’m sorry.”

“For forgetting why we’re here in the first place?” She tore herself away from the dazzling lights to look him in the face. “Did you at least propose?”

“...No, I-”

Ifrit growled. “Don’t bother right now. You’ll pay for sushi?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll talk over sushi.” She turned back to the fireworks. “Do what you need to do before then.”

He sighed before giving her a seated hug. “Love you, Sis.”

“...Love you, too.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, sweet but unfamiliar. It would’ve been impossible to tell under the light of stars and sparks, but she was red in the face from pretending to be angrier than she was. Not that she hadn’t been, it was just...He had to pay some kind of consequence for ignoring her, didn’t he?

“We’re going for sushi after this,” Flamebringer told Lena upon returning to her. “Before we do, we...need to talk. Can we go downstairs?”

She nodded and took his hand so he could help her up. Once they were out of the fireworks’ noise-cancelling range, and were safely on a staircase landing, Perfumer frowned. “Is everything okay with Ifrit?”

“We’ll work it out. She needs a bit of time to herself...But that’s not what we need to talk about. Lena, will you marry me?”

“Definitely.” She watched him for a moment. “You mean soon, right?”

He nodded. “I’d like to start planning it, yes.”

“What happened to waiting to have money for a ring?”

“Ifrit asked me why, and I didn’t have an answer.” Flamebringer smiled. “There’s symbolism to a ring, certainly, but I can’t hold out for that anymore.”

Lena wrapped him a hug. “And I couldn’t be happier. Why would I want an expensive metal circle, anyway? Ridiculous.”

“As an alternative way of expressing my love for you, you can decide the restaurant we go to after this.”

“My preference,” she replied, “is Ifrit’s pick. Wherever she wants to go.”

Flamebringer nodded. “As you wish. Do you think they’re almost-” As if to answer their question, the doors above them opened, and people began pouring down the stairs. Taking Lena’s hand, he fought the current of the crowd back to the roof.

“Well, is it official yet?” Ifrit was, as he’d predicted, still watching the sky despite the lack of fireworks.

“Official, no, but we’ll be working on that.” Lena, wrapped around one arm, beckoned Ifrit over. “We’re going to a sushi place now, if I heard correctly?”

The Sarkaz slowly got to her feet, wincing a little from the Originum scraping against her patella. “Yep. First place we find.”

“Well, that simplifies things.” He let her pass him and followed her down the stairs, Lena’s arms still around his.

“Alright, let’s go eat.” After a few steps unattached, Ifrit slowed down to take Flamebringer’s free hand. “Hey, Bro? Some time, could we go somewhere just the two of us? No offense, Lena.”

She shrugged. “None taken. We’ll have plenty of time for ourselves, after all~”

“Just say when and where, and I’ll try to make it happen.” Flamebringer squeezed her hand

“Tomorrow, then?” Ifrit looked up at his face. “Maybe not even going anywhere, just...come hang out?”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Alright, then. We can go home now.”

“We could.” As he said this, he was making a beeline for a restaurant. “Or I could buy sushi for my darling fiance and sister.”

As the Sarkaz looked to Lena for support, she simply received a shrug. “Your fate was sealed from the start.”

[loyalflutist]

First Kiss (f!Byleth x Dorothea)

Challenge: Bylethea Week 2019 Day 1: First Kiss

A/N: So, I totally missed the first two days at this point (RIP self), but decided to give this a swing anyway. I love love LOVE these two so much. Aside from Edeleth, I love Doroleth so much too. They’re... They’re just so wholesome. Anyway, this one-shot features two awkward women who finally get to kiss, gasp! Hope you like it! I enjoyed writing this. 

---

It was ironic how both Byleth and Dorothea express their naive and innocent nature for romance. Byleth, who had seen many parts of the world as a mercenary, could not distinguish between friends and lovers. Dorothea, who had varying attempts of being ringed by many men and women during her opera career, could not figure out what to do that didn't involve her habitual flirting. Add two confused young adults and their relationship is bound to be full of bombastic embarrassments and experiments.

Dorothea did try her best to move the cogs though. It's unfortunate that the two never made it past a friendly student-teacher association. Whenever she approached Byleth, the older woman would always stare at her blankly, the words that would bestow one's cheeks with redness having bounced off instead. Not even tickling her professor made any impact either! Byleth would always pat her on the head and shoo her away in preparation for the next day's lecture. During the rare occasion that the teacher invites the opera singer out for tea, their conversations were light-hearted and held almost no importance. As a matter of fact... Dorothea recalls that Byleth hadn't spoken much at all during their tea session anyway. Dorothea had filled the silent atmosphere on her own! It was completely one-sided!

"UGH," the student's hat nearly fell off her head as she slumped onto the classroom's desk face-first. "I could never understand what the professor is feeling..."

Across from her, Edelgard draped her arms on top of the wooden chair, her chin resting on them. The Black Eagle's house leader was always someone she confides in. All of her woos and woes were dumped on the white-haired female. Not that Edelgard minds. After all, they were of close friends. What sort of future emperor would she be if she can't even hear Dorothea out? Besides, now is the best time to pour out her emotional baggage, the lectures long over. Everyone had bailed out into the field and were either enjoying themselves in the cafeteria, petting the cats and dogs, or practicing in the training field. It was just Edelgard and Dorothea. Dorothea let out another groan as the noble softy hummed and watched over the agonized student.

"It's clear that you two like each other."

"You think so?" Dorothea didn't bother to raise her head. "I like her, but I don't know if she feels the same way towards me."

"Dorothea, everyone could tell from a mile away."

"Oh really."

"Yes really," Edelgard sighed into her arms. "If Petra could tell, that means it's that obvious."

"..." The commoner finally straightened her sitting posture. Elbows pressed upon the worn wooden surface, Dorothea grumbled, "Ridiculous. Then why didn't the professor say anything?"

"You know the professor is bad with her emotions."

"You aren't wrong about that. A brick even has more expression than her!"

"...I think you misunderstood me. She's not the only one to blame for this situation." Edelgard sternly poked her friend's hand. "You're sending her mixed messages. You have to understand that she grew up not knowing what the world is like to a normal civilian. She's lived her whole life as a mercenary up until now."

"..."

Edelgard had a point. Byleth was always oblivious... maybe a little too oblivious at times. Could it be because of Jeralt's protectiveness over his daughter? Or could it be that their mercenary ways influenced Byleth's social skills, making her difficult to read and socialize with? Dorothea could hardly keep up with her when it came to this particular trait. Even more grumbles and incoherent mumbles blubbered out of her way as the opera singer contemplated about her professor.

"What do you think I should do then to show her just how much I like her?"

"Have you ever tried giving her a kiss?"

Out of all the people in her life to hear of such advice, it came from Hubert's mouth. Dorothea had flinched from his sudden appearance. A bead of sweat ran down the loyal servant to Edelgard at the sight of the exaggerated woman. (Or at least, appears to be exaggerated. Little did he know that she really did leap up to her feet, toss her arms high up in the air, and raise one leg up by instinct.) It took an immense amount of energy for Hubert to stifle his sigh, his lips stiffened in lieu.

"Why do you act that way, Dorothea?"

"Oh, Hubie, have you ever tried to let others know that you're about to appear?" she frowned after regaining her composure. "Sheesh! You're like an assassin!"

"Can't say you're wrong about that..."

"Did you say something, Edie?"

"It was nothing."

Hubert coughed into his fist in hopes of returning to their original conversation. "I apologize for having scared you, Dorothea." He bowed. "As I was saying, giving her a kiss is the best way to show her how you feel."

"K-Kiss... Don't you think there's an alternative I could pursue instead?"

"Then I shall ask you this: do you like her as a friend or as a lover?"

"What a silly question! I like her!"

"As...?" he raised his brow.

"As a..."

Dorothea suddenly felt her mouth dry and throat become parched. The stylistic female tried to finish her sentence only to have wordless air puff out of her voicebox. She clamped her jaw and tried again. It was the same result. There was no answer to his question. Dorothea's eyes began to wander as Edelgard exchanged glances with Hubert. The duo's gaze eventually moved to the entranceway of the lecture hall. Lo and behold, they spotted an important figure for this topic. Both of them faintly smiled. Hubert assisted in Edelgard's hasty retreat from the premise. Of course, their quick bids of farewell alarmed Dorothea. The brown-haired female jolted back to reality and turned around.

"Wait! Where are you both going-- O-OH, BYL-- Professor!?" Byleth stood in front of Dorothea with a textbook at hand, her eyes wide from the outburst of her name. She blinked a couple of times. Dorothea proceeded to flash her favorite professor a bright smile. "Fancy meeting you here! What are you doing here at this time?"

"I think I should be asking you the same thing. What are YOU doing here?"

Drats. Byleth not only avoided the question (though it was likely a predictable answer knowing of her duty), she tossed it right back at the asker. Dorothea bit her lower lip. She knew she could lie. A little white lie doesn't hurt, right? But at the same time, she couldn't do that to Byleth... or rather, she can't. Those piercing and intense gaze that could see right through the magus... A shudder ran down Dorothea's spine, her smile slightly faltering.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...um..." the professor broke the silence with a single motion of her hand. "If you don't have any business here, I suggest you hang out with your classmates. It's a wonderful evening out and the weather is perfect."

Once again, Byleth was shooing her away. It was the same exact scene played out almost word-for-word. Dorothea could not help but make a comparison to them being in a theatre, the script running its course for the nth time. She was not going to allow it to end on a stale note like before though. Before Byleth could reach out and pat her student's head, Dorothea dropped a bombshell.

"Professor, I really like you."

"?!" Byleth's outstretched hand froze in midair. "...um... I like you too."

Uh oh. It seems like she misunderstood the definition of "like" in this context. Hubert's question echoed in the back of Dorothea's head the instant Byleth had given that hesitant response. If she laughs it off, that means their relationship would solidify into that of strong friends. If she speaks up, she might be able to accurately convey what she is feeling deep inside. Dorothea felt the palm of her hands moistened. It was now or never.

"Not in that way. I mean... I like you like this..."

For someone who was dubbed the "Ashen Demon," Byleth's lips were soft and wholesome. They were so delicate, Dorothea was afraid that her kiss would corrupt its pure existence. It only lasted a split second though as the intimate exchange was fleeting. The opera singer took a few steps backward and observed her teacher.

"That was... my first kiss..." Byleth murmured. She gently touched her own lips and showcased... confusion. "I... don't understand."  

' ...oh GOD, did I just do that? ' Dorothea nearly slapped her forehead. Now it seems as though the situation was worsening! ' Why did I listen to Hubie?! Stupid, stupid! What if the professor hates me now?! '

"Dorothea."

"YES?!"

That jerked the student upright like a soldier after a squeaky reply. Beads of sweat flew out of her head in anticipation of her instructor's next words. If anything, she's bracing herself for some harsh warnings. Dorothea trembled in spot, her eyes watering. Byleth placed the textbook onto a nearby empty desk and closed their distance. It took all of Dorothea's will to keep herself from running away, her feet rooted to the ground.

"I still don't understand why you did that."

"..."

"But," the ex-mercenary pulled her into a... hug? Oh goodness, she did pull Dorothea into a hug. It was a complete shocker for the student. Normally, she's not fond of being touched by anyone despite her demeanor. The girl would squirm and dropkick the responsible person. However, her knees buckled and her body was only held up by the teacher. Warmth enveloped Dorothea as Byleth said, "I want to understand it. I also want to understand why my chest feels so full... Could you teach me why I feel this way, Dorothea?"

"Professor..." Dorothea could hardly contain the wide grin that crossed her face. She buried her face into the professor's shoulder and breathed, "What you're feeling is love."

"Do you feel that way?"

"Yes."

"So... you don't like me?"

"I do... but I also love you too."

Turns out, listening to Hubert did work to her advantage, their first kiss ending in a bright note. In the background, Hubert and Edelgard spied from the back of the room. Their eyes were trained on the two with an iron grip on the doorway's borders.

"Thank goodness they got together," Edelgard mumbled. "Seeing them pin at each other from afar was driving me nuts!"

"Lady Edelgard, I think the same should be said about yourself."

"?"

Hubert cupped his chin and smiled. "I've noticed that you and Ingrid are in a similar predicament as our professor and Dorothea--"

"STOOOOOP!"

[grey-amethyst]

For anon -- I think I wrote this after the first episode of Before the Storm came out? It’s unfinished, largely unrevised, and doesn’t quite fit on my Ao3 library, but here’s a tiny harriscott drabble, featuring: stupidly taking up close pictures of forest fires, unapologetically dra,rry-inspired banter, a hipster wearing a wool sweater during a west coast spring and a fifteen (I think?) year old who owns a car.

He smells the fire before he feels it in the air, hears the crackle of branches giving way to embers, charcoal crumbling to soot. Evan rolls his eyes first, because of course some idiot would light up the forest when he’s trying to take landscape shots, and goes for his phone to dial 911.

Nowadays, satellites and watchtowers can detect wildfires long before the average civilian can detect it, but you can never be too certain. The operator, after asking him all these meaningless questions about whether he’s in danger (if that was the case he would’ve mentioned it first, wouldn’t he?), assures him that firetrucks are on the way. Evan frowns as he flips his phone shut and squints up at the sky, watching specks of black flutter upward, smoke rolling into the hot air.

At a distance, he should be fine.

But Evan Harris is never one to miss a photo opportunity.

He chains his bike to the nearest fence post and takes off running, then a brisk walk when he almost trips down a hill on a branch. No one’s around but he forces a laugh at himself anyway.

Before he even slows to a stop at the hiking path, he’s got his camera out, snapping blindly before he bites down the shivers that bleed their way in as the adrenaline dies down and starts looking at the scene. Flames are licking at the peaks of the trees nearest him. Understandable, and not necessarily an indication that the trunks themselves are at risk of collapsing; dried leaves and branches can catch fire by sunrays alone. He takes a picture of that, then fiddles with his position to try to get everything in the shot at once.

Gravel crunches under his shoes. He’s sweating from more concentration than the heat, which is no worse than standing by an open oven. At some point he tugs off his sweater and weighs his hat down underneath it. When he turns back, his eyes catch something different. A figure approaching the brush.

Evan hurries for a photo, but the person doesn’t stop. They press on over the scratchy patches of weeds and into the dull throb of heat without hesitation, as if they’re on a mission.

His first thought is, I did not spend all my printing credits for some idiot to ignore my safety posters and burn to death.

His second is, Well, fuck.

Evan Harris isn’t one to go out of his way to help the individual. Social movements bring long-lasting change. He can’t save every dying potted plant cluttering up overcrowded classrooms or help every single classmate he sees shoved in a locker.

He looks at this person, thin, hunched over, and…carrying something in their hands.

Shit.

Evan scrambles to loop his camera strap over his neck and starts running. The air is drier near the trees, pulsing with heat, and his hair is whipping about everywhere. He reaches out to grab the person – a kid his age, he realizes, who hasn’t even glanced back to see the madman going after him – and ends up stumbling.

Falling flat on his face.

Getting ash and grass in his mouth.

He groans and pulls his glasses off, clutching at his head.

“What the fuck, man?”

And his efforts are rewarded with the voice of Nathan Prescott.

Evan stands as gracefully as he can, which isn’t saying much, considering his hair is a mess and his face doesn’t feel much better. Nathan is staggering upward, and…that’s a camera cradled against his chest. He chose to protect it rather than break his fall, which both impresses Evan and makes him feel like a complete tool.

He gestures limply at it. “…I thought you were—”

“The forest is already on fire, dumbass! What, did you think I was holding a fucking spray can to shoot fire or some shit?”

“A self-immolation wasn’t in my schedule today,” Evan says, and it’s not a total lie even if it’s not the whole truth. Nathan gives him a weird look, so he adds, “That means—”

“I know what that fucking means, we take world history together.”

Evan doesn’t flinch at Nathan’s glare, but he does blink, his expression going flat. “…Sorry.”

“…Okay. Fuck.” Nothing about Nathan’s tense shoulders and bitter expression implies that he thinks it’s okay. Still, it’s better than having him yelling. Nathan looks him up and down, unimpressed, but his stare falters at Evan’s chest.

Evan reaches for his buttons, assuming that his shirt has flown open at some point and that is not the message he wants to send to Nathan Prescott in any capacity, especially right now, but he encounters the worst possible outcome instead: his camera, having swung over his shoulder and against his chest, with the LCD shattered, the 44mm lens missing, a part of the handgrip missing, exposing wire and the memory card.

“…You tackled me with a camera around your neck?”

“Maybe,” Evan mutters. He glances about the ground for the lens. The poor thing is in pieces a few feet away. He sighs and makes to grab them, but Nathan’s already halfway there. “Hey—”

“That model camera’s a piece of shit,” Nathan says easily, like Evan didn’t spend weeks researching it and somehow it’s his fault there’s the equivalent of a grand scattered on the floor and dangling limply from his neck. Evan takes the aperture control just as Nathan picks the focusing ring off the ground.

“Well unlike you, I can’t just drop four grand on a camera.”

“Ten grand.”

Evan jolts his head up. Nathan’s not even looking at him. “…Huh?”

Nathan, having gotten everything within his reach, holds it out. “No, genius. You seriously think I’d bring shit that costs that much to school with all those idiots?”

They stand. Evan looks at the dirt on his broken camera pieces and grimaces. “I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” He doesn’t mention that he’s pretty sure Nathan’s richer than Victoria, who wore a Louis Vuitton blouse today like it’s a thing regular people do, so he’s got a feeling that that’s something Nathan would do if there weren’t people like Drew North messing with him whenever he’s not with his friends.

“Whatever. Here,” and he hands over a handkerchief. Evan blinks down at it – embroidered with Nathan’s last name, of course, and lined with stains where Nathan has just wiped his own hands – and gingerly takes it to clean off his camera parts. Nathan makes for the hiking trail, and Evan falters, spinning sluggishly as to not damage his camera further.

“Hey, wait—”

“Do you want a ride back to campus or do you wanna burn to death?”

Evan blinks. “What?”

Nathan stares at him as if he’s being purposefully thick. “Look, if you’re saying this shit—” he points up, where Evan imagines flames are starting to billow up, “—is a big deal, it’d be really fucked up for me to make you, like, walk all he way back or whatever.”

“I actually biked here,” Evan says, but at Nathan unimpressed look he adds, “Uh, just…let me get my stuff?”

“What-fuckin’-ever.”

It occurs to him that Nathan Prescott perhaps thinks that Evan’s goal was to save his life. Which is not entirely false, but it seems unwise to point out that he thinks Nathan was planning on setting off a fire bomb or something.

…Truthfully, he’s not even sure if a firebomb the size of a camera exists.

Perhaps Nathan feels bad for him because his camera is busted. Luckily Evan’s family isn’t in want of money – his parents made him get this camera insured, but he’s not sure if tackling a guy in the woods falls under the policy – but it’s the thought that counts. And the ride. Nathan’s Buick isn’t the most ostentatious car Evan has seen on campus, but Nathan seems to keep it clean like everything else he owned.

“Why are you wearing that huge-ass sweater?” Nathan’s got his nose scrunched up. “It’s the middle of May.”

“I get cold,” Evan says, which is a better answer than for the aesthetic. He carefully arranges his hair under his hat and puts it on, then folds his sweater against his chest to carry.

“Nice hat, dweeb.”

Evan laughs, despite himself. “Did you seriously call me a dweeb? In this, the year 2010?”

“Oh, my bad. Nice hat, loser.”

“It is a nice hat,” Evan says. Nathan tosses him an annoyed glare, and he grins.

Nathan predictably complains on the way up the hill to his bike. Evan holds the waist-high barbed wire down with his sneaker for him to pass, but Nathan crosses his arms and looks at him expectantly. Evan steps over, places his sweater and camera in his backpack, then grabs his bike and carries it down until they’re back on the trail.

“What are you doing chasing wildfires anyhow?” Nathan asks. His oxfords keep kicking up dry dirt.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the posters I’ve been putting up.”

“Yeah, I have, but you vegan-ass hippies always got some shit to complain about.”

“…Okay, first of all, I’m a non-ovo-lacto pescetarian—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

[moonstruckbucky]

Let It Snow

Request:  Going ice skating with Billy (he never ice skated bc he's from Cali) and then getting warm in bed together 😏

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: This is equal parts filth and equal parts smut. Because I couldn’t choose so why not both? Penetration (wrap it before you tap it), oral (m receiving), fingering.

Rating: 18+ (seriously guys, don’t get me deleted. Keep your underage eyes away)

Notes: Gonna thank my girl @hopperhargrove for requesting this amazing prompt because, damn I’m dying. 

Billy hated the winter, hated just about anything that had to do with cold weather. He was from California for fuck’s sake, where everything was warmth and sunshine. Fall in Hawkins was cold enough, and then November hit, and he thought that was cold.

Then the fucking snow came.

Billy was never one for hats and gloves and all that cold-weather jazz, but goddammit if he didn’t at least shove a pair of gloves on his hands when he went out to warm up his Camaro. The poor engine took longer than normal to start, unused to the bitter cold of Hawkins, and for a second, he worried his girl wouldn’t start.

But the roaring engine turned over and he grudgingly drove to your house to take you to school. You were standing on the sidewalk, looking adorable all bundled up in a scarf, hat, and mittens, and Billy thought maybe winter wasn’t so bad. Your nose was bright red from the cold, and you smiled brightly at him as you shuffled into the warm car.

“What’s with the long face?” you asked, pulling your mittens off to press your hands to the heaters. You sighed in relief as the blood rushed back into your fingers.

“It’s fucking cold,” Billy grumbled, banging a quick u-turn to head towards school.

“It’s December,” you giggled.

“It still sucks.”

“Grinch,” you teased. His eyes glanced over at you briefly, a smirk tilting up one corner of his mouth.

“Damn straight, Rudolph.”

Gasping in mock offense, you covered your cold nose, spurring Billy to chuckle and reach over for your hand. You hummed at the warmth radiating from his skin, sinking further into the seat.

“So I was thinking,” you started, your fingers idly playing with the rings on Billy’s.

“Uh oh,” he interjected with a grin. You flicked the back of his hand with a pout. “Kidding.”

“Anyways, I was thinking we’d do something fun this weekend.”

“Don’t we always do something fun?” he questioned with a lecherous grin. Blushing, you tapped his hand on the top of your thigh.

“Not that kind of fun, you pervert. I thought we could go ice skating.” Billy grimaced and his mouth opened, no doubt to say no. “Come on, B. It’s supposed to snow at the end of the week, and the lake’s frozen over. It looks so pretty after the snow’s fallen! Please, B.”

There was only one situation in which you’d willingly beg, and Billy seemed to take this into consideration as he single-handedly spun the wheel into a parking spot at the school. He threw it in park and sat back in his seat, twisting his hand in your grip to lace your fingers together.

Your expression was hopeful, eyes wide like a kid waiting to be told she could open a Christmas present early, bottom lip caged between your teeth in bubbly anticipation. Even though ice skating was definitely not his thing, how could he possibly say no to that face?

“Fine, we can go,” he relented. He couldn’t stop the small smile from curving up his mouth as you celebrated with a squeal in the passenger seat. He turned into your touch when you leaned across the console to kiss his cheek, his skin warm under your lips.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whispered lowly, teasing him just a little by swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear. Grinning when he shuddered, his exhale a rattle in his throat, you sat back and popped open your door. As Billy watched you for a moment, taking in the way your hips swayed as you walked, he wondered just what the hell he got himself into.

“Christ, I can’t do this,” Billy muttered, fingers gripping tightly to a low-hanging branch. How the hell did he let you convince him to go ice skating? He cursed as his skate moved along the ice, nearly dumping him on his ass, but he held his balance.

“Come on, B!” you cheered from a few feet away, gliding elegantly along the ice. The two of you weren’t the only ones with the idea to go skating today.

Despite the sun shining, the lake was completely frozen over like you predicted, a few families deciding to not waste the good weather indoors. They skated around the far end of the lake, away from you and Billy, who was still struggling to stand, much less skate.

With a giggle you skated over to him and held out your hands. “Come on, take my hands. I’ll hold you up.”

Billy held tighter to the branch. “I don’t want to fall on you.”

“You won’t, I promise. That’s it, let go of the branch. Good.” Billy’s hands were warm where they gripped tightly to yours. He was bent at the waist, arms stretched comically out in front of him, as he fought to maintain his balance.

Slowly, you skated backwards, tugging him along behind you. “You gotta stand up straight, babe. You’ve got no balance.”

He looked at you as if you’d just sprouted another head. “Are you crazy? I’ll fall!”

“You won’t fall, you big baby. Now come on, straighten up.”

Billy ended up falling a total of three times, and after the third time he decided he’d had enough. He tossed your skates into his trunk after you’d changed back into your shoes and cranked the heat, pressing his frozen fingers to the vents.

“Such a baby,” you giggled, huddling into your jacket and scarf. “But you did well for a first timer.”

Billy pulled the car into the driveway, relieved when you noted that your parents were away. He had you all to himself, and his frigid bones needed warming up. He pressed himself against you as you fumbled to unlock the door, the kisses he laid on the back of your neck wet, warm, and full of intent.

“Billy,” you giggled, “let me open this.”

“But I’m cold, baby,” he whined with an exaggerated roll of his hips into your backside. It made you bite your lip against a whimper, fingers hurrying to twist the key in the lock.

You barely made it inside and down the hall to your bedroom before Billy was kissing you, all heat and need. He pressed your body into your bedroom door, cold hands diving under your sweater in search of warmth.

You squeaked. “Jesus, B, you’re freezing.”

“I know. Better warm me up, princess.”

With a wicked grin you got to work unbuttoning his shirt, hands dancing over his shoulders as they were bared to you, and you leaned forward to pepper wet kisses down his jaw and to his neck. Your teeth found the dip in his collarbone, and they teased gently at the skin, drawing blood to the surface.

His throat rumbled in a growl as his hands yanked your sweater over your head, leaving you in a pretty lace bra he wanted to take off with his teeth. Another time, as his mind was pulled elsewhere when your hands made quick work of his jeans.

You knelt as you tugged them down his thighs, followed soon by his boxers. He stepped out of both and kicked them away, leaving him naked in all his golden, surfer-boy glory. His cock was at attention, curved up against his stomach, the head red, swollen, and leaking. It made your mouth water, and you ghosted your hands up his thighs, through the short, coarse hairs that covered them. Bracing one hand on his hip, the other teased at his balls, pulling a ragged hiss from between his teeth. Smirking, you let the one hand play as you leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft, along the thick vein that pulsed with need.

He was hot and heavy on your tongue as your mouth enveloped him, lips stretching wide to accommodate his girth. He honest-to-goodness whined as you took him further, your tongue pillowing him and stroking along that vein, until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, and his hands dive into your hair, fingers twisting and tugging at the strands as you suck greedily on his cock.

It would never not be a turn-on to have Billy Hargrove turn to putty in your hands. Right now was no different, as his hips began to thrust into your mouth and your eyes watered each time the tip of him touched the back of your throat. The noises he was making were slowly tearing apart your self-control, shredding any chance of this being slow and gentle. Each grunt, each whine of your name had your thighs clenching together and your own moans vibrating against the shaft of his dick.

He moaned, “N-Not like this. Need to be inside you.”

Releasing him with a wet pop, you barely had a minute to relax your jaw before he hauled you up against his body, lightly shining in sweat, and kissed you deeply. Like a flower to the sun, you opened up to him, his tongue sliding in and licking into your mouth. He groaned at the heady taste of himself on your tongue and his hands shucked your jeans. Hands under your thighs, he lifted you easily, allowing you to wrap your legs around his trim waist as he laid you back on your bed. 

You sighed at the softness of the pillow under your head, at the change in Billy’s kiss from hard and needy to slow and sensual. His hands roved your body, unclasping your bra to throw it elsewhere, thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks. You shifted your hips, gasping against his mouth when his hardness brushed against your clothed and dripping center.

He groaned into your mouth, pulling away just enough that his lips ghosted yours as he spoke. “God, you’re so wet for me, baby.”

To prove his point further, he dropped a hand down between you, dipping into your panties to cup your sex. His middle finger drifted along your slit, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. You whined as he teased at your opening, dipping a finger in but never giving you what you needed.

“Billy,” you gasped, arching up as his head ducked to lave at a nipple, teeth lightly scraping. Your cunt clenched, you felt yourself gushing against Billy’s hand as his ministrations brought you closer and closer to your end.

He hummed. “Wonder if I can get you off just like this.”

You dropped your head back, moaning long and low as Billy finally sunk a finger into you, timing the upward curl of his fingers with the lapping of his tongue against your nipple. He swapped to the other one, giving it just as much attention as the others, and drove a second finger inside you. It was damn near maddening, keeping you on the edge of your pleasure. Your hips canted off the bed, needy moans tearing from your throat, as you chased your release.

Billy’s thumb at your clit was your undoing, and it sent you spiraling into a maelstrom of white-hot pleasure, curling your toes and making your vision go white. Your cunt clenched down on Billy’s fingers as they continued to stroke you, easing you through your orgasm. As your trembling began to subside, your chest heaving, Billy pulled his fingers from you, shining in your pleasure. Your mouth went dry as he brought them to his lips, tongue tangling around them to wipe them clean.

His blue eyes were blown black, as he stripped your panties away, dropping them off the side of the bed. Reaching over, he pulled a condom from your drawer and made quick work of rolling it on. Your legs opened wide as he settled between them, the head of his cock dipping between your folds. Your hands found his shoulders as he kissed you deep, and with one smooth roll of his hips he sank into you, groaning at the soft, velvet heat that enveloped him.

His rhythm was deep but slow, his thighs spread wide, knees bracing against the mattress as he pumped his hips. He slid a hand under your ass, angling your hips just right that had you tossing your head back with a gasp. Nails digging red crescent moons into his flesh, you lifted your hips to meet him, leaning up to kiss him deeply. He let his free hand tangle with yours, pinning it to the pillow beside your head as he snapped his hips, head dropping into the crook of your neck as ecstacy vowed to claim you both.

“Billy,” it trailed off on a moan, “’m close, baby.”

He grunted his reply, a deep, “Me too,” and then his pace picked up. The obscene sounds of his thighs meeting your ass, the wet sound of his body meeting yours, filled the silence in the bedroom. Billy pulled his hand out from under you, reaching between you to twirl circles around your clit. Body spasming, your orgasm took you over, curving your back and causing your nails to draw blood in his back. Electricity shot through your veins, sparking every nerve ending. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and Billy laid kisses across your throat, collarbone, and chest, until he let go with a feral growl into your skin.

He spilled into the condom, hips stuttering as his eyes squeezed shut. Leaning back, he laid his forehead against yours and rolled, keeping your bodies together. He hitched one of your legs over his hip and drew circles on your thigh as the two of you fought for breath.

“Might have to make you go ice skating more often,” you said breathlessly, tucking your head under his chin. His chest heaved beneath your hand as you laid it there, fingertips toying with the medallion around his neck.

He chuckled quietly but didn’t answer verbally. Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to your sweaty forehead, arm winding around your shoulders to pull you closer. As he felt you drift off to sleep, sufficiently exhausted, Billy laid awake with his eyes closed, relishing in the warmth you provided not only his body but his heart as well.

Billy Hargrove Tag List: @casaharrington / @moirasimagines / @billyhardgrove / @dacremontgomerylover / @dacresgirl / @hotstuffhargrove / @thatonecurlygirl / @delicatelyherdreams / @hargrove-mayfield / @swirlyoreo / @sheseiler

Permanent Tag List: @so-not-hotmess / @hotstuffhargrove / @moirasimagines / @baebee35 / @deathbyarabbit / @disagreetoagree / @cherryblcssm / @alex–awesome–22 / @sophiealiice / @yknott81 / @cassiopeia-barrow / @tearsforhan / @ ssstutteringbbbill / @hargrovehoe / @thephantomofthe-internet

[hazyheel]

WWE Monday Night Raw 8/12/19 Review

Seth Rollins Promo: He came out in normal clothes, which immediately worried me. He talked about how he wasn’t sure if he would win at summerslam, and he put Lesnar over a bit. He talked about how the crowd fueled him through the match. He only won with the love from the crowd, which sounds corny but it was a pretty good line in my opinion. AJ Styles then came out to interrupt, with the OC in tow. They congratulated Rollins on winning his match, and threw his hat in the ring for title contention. He challenged Rollins to a match tonight, to prove that he is a better champion. Rollins told him that all his respect for Styles is gone. He then accepted the challenge. Styles then extended a hand for a shake. Rollins refused, and Styles called him scared as he let the ring. Tensions were high.

Grade: C+. Started out pretty good, but I felt that Styles didn’t really make sense to throw his hat in the ring. He has his own thing in the midcard. If you want him to go in the main event, then give him a real reason. He should be allowed to compete in the midcard. If you want him to move up, then he can win a multi man match for #1 contendership while still being the champion, and then lose the belt. There are better ways to emphasize your top stars that to screw over the midcard. 

Street Profits Backstage: They put the show over, but Dawkins was tired and dehydrated. Sami Zayn then came up to give advice. He told them that the crowd will suck the soul right out of them. He said that everyone flames out, and the fans don’t care anymore. He started to talk about Samoa Joe as an example, but Joe was behind him. Joe then challenged him to a match, and I think Joe turned face. He shoved Zayn into the crates and walked away. 

Before we came back, they talked about how the King of the Ring is back for 2019. That’s actually pretty exciting, but I don’t know what the stakes are. I will make a separate post for predictions and my thoughts on the tournament at large, so watch out for that. 

Sami Zayn vs. Samoa Joe: I am pretty confused about Joe’s character at the moment, but maybe this match will help me with that. Zayn attacked before the bell, and Joe totally destroyed him after that. He put him on the mat with some power moves and strikes before choking him out for the win. 

Then he got on the mic. He talked about how he was still pissed about how people accused him of attacking Roman. He said that he won’t forgive anyone in the crowd for all the hate. 

Grade: B-. Inoffensive squash, and they clarified that he is still a heel. Double wammy.

Dolph Ziggler vs. the Miz: Miz was wearing a new shirt, saying Toronto is Awesome, which is a nice babyface touch. Ziggler came out in normal clothes. I think he had a Kabuki Warriors shirt on, but I don’t really know. Ziggler then got on the mic and called Miz a coward. He complained about how wasn’t cleared to compete. He said that Miz screwed Miz. After saying that it was too bad that he wouldn’t have the match, he beat the crap out of him. He beat him down as they cut to commercial. 

When we came back, they were in the middle of the match. Ziggler was competing in jeans, so there was that. Right when we came back, Miz started to take the advantage. As Miz was delivering Yes Kicks to Ziggler, Graves compared him to a man who can walk away from a horrific car accident, which was so weird. Ziggler then nailed a Zig Zag, but Miz somehow kicked out. It seems like they are moving that down to a signature rather than a finisher. Ziggler then went for a superkick, but Miz caught his leg and put Ziggler in the figure four and won the match. 

Afterwards, Ziggler got on the mic and said that he was a coward. He told Miz to finish him off, and as he was talking, Miz nailed a Skull Crushing Finale.

Grade: C+. A watered down and less awesome version of what happened at Summerslam with Goldberg. Ziggler’s new “I have more pride than is good for me” gimmick is going to get old, unless it was legends kicking his ass on pay per view. But the match was okay, although I know they can do much better. 

Becky Lynch Interview: Becky immediately grabbed the mic and talked about how she wanted her next challenger. She said that she just beat Nattie, but she isn’t going to rest. She wants to kick the next person’s ass. 

Elias Concert: He talked about how he knows someone will interrupt him, and he wants them to come out right now. That way it is right out of the way. He counted down a couple times, but no one came out. “I’m begging you, please don’t change the channel,”- Corey Graves. Nice call. Then Ricochet came out with a mic right as he was about to start. They both called each other lame, and Elias challenged Ricochet to a match. 

We went right from that into Ricochet vs. Elias, where they started out with a quick pace. They delivered a lot of high impact moves right away, but then they went back into rest holds. At one point, the two botched some sort of move, and the crowd seemed to turn against it quick. Ricochet then threw Elias out of the ring, but when he went for a suicide dive, Elias dodged and Ricochet landed right on his back. The two then battled in the ring, and Ricochet won with a sunset flip into a pinning predicament. Elias had his shoulder up, but the ref called for the bell anyway. 

Grade: D+. Jeez this was rough. Two botches and a horrific bump. This was a very unpolished match that did not showcase the strengths of either guy. They are much better than this. 

Andrade vs. Rey Mysterio, 2 out of 3 falls: the match started right away, with a stiff shot from Andrade. He went for a powerbomb, but Mysterio countered to set up the 619, but Zelina Vega tripped him up on the outside. Andrade then rolled him up, and Vega held his feet on the ropes to win the first fall. 

They started the second fall, and Mysterio quickly gave Andrade a rana to the outside, which looked pretty rough. Mysterio then continued the offense, hitting a slingshot powerbomb which looked like he planted Andrade on his head. Once again when Mysterio went for a 619, Vega distracted him and he didn’t get it. But after a third set up, he nailed the 619. Still, Andrade got his knees up and hit the hammerlock DDT for the win. 

Grade: C+. Another fine match. I liked that Andrade got a 2-0 victory, way to put over new talent. I don’t know what they will do with that, but it was a huge victory. Good on them, but not their best match. 

Steve Austin interview: Austin talked about how Rollins had a whole bunch of heart to get his win at Summerslam. He put Rollins over. Then he put over his own show. Shameless plug here. 

Rey Mysterio Interview: He talked about how frustrated he was losing two falls in a row. He seemed like he was about to cry, and muttered about his family. Interesting, not sure where this is going at all. 

Street Profits Backstage Again: Montez Ford told Mysterio to keep his head up, and gave him some encouragement. Ford then woke Dawkins up, and hyped up the Women’s Tag Team Championship match, and Cedric Alexander vs. Drew McIntyre. But Dawkins was too thirsty to help him, so Ford walked away. Funny, but they need to do something soon. 

Drew McIntyre interview: he talked about how he was going to end Alexander, and their rivalry in the match. He called Alexander’s run a fairytale. He said that he was going to cave his skull in and end the rivalry once and for all. 

Cedric Alexander vs. Drew McIntyre: the two started right away with some nice striking, and Alexander flying right away. He nailed McIntyre with a tope con hilo, but McIntyre fought back into it. While Alexander was up on the top rope, McIntyre grabbed him in a crucifix, and then gave him a high angle buckle bomb that looked hard to take. McIntyre took control from there, absolutely tossing Cedric all around the ring. At one point, the two were on the top rope, and McIntyre nailed Alexander with a sidewalk slam off the top for a near fall. The two started to fight on the outside, where Alexander pushed Mcintyre into the post, and then hit the lumbar check on the outside. The two were nearly counted out, but Alexander slid back in and attempted a suicide dive. But McIntyre caught him out of the dive and gave him a rough belly to belly onto the ring steps. The two then fought back into the ring, again on the top rope, but this time Alexander delivered a top rope spanish fly for a near fall. That brought the crowd alive, Mcintyre went for the inverted Alabama Slam, but Cedric countered into a rollup. McIntyre kicked out, and the two ran the ropes, only for McIntyre to decimate Alexander with a Claymore for the win. 

Grade: B+. Really good stuff between these two. They showcased a great clash of styles match, as well as showing McIntyre’s agility as they did so. Cedric sold just as well as he always does, and was a really good underdog here. He was smart enough to get the advantage several times, and he knew what he had to do to win. Any of those rollups could have been it, and Cedric knew that. McIntyre was a great bully here, and actually seemed to respect Alexander a bit. Really good stuff between these guys, I knew that they could put something like this together. Match of the night. 

The OC Backstage: the group were talking about how Rollins beat the odds when he beat Brock Lesnar at Summerslam. Gallows and Anderson then said that not even Styles could do that, to which Styles responded that he only had one chance to beat him. Then he just talked about how he would win the champion vs. champion match later on. 

No Way Jose vs. Robert Roode: a bit of an odd match. I’m not really sure why they are having it. The two started with a lock up, before Roode pushed Jose back into the corner and wailed on him with strikes and kicks. Jose was being beaten for most of the match, before Roode won with a Glorious DDT.

Grade: B-. Inoffensive squash. Cool to see some underutilized stars get TV time.

Paul Heyman Interview: Heyman talked about how Lesnar is not allowed any rematches against Rollins. He was so pissed off that he couldn’t even get the words out. Then he walked back into Lesnar’s locker room. Interesting.

The Lucha House Party vs. The Revival: This was an incredibly fast paced match right from the start. The Revival gained the advantage after forcing Lince Durado to the mat, but as they were fighting, R-Truth and the 24/7 guys ran down to the ring. The bell rang, and the Lucha House Party started to dive onto everyone around ringside. The Revival hit Truth with a Hart Attack, and pinned him together to become co-champions. However, Kalisto then ran in and hit a Salida del Sol on Dawson, only for Wilder to break it up. Carmella then pulled a half conscious Truth onto Dawson to win the belt back, and the two ran away. Backstage, Carmella and Truth were celebrating when Elias walked up and smashed Truth in the back with his guitar, and stole the championship in the process. 

Grade: C+. I was actually into having co-champions for a while, but it is clear that Truth is their guy for this belt. Anyway, this was fine. Nothing too exciting.

Natalya promo: Nattie came out with her arm in a sling, which was a nice touch. Still selling a beating from a night ago is pretty smart.  The crowd was chanting “you tapped out.” She said that although she lost, she won’t take back anything that she said. She wants to fight Becky Lynch again, but she will earn it before she does. Then she talked about her dad, Jim Neidhart, but as she started to talk, Sasha fucking Banks returned to interrupt. She seemed pretty genuinely happy to be back, and she gave Nattie a hug, but then sucker punched her and tore off a purple wig that she had on. She started to beat the crap out of Natalya, even tearing off her sling. The crowd was absolutely loving it, and everyone remembered how great of a heel Banks is. She even grabbed a chair, but as she was about to use it, Becky Lynch ran out for the save. The two brawled in the middle of the ring, with Banks coming out on top. She wailed on Lynch with the chair, and it looked incredibly painful. Eventually, some refs came by and broke everything up, but the damage was done. Looks like we have a challenger for the Raw Women’s Championship, and someone who can actually win it at that. 

Grade: B+. What a return! I have wanted heel Sasha for years, although I always wanted her to turn on Bayley. This is perfect though. A brutal assault to bring back one of the best heels in the women’s division. Welcome back Banks, thank you for saving the women’s division and keeping things interesting. 

Viking Raiders Squash: before the match, the Viking Raiders cut a promo about how they will destroy anyone in their way, and the tag division will kneel before them. Naturally, the Raiders messed up the poor jobbers. At one point, Erik gave one jobber a huge uranagi onto the back of the other. The two were about to win at one point, but Erik pulled his shoulders off the mat, and they gave him the Viking Experience for the win. 

Grade: B-. Always entertaining squash. 

Nikki Cross and Alexa Bliss Interview: The two talked about their upcoming title defense against The Kabuki Warriors. They were actually being really nice to each other, so I guess Bliss has turned face. I don’t know where this is going, but they better hate each other eventually. 

Alexa Bliss and Nikki Cross vs. the Kabuki Warriors for the WWE Women’s Tag Team Championships: So, then during this match, Corey Graves was talking about how much he loves Bliss and Cross now, so I have no idea if they are face or heel. The Kabuki warriors had the advantage early on, running roughshod over the champions and completely annihilating them. The heels didn’t really get the advantage back until Bliss got a blind tag on Cross. At one point, Nikki was about to be hit by the Insane Elbow, but Cross rolled to the outside. Sane nailed her with a crossbody to the outside. Sane then rolled her back in for the Insane elbow, but Bliss broke it up. Asuka then tried to take out Bliss, but Bliss ducked a kick that landed on the ringpost, taking Asuka out. In the finish, Cross nailed Sane with a swinging neckbreaker and then Bliss finished it off with Twisted Bliss. 

Grade: B-. This was a fine match, nothing too special. I hope that the Kabuki Warriors actually get some TV time, because they are a great team that deserve some more time. Bliss and Cross look strong, so that is good. These titles will need a lot of help to be built back up to the level they were once at, but they can do it with some time and patience. 

AJ Styles vs. Seth Rollins: Rollins still had heavily taped ribs, but Rollins actually assaulted Styles’ ribs to start the match off. Early on in the match, Rollins opted to take out the rest of the OC on the outside, but that distraction only allowed Styles to attack the ribs more. At one point, Styles even went for the Styles clash on the apron, but Rollins slipped out and swept Style’s leg out from under him. When the two got back in the ring, they started to transition into heavy hitting strikes. At one point, Rollins tried for a reverse superplex, but AJ pushed him off. He then tried for a phenomenal forearm, but Rollins ducked it and nailed a superkick. He then went for the frog splash, but Anderson distracted the ref while Gallows pushed Rollins off the top rope. The two were then banned from ringside, but they just ran in and caused a disqualification instead. Ricochet then ran out to Rollins’ aid, but it didn’t help him much. The OC was about to give Rollins a Styles Clash from the middle rope when Braun Strowman ran out and decimated all of the heels, giving Styles a spinning powerslam, followed by a running powerslam. After the OC retreated, Strowman grabbed Rollins’ Universal Championship and handed it to him, but not before eyeing it a bit. The faces then stood tall together to close out the show. 

Grade: B. A pretty good match with a fun brawl to close everything out, plus Braun Strowman looked pretty strong in the process. This was a good look at what the top of the card on Raw should be. Get the US championship out of the mix, and these four guys could easily carry the show a bit. Give some lower down guys the US Championship, like maybe Cedric Alexander. Throw Bray Wyatt and Drew McIntyre in towards the top, and you have yourself a strong main event scene. This final stretch gives me some hope that maybe we will have some improvements on WWE going forward. Things seem to be looking up. 

Overall Grade: B-

Pros: Alexander vs. McIntyre; banks return; main event

Cons: ricochet vs. elias

[thethespacecoyote]

"are you bleeding?" and/or "you should see the other guy"

sorry this took so long anon but i had fun with this! a bit of a fighting club sort of send up  with omegaverse

Jack had been hearing rumors about the alpha fighting ring deep within Helios for awhile now, but had largely dismissed them as that—just rumors.

But then he’d caught Rhys’ little musclebound friend running his mouth off about it one day when he’d snuck up on the pair’s conversation, and even with instinctive lip-lock Vaughn got whenever the intimidating alpha came around, he still caught enough verification to get his interest piqued. The beta hadn’t been very forthcoming with any more info, quickly excusing himself from Jack’s presence—thankfully, however, Rhys could be coaxed far more easily, and by the time they started heading home themselves, Jack had the location and time of the fighting ring squeezed out of his lover.  

Jack thought it might be a lark to tussle with the wannabe tough-guys a place like this would inevitably draw for a bit. Figured it’d be a bit of a show, for the CEO of Hyperion himself to roll up and take on a couple challengers. Rhys seemed a little reluctant, annoyed he’d let Jack wring the information out of him, but when the alpha teasingly offered to buy him ice cream afterwards for being such a good sport, it buttered him up enough to convince him to tag along.

The fighting ring sat hidden in a grimier part of Helios, far away from the remodeled splendor of the Hub, as well as the bulk of the apartment blocks and offices. The hallways he and Rhys followed grew dimmer and grimier the farther they walked, with only the occasional cleaning roomba attempting to tidy up the musty floors. They even found streaks of graffiti on the walls, both remnants from the Lost Legion occupation and fresher, more juvenile messages criss-crossed over the stained steel.

Rhys followed close behind him, occasionally grasping at Jack’s arm and swearing at the random, metallic noises echoing through the halls.

“Jack…this is creepy,” Rhys grumbled as he pressed himself close to the CEO’s side. “That ice cream better be amazing.”

“Hush, kiddo, I told you already I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jack reassured as the rounded a corner, both quickly detecting loud, rhythmic sounds from further down the dingy hallway. Rhys grumbled in soft discontent, but didn’t dig his heels in nor insist they turn around and head home, continuing to follow Jack towards the source of the noise.

It didn’t take too long to find. Two more corners and a creaky, half-broken automatic door later and he and Rhys were greeted by the sight of a large, already raucous looking crowd. Their nostrils both flared at once, quickly picking up on the heavy, musky odor of alphas that smelled soaked into everything. The crowd clustered in some vague semblance of a line outside what must have been an old office at one point, by jammed open glass doors and the busted ID placard sparking besides it. Jack felt Rhys press closer to his side, an affronted hiss building under his breath as he eyed the gathered alphas suspiciously.

“If any of them touch me, you’re going to have to kill them,” Rhys muttered as he followed along Jack, the pair walking right up to the double doors past the line. Jack’s presence, predictably, didn’t go unnoticed, as heads turned and eyes widened all along the group of alphas as they passed.

“Holy shit—“

“—it’s him—“

“—he’s really here!—“

Jack’s ego puffed bigger and bigger at the chorus of whispers as he strode right up to the two, beefy alphas in unbuttoned dress shirts that passed for security. They let him in without question, and as Jack passed on through the entrance to the ring he could hear them gossiping in low voices, like awestruck teenagers.

Shock and excitement rippled through the crowd as soon as Jack entered the huge, dingy room proper, all gathered quickly bursting into raucous, unhinged cheering when the CEO roared and threw his metaphorical hat into the ring, swaggering about as the organizers scrambled to find him an acceptable challenger.

Scars of old motivational posters on the walls and abandoned, half-broken cubicle walls—some of which had even been ripped off the carpet and shoved away from the crowd—confirmed Jack’s earlier hunch regarding the room’s origin. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember which department used to occupy this area of Helios, but the idea that an old button-down cubicle farm had been infested with such a dingy, violent spectacle got him a little giddy.

Soon enough Jack was ushered away from Rhys and into the ring, where he stripped himself of his more restricting garments, draping his jacket, vest, and undershirt on the battered metal barrier separating the arena from the audience.

Jack felt deep in his element. Roaring crowds, all eyes watching him, voices chanting his name in between calls for blood. His heart raced, leaping against his sternum and itching for the fight. He jumped about the perimeter of the ring, occasionally slapping high-fives or bumping knuckles with the spectators as he waited for his opponent to step into the fray.

Jack had left Rhys with his gun, not fully trusting the hoards of sweaty, hormone-flush alphas, even with his presence warding most of them away from messing with his mate. He could see Rhys awkwardly fidgeting the handle of the gun sticking out of the chest holster, his expression alternating between a disapproving frown and the undeniable excitement brimming just below the surface. After another pre-victory lap, Jack finally bounded over to where Rhys had come to lean up against the railing, fingers drumming up against the dented metal.

“How about a kiss for good luck, sugar?” Jack leaned up and over the barrier, cheeky grin splashed across his face. Rhys rolled his eyes, but smiled and planted a kiss right on his alpha’s lips anyway.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

A voice suddenly crackled over the transformed office’s old loudspeaker, static hissing on each consonant as it announced Jack’s presence—little redundant, the alpha thought, but whatever—as well as the name and title of his challenger. Jack’s eyebrows raised up in interest as one alpha parted off from the crowd clustering up against the barrier, vaulting up and over the boundary and landing with a resounding thump in the ring.

He looked like nothing special when compared to the rest of the masses, generically muscles in the arms and chest, with his hexagon-patterned jacket slung all casual over his shoulder, like he fancied himself some kind of old-fashioned street tough. The only thing distinct about him was the angled, freshly shaved cut of his facial hair that spiked up along his jawline that didn’t add much to the intimidation factor, in Jack’s opinion.

The CEO grinned wildly and he sized the other man up proper, hands on his hips as he swaggered forward. He sniffed the air, trying to get a decent read on the alpha, but the hundreds of odors clustered around the ring smothered his senses. The guy had to be a little bit scared though, right? Staring down Handsome Jack, of all people? He figured a little pants-pissing would be in order.

Maybe he needed to turn it up a notch.

“Well well well, this is it?” Jack boasted, more to the crowd than his challenger. “This is the son of a taint who decided to challenge Handsome Jack himself? Gotta say, I admire your balls, kiddo. It’ll be fun to rip ‘em off your carcass.” The crowd roared its approval as Jack cracked his knuckles, smile wide and brutal as he circled his opponent. To his slight surprise, the other alpha didn’t look all that phased as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a confident smirk.

“You going to keep that mask on the entire fight, old man?” His adversary growled, tossing the coat off his shoulder and onto the railing behind him. “Probably makes it a little hard to see properly…sure those eyes aren’t painted on?”

Old? Now that was something that got Jack’s blood simmering. Rhys could get away with something like that, poking fun at his age, since he knew the omega didn’t mean it. But this little prick? Oh, now he was going down.

“You think this is a handicap or something, buddy?” Jack laughed away his anger, pointing at the mask. “Trust me, keeping this on won’t screw with my eyesight at all—in any case, even the blind could see you’re a blowhard little bitch.”

Delighted howls vibrated through the crowd, and Jack could see his opponent’s cheeks redden slightly. He quickly hid part of his face—including that awful beard—behind a pair of clenched knuckles, lips tight and apparently unwilling to talk any more shit.

Fine by Jack, honestly. The point here, really, was to speak with their fists.

The flickering, green-white lights above cast a grimy sheen on the already sweating skin of both Jack and his foe. The air was warm, humid from the hundred panting, spit flecked mouths gathered around the ring, fanatically thirsty for blood. A primeval fervor thrummed through the air like a constant deep bass, shaking through Jack’s muscles and squeezing adrenaline through his veins. His nostrils flared, the scent of alpha hormones the strongest here in the ring, the heart of the violence —the cacophony of senses driving him mad and pumping him up to fight, to draw blood.

Jack rolled the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows before he fell into a ready stance, fists clenched and guarded in front of his body. He shifted his weight steadily from foot to foot, rocking back and forth in place as he waited for the buzzer to sound.

Briefly, Jack caught where Rhys was standing  out of the corner of his eye. He turned to wink and sent a short, reassuring finger-gun straight at his mate’s engrossed pout, a split second before the raspy buzzer rang out across the arena.

His opponent’s sudden rush of speed nearly caught Jack off guard—fortunately, he quickly sidestepped the rushing alpha, giving him a wide berth as he skidded to a halt right in front of the metal barrier. Jack again danced out of reach when the alpha surged after him with two wide, swinging blows, the momentum leaving him wide open for Jack to charge in and sink a fist right into his opponent’s abdomen.

It didn’t wind him quite the way Jack wanted, but the punch distracted his opponent enough for Jack to catch a glancing blow against his cheek before the other alpha’s fist socked into Jack’s shoulder, driving the older alpha away.  

His arm trembled slightly from the blow, pain ringing down to his elbow. Jack shook out his hand, leaping back to put some space between the two of them. A moment’s recovery was all Jack needed, and as his adversary lunged after him he sprung ready to meet the oncoming assault.

Jack could tell already that the guy had been hoping to overwhelm him with pure brute strength straight off the bat, but the older man’s unexpected speed and agility had cut that strategy off at the head. Not that Jack had ever thought he could possibly lose this fight, but now he felt even more confident than he had beforehand. One-hundred percent assured he could wipe the floor with this guy as soon as he either tired him out or frustrated him into making a key mistake.

Jack laughed as he continued dodging and deflecting the guy’s punches, feet dancing on the floor of the ring. He nimbly hopped on the clean patches in between fresh and old blood alike. Jack felt alive, far more fleet and forceful than any other alpha his age could claim to be. And when he landed and clawing punch against his younger opponent, it only served to inflate his throbbing ego further. Blood surged through his veins like fire, and he couldn’t help but laugh triumphantly when his knuckles connected once against with his adversary’s chin with an audible crack of teeth.

“Give up yet, kiddo?” Jack gave the other alpha a scant moment to recover from the blow—though really, it was more so he could have a chance to properly taunt his foe. That was part the fun, anyway, make the guy really feel the shame of his oncoming loss.

Unfortunately, the guy remained annoyingly tacit, merely panting a couple of times and wiping blood away from his lips as he shot an angry glare in Jack’s direction. The CEO smiled, holding out his arms in a mocking shrug, trivializing his enemy’s intensity.

“What, don’t wanna pipe up? Come on! Are you an alpha, or just a kicked puppy?” The crowd’s laughter echoed triumphantly in his ears, though he thought he heard a couple errant voices calling for his ass to be kicked. He narrowed his eyes and glanced about, making a mental note to do a little purging of the audience after the fight. Just to remind those dissidents just exactly who he was, if they’d been dumb enough to forget.

But that would have to wait ’til after—his opponent was charging again, emboldened by a second wind as he knocked a flurry of punches about. Jack’s forearms rang with the blows as he tried to block them, one even catching the clip of his mask as he just barely dodged his head. Flecks of red flew through the air, his adversary’s knuckles sliced open by the edge of his clasp, but he didn’t seem to care as he continued pummeling Jack’s guard.

Distracted by his adversary’s sudden resurged strength as he was, Jack failed to notice the large puddle of fresh blood—presumably from one of tonight’s previous fights—until his sneakers were already sliding through it.

He managed to catch himself before he slipped and fell completely, but it gave his foe an opportunity to strike him off guard. Jack grunted as a hand lunged forward grabbed the front of his sweater, yanking the collar sharply against his neck as it pulled him forward, right into a cruising fist.

Bright colors burst in Jack’s vision as something in his face snapped. He suddenly felt weightless, as if his soul had been knocked right out of his body by the blow and try as he might, he couldn’t claw his way back in time before his sight went completely black, and he fainted dead away on the ring’s stained floor.

The sounds of the world around Jack rushed in long before his sight returned. Along with the pain—the pain was bad enough to nearly knock him out again, but then he caught a whiff of Rhys’ scent through the blood and sweat of the ring and his eyes flew open, suddenly concerned for his mate’s welfare.

“Rhys—ow—“ Jack swore at the sudden lancing pain in his head, his vision blurring all dizzy as he swayed. He fell back, only to be caught by a warm hand that then carefully laid him back against the floor.

“Shhh shh shh, easy.” His omega’s soothing voice, the one he used when Jack had had a long day or a nightmare, rolled over him, easing the throbbing pain just a tad. After a moment’s recovery, he tried opening his eyes again, keeping them to slits just so he could see Rhys’ face above his own.

Jack had already sensed his mate’s worry through his bond, so the concern in his eyes and pouting lips surprised him little. Yet with his fuzzy, fractured mind, it was hard to put two and two together as to why Rhys was so upset. Jack squinted in thought.

He…he remembered the fight, the fact that he was winning up until the point where he slipped and…

Pain, blood, then nothing. Jack hissed at the sting of the memory, as well as the throbbing in his head and face. He tried to relax in Rhy’s hold as he pried his eyes open wider, taking in his mate’s face further. As soon as the fuzziness started to dissipate towards the periphery of his vision, he noted something glistening and red near Rhys’ port.

“You’re…you’re bleeding.” Despite the fact that he was in no position to fight any longer, Jack felt a surge of rage at the cut on his omega’s temple. Rhys touched his fingers to the blood leaking from the cut, before snorting and waving his hand dismissively.

“That’s nothing. You should see the other guy.”

“Other guy?”

Jack raised his head as best as he could without risking further pain. From across the dingy ring, he could see two other alphas dragging Jack’s former opponent by the arms. With his blurry vision he couldn’t tell if the guy was still moving or not, but the copious amount of blood staining down his shirt told him all he really needed to know.

“Holy crap…”

Rhys smirked proudly at the awe in Jack’s voice.

“Did you think I was just going to let you forfeit because you got knocked out cold?” The omega’s cybernetic fingers, stained and tacky with drying blood, stroked Jack’s hair back off of his forehead. “You dragged me all the way here. There was no way you were losing. Not on my watch.”

A dumb smile spread across Jack’s lips as he looked up at his mate with a dreamy, glassy-eyed glance.

“Baby….if I didn’t have a concussion right now…this would make me super horny.”

Rhys answered him with the typical, resigned sigh Jack had long gotten used to, but the omega’s thrill and pride from his victory shone through nonetheless as he leaned down and brushed his lips against Jack’s uninjured cheek.

“Save it for after we get you home and patched up, handsome.”

[tea-and-toblerones]

And See Roses in the Rain | A Unison One Shot

Surprise! Another unexpected one shot! 

This came to mind as I wrote The One Where Ed Gets Jealous. 

This happens a bit further in the time line but I couldn't wait to write it. There's no spoilers or smut so everyone can enjoy this one!

"Hey Adi, one of my mates is having an engagement party next week and I told him I'd play at it. You wanna come with me?"

I look up from the basket of laundry I was in the middle of folding, a single sock clutched in my grip. He was on his laptop, probably checking through his emails. As much as the boy wanted to completely cut everyone out, he still looked through his emails everyday. Just in case something happened or someone really needed to get ahold of him. He pulled his eyes away from the screen, the light reflecting off his glasses.

"Um, maybe?" my reply slightly hesitant, "Depends, where and exactly when? I can't exactly fly to London at the drop of a hat y’know, cos, work..."

"Nah, its here, so no worries there. Its on a Saturday, I'm booking the flight now for Friday afternoon. We can fly out, have some fun and fly back before you have to be at work Monday."

"Are you sure you don't want to spend a little more time with them? I have no problem flying back by myself."

"No, I visited with them a bit at the beginning of my break. A weekend's fine."

I went back to searching for the mate to the sock I still had in my hand. "Sure, sounds like fun. I'll see if I can dip out of work a little early that day."

I hear him move from the couch, plopping on the floor beside me. His soft flannel pajama bottoms brushing against my knee. He plunges his hands in, pulling out a shirt and begins helping me fold. "You want me to talk to them for you? You'll find I can be very persuasive when I need to be." He leaned over, bumping into me playfully with his shoulder. His face beside mine, eyebrows waggling, a goofy smile plastered on his face. This goof, I swear he's just an overgrown child.

I stare at him with an amused expression, planting a quick peck on his nose that caused him to beam. I take my now sock free hand and place my fingers on the center of his forehead gently shoving him back upright.

"I don't think that's necessary." laughing has he comically pouted, throwing a sock in my lap punctuated with a raspberry. "But I'll keep that in mind if I want a day or two off in the middle of the week."

"It's not like you don't deserve it." You hear him mutter as he folds another shirt, "You fucking bust your ass there..."

"Teddy, can we not get into this tonight?" I said wearily, leaning forward to grab another article of clothing.

"I'm just saying, all the work you do there, you deserve some respect..." He tosses a pair of folded pajama shorts down.

"Teddy." My voice creeping into a warning.

He huffed but otherwise stayed silent. I gathered up all the folded clothes and placed them in the now empty basket. I stand up and stretch, reveling in the pull of my back muscles loosening. Ed moved back to the couch, his face buried in his laptop. I start putting my clothes away when I hear him call

"Is three too early?"

"No, that's fine. I'll just leave at lunch. It won't be a problem."

He shuffles in, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "Mmm better not be."

"You're so threatening with those sleepy eyes." I tease, "Watch out Greg, we've got ourselves a lion over here."

He claws at the air, lip pulled up in a sneer, attempt a snarl, that's overcome by another yawn. "Shall I practice my roar?" His eyebrow raised up, lost in the mass of copper strands.

"You're like Simba, pre Mufasa's death. Cute, cuddly, but not very terrifying."

"Geesh, your brother's right you are Scar." He sank down in my bed, pulling off his shirt and pants. " But that does make me king. I can get behind that."

"I shall practice my curtsy." I retort, unable to hide the smile that creeped across my face.

He'd reached out, snagging my hand and tugged me into bed with him. I bury my face in his neck. After a few minutes he starts chuckling. "Hey, do you think a guy would get walloped if he went down on a girl and said slimy, yet satisfying?"

The noise that I made was an ungodly one before I started rolling with laughter. His head turning to me as I vibrate with laughter. His laugh joining mine as I barely gasp out "I just...what? Probably, yeah. I'd give you a good wallop if you said that to me."

"No you didn't. You laughed. You're still laughing!"

"You also didn't say it while you had a face full either."

"I can fix that." He said slyly, nibbling on my ear.

"Don't you fucking dare. Slimy yet satisfying...what the hell Teddy." I had started laughing again. I just knew that's all I was going to think about the next time I try and ride his face. I just know it. I could almost hear him, his voice muffled, breaking away to see my reaction.

It took a bit to calm down after that, we started up again when I had went to suck up some runaway drool that was about to land on Ed's bare shoulder. He snorted and it was all down hill from there. Finally, we both drifted off.

*************************************************************************************

As I had predicted I had no problems with getting off work early. I hopped into my car, rushing home to pick up my bag before meeting Ed at his suite. From there we hopped in a taxi to the airport. Ed had voiced some concerns as he placed his guitar in the trunk.

"I haven't touched this since my last tour ...what if I've forgotten everything?" Doubt was ringing through as he ran his hands through his hair, "I should have at least played a little before today."

I reached out and grabbed his hand. "You'll be fine. I'm sure once you have it in your hands again it'll all come back to you." when he didn't looked convinced I added, "Why don't you take tonight and tomorrow morning to sit down and play through your songs."

"But, I wanted to...I had other plans..." He trailed off, his eyes dropping down, "I wanted to have a fun weekend away. Explore places, eat some new food. That sort of stuff. I didn't want to stay stuffed in my room the entire time...fuck, why didn't I fucking think ahead! It's not like this was sprung up on me! I fucking knew about this before he even asked her to marry him and I just kept shoving it off!"

"Hey, look at me." I put my hands on his face, his eyes training on mine, "It'll be okay," I seen his mouth start to open but I cut him off, "We will have fun this weekend. The party isn't until the evening. We have all Saturday and Sunday to do all the stuff you want to do."

He took a deep breath, suddenly looking embarrassed by his outburst, "I'm just mad at myself for letting myself get to such a miserable state. Honestly, if you hadn't came when you did...I don't even want to think about how I'd be. Definitely in no shape to be singing at an engagement party. I was such an unbearable cynic the last time I saw him, I'm shocked they still wanted me to perform."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just give his hand a comforting squeeze "Well, you don't have to worry now. It'll all work out. I'm sure of it."

He answered with a quick kiss, "Thanks, love."

The flight wasn't a long one and soon we were carrying our bags up to our room. We unpacked pretty quickly, anxious to go and grab a quick bite to eat. After settling on a wing joint, we flipped through the menu, deciding to try their hot wings, making it a challenge of who could go the longest without taking a drink. It ended with both of us glaring at each other, swearing up and down that it wasn't that bad despite the tears streaming down our faces. Both of us too stubborn to take a drink and admit defeat. After we came to the agreement that there were no winners, except the chicken, we both gulped down our drinks.

Then it was back to the hotel, Ed bringing out his guitar, as I lay on the bed flat on my stomach, feet up in the air, buried deep in Ocean at the End of the Lane. Ed started strumming, letting his fingers get used to the strings, trying different chords. When he had started playing my attention drifted to him. It was rough at first. He had forgotten some words, some chords were out of order. I could see him getting more and more frustrated. Finally I close my book and swing my feet to the floor.

"You're over thinking and its fucking you up. You need to get out of your head."

"Yeah and what would you know about that, huh?" He snapped, tossing his guitar on the bed beside me

I raise my eyebrow at him, snatching up the discarded guitar. I glance down at it, taking a deep breath, letting my eyes fall closed. I begin playing the only song of his I knew and the one he had been trying to play- Thinking Out Loud. I let my fingers move on their own, my mind drifting off thinking of the last time I had played this same tune. When I finished I shook my hand, working the cramp out of it from not being used to my hand in that position. I could feel my fingers burning, the strings had dug into into my uncalloused fingers, almost cutting them open. I open my eyes to see Ed's mouth slightly open.

"Adi, why didn't you tell me you played?" His voice was quiet, almost hurt sounding

"Because I don't. Not anymore anyway. Haven't in months." I hand the guitar back, picking up my book again. "Which means if I can do it, you can do it. Just, let go. Your fingers know what they're doing, let them do it."

He grabbed my hand, looking at my red, marked fingers, kissing each one of them. After that there were hardly any problems. By the time he was tucking his guitar back in his case he was confident he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself. He crawled in bed beside me, head resting on my shoulder as my eyes skimmed over the pages.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier."

"You were frustrated and lashing out, I didn't take it personally." I say simply, my eyes not moving from the pages.

"That doesn't make it okay."

"I didn't say it made it okay. I said I didn't take it personally."

He leaned up right. "Look, if you're mad, just say you're mad." I could hear the irritation in his voice.

I snap my book closed "You reacted how anyone would have in that situation. You had someone lecturing you on a subject you know more about than they do. Of course it's going to irritate you."

He groaned in frustration, hopping out of the bed "Stop making excuses for me, will you just say I was being an ass and get on with it!"

"Fine. You were being an ass and your being one now. Happy?"

"No."

"Yeah, didn't think that would help." I grumbled, putting my book on the stand beside me.

"Why did you keep that you played a secret?" His voice had lost the angry edge, gaining a more wounded one, "Is it because of who I am? You said that wouldn't effect us."

I take a deep breath through my nose. "It has nothing to do with who you are. I didn't tell you because I haven't played or had the desire to play in a while. I didn't want you to get all excited, thinking you had someone who would play with you, when I just don't feel like it."

He sank back down in the bed "Shit, I'm sorry...Why'd you stop?"

I shake my head "It's a long story and not one I want to get into now. The short version is I just lost interest."

"Lost interest...."

"Yep." I lean over, turning my lamp off, sliding down under the covers. I felt Ed do the same.

"So, we're good?"

"We're good." His arms wiggled around me, his mouth kissing my shoulder blade. I reach back lazily, stroking his hair.

The next day flew by. We had breakfast at a cute outdoor cafe, chatting and people watching as we ate our dishes, stealing bites off each others plate when we thought the other wasn't looking. We strolled around town, wandering in and out of shops, getting wrapped up in doing touristy things. We stopped at a food truck, both getting portable tacos. Ed grimacing as he picked tomatoes out of his, throwing them into mine as we continued to walk around, admiring the sights. I'd taken so many pictures throughout the day my camera was running on low. With it getting late, we decide it was time to head back to the hotel and start getting ready for tonight.

Since Ed was a fan of natural looks, makeup took almost no time at all. It was the first time I had even bothered to put any on in a couple weeks. When he saw the tiny bottle of foundation in my hand he frowned.

"But you don't need it, you're magnificent without it."

"I just don't want to spend the night with everyone either giving me side glances or asking 'how'd you get that?' It's just going to be enough to dodge all questions, okay?"

"If it makes you happy, love, who am I to argue."

I gave my hair a bit of wave instead of the straight look I always wore. I slipped on my dark blue dress with matching flats. I knew I was going to spend a majority of the time on my feet and I took comfort over pain. Besides it wasn't overly fancy party. Ed was dressing a bit nicer, a white button up and a tie with jeans, since getting that boy out of jeans was a fight and a half. At least he had went with a darker pair.

We weren't too far from his friend house so we decided to walk, enjoying the evening breeze. I had one hand wrapped in his, the other wrapped around the handle of his guitar case. I thought it would be less obvious if I carried it. I mean, a red head covered in tats walking down the road carrying a guitar? Why not write a sign that says hey, I'm Ed Sheeran.

The staging for the party was breathtaking. The backyard was filled with tables, each having candles placed in the middle. In the center was a giant gazebo, fairy light adorned it, casting the whole yard in a warm glow. I could see sound equipment set up. So that's where Ed's gonna play. A dancefloor was in front of it, poles at each corner, party lights draped across, casting a rainbow of colors down on the floor. There was a small bar at one side of the yard.

"This is an engagement party?" I mutter in Ed's ear. "It's a bit....grand."

"Yeah, that's Charlie for you. Always over the top. You'd think Will would have reigned her in a bit but...he's always been an enabler."

"That's why they have Ed Sheeran playing at an engagement party? Who they going to have play the actual wedding? I mean, they kinda went too big too early."

He snorted "Knowing them....who knows, here, I'll take this to the stage." He slipped the guitar out of my hand and carried it off to the stage. When he returned he snagged my hand, "Ready for a drink, love?"

I glance around at the group of people. I'm not one to shy away from social events. I flit between people, making conversations has always been easy. So the nervous feeling that had settled in my stomach was a foreign feeling.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let meet your mates."

It wasn't much longer until we're spotted, a tall, broad shouldered man waving Ed over. I let Ed lead the way, his hand still wrapped around mine. When we reach him, Ed drops my hand to give him a hug. They break away, Ed’s hand taking mine, pulling me forward.

"Will, this is Adi."

I look over Will. His hair was a light, sandy brown. His skin was tanned, his face was wide, his features soft and friendly. He gave off a very approachably, likable vibe.

"So this is the Adi I've been hearing about." I was surprised when he had an American accent. I was expecting him to be British. He smiled and scooped me up in a hug. I can see why Ed gets along with him. "It's good to finally meet the girl Ed's been raving about."

"I met Will when I first came to the States. Crashed on his couch quite a bit." Ed added for me.

"Those were the days...look at us now."

I listened to them chat about some of the crazy stuff they had gotten into when they were younger. Soon Charlie joined us. She was tall as well, with long brown hair and a face that always seemed cheerful. While Will was mellow and calm, Charlie was abuzz with energy. It may have had something to do with the drink in her hand.

After a quite a few humorous stories and some drinks Ed was standing on stage, joking with the crowd. When he had started playing, Charlie grabbed my hand, dragging me out to the dance floor. She let go and began dancing around me. I joined in and soon, thanks in part to the red headed sluts I had been slamming back, we were grinding against each other, hands waving in the air, giggling up a storm.

When I heard the beginning of Thinking Out Loud I smiled. I look up at Ed, who's face was mirroring my own.

"Care for a partner switch?" Will had replaced Charlie as she made her way to the bar. He held his hand out and soon we were dancing are way around the floor. "I've been wanting to talk to you all night."

"Really? Why?" I was a bit taken aback as we swayed back and forth

"I wanted to see the girl who pulled Ed out of that dark place."

"Oh...was it really that bad?" I was starting to worry

"I won't get into it, that's for him to talk about, not me. I just want to thank you for bringing him back."

I smile and flick my eyes to Ed and I see him wearing an expression I can't put my finger on. He didn't look mad or upset but there was something happening behind those eyes. I rack my brain trying to figure it out. Once the song was done, Will left, thanking me again, before heading off the floor. Charlie was back and soon we were back to dancing. My hips swaying, eyes closed, arms just everywhere, where ever the beat took them. Once Ed stepped off the stage most people headed either inside or to a hot tub that was on the porch. I remained, sitting at a table, waiting for Ed. He sat down, looking a bit dejected. I plant a kiss on his cheek, which earned me a half smile.

"What's wrong Teddy? You sounded great. "

He took a minute before answering, finally "It looked like you had fun."

"I did. That's a good thing though, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." His voice trailing off. I sat there, taking a sip of my drink letting silence fall until he cracked. "I wish it was me dancing with you. The huge smile plastered on your face. Even when you were dancing with Will, you were smiling. All these events I go to, all the couples dancing...sometimes I wish I was one of them who just gets to enjoy dancing with their partner, not the one that sings."

I stand up and grab his hand. I place him in the middle of the dance floor and tell him to wait there. I walk up to the bartender and hand her my phone, asking if she'd plug it into the stereo bringing up the song that I wanted. I also asked her to do me one more favor. She nodded and I went back to wear I had left Teddy, looking a bit bewildered. I wrap my arms around his neck and when the song begins I see his face break into a smile.

"Oh morning come bursting, the clouds, amen Lift off this blindfold, let me see again..."

His arms coming around my waist as we sway back and forth. His forehead resting on mine. There was no one but us. Nothing mattered in that moment. It was like time had stood still. He pulled me as close to him as he could, holding me tight as we rotated in our little circle. 

"Thank you for this..." He whispered in my ear. 

"Anything for you, love" I whisper back to him. 

When the song ended and we finally broke away, we saw that half the party had flocked to the porch, watching us dance. 

"Way to show us up, Sheeran!" One of the called down teasingly.

"Hey, it wasn't me! Adi pulled this out of her....well...I dunno...but it was her." 

I went and collected my phone and went up to the bartender. 

"Did you get some good shots?" She reached down and pulled her camera out from underneath the bar, showing me what she had gotten. "These are beautiful. Here's my email address.” I jot it down on a napkin, sliding a tip over with it. "I can't wait to get these. Thank you so much."

I join Teddy, who was waiting for me at a nearby table. We stayed until the early hours of the morning, falling into our bed. We groggily check out and head back to the airport. The flight was a sleepy one, both of us leaning on each other, snoring in each others ear. By the time we got home, I had the photos sitting in my inbox. I quickly start editing them, picking out my favorite one and printing it out. It was one she had taken, zoomed in on our faces, both of us smiling, foreheads touching. The fairy lights adding to the romantic feel. When I presented it to Ed, he gawked at it.

"I knew you were up to something. This is beautiful! Who took it." "The bartender. She was also the photographer."

Ed looked up shocked "Wait, how'd you know that?"

"Charlie told me. Said she wanted some really good pictures of everyone having fun and if they saw a photographer, people would be less likely to loosen up." I tapped the photo "I thought you'd want a copy."

"This is going right on my nightstand." he looks up from it "Seriously, thank you for this weekend. It could have went a completely different direction if it wasn't for you."

"I told you, you don't have to keep thanking me for being there for you. That's what you do when you care for somebody."

“Aaaaaaah, you care about me.”  His face wearing a playful grin.

Leave it to Teddy to not let a situation be serious for long. 

“Well duh, you goof.” Rolling my eyes as he still smirked

“I may be a goof but I’m your goof.”

“That you are Teddy. That you are.”

[patsdrabbles]

Don't Send Me Letters

Pairing: Linda/Paul & John/Paul

Rating: PG-13

Warning: not really angsty, just... a lingering feeling of sadness; set in 1978, written from Linda’s POV

AO3

I’m home alone when the letter arrives. It’s Thursday, 16 November, 1978, and it’s a harsh, cold, lousy day outside.

I know I should not open the letter, even though he gave me the permission to open his mail long ago. I know I should not open the letter, because there is no sender listed, but I still know from whom it is.

The envelope is not closed properly, and the stamp half-heartedly – hurriedly? – stuck onto it. Its paper smells burnt, cigarette smell telling of a letter long lying around unsent. Of fear. I am assuming, but I know the sender, so I know it is the truth.

Be careful, I tell my fingers, as silence starts to ring in my ears – doubt, ‘shall I do this.’ A feeling, quiet, ever so quiet, but nudging me insistently, tells me ‘yes’ – ‘yes, I must.’

...

Photos fall out. I did not hold the envelope tightly enough, not wanting to wrinkle it. Frayed edges, a few negatives... I stare at them silently. I know the trust it must take, to send those, to entrust someone with this high a value. My hand shakes, and my mind yells at me, ‘no!’, and I know this is theirs to keep, but the nudging in my stomach tells me to look.

... I see smiles, just hands on a few, a hat, sunlight haloes, and places I know the two of us have not seen together. I would not want to, truth be told. ‘Intrusion of privacy’ comes to mind.

I look, and I look some more. Still stuck in the envelope, hard to pull out without ripping it apart – with what kind of force was it put in here? I shudder – a letter, and I need not unfold it, for the little square excerpt facing me already tells me enough.

I knew what to expect when I saw the white, slightly dirtied up, old envelope in the mail this morning. But I did not expect the painful force of regret and sorrow and loss – and tears, smudging many a handwritten word – of the single words my eyes catch hold of.

The letter tumbles down, joining some of the photos I had put down again after viewing them, creating a collage of a lost past. I cry.

I do not know why, but when he is home again – the tears have gone, and I just feel the emptiness left by hours of sorrow. I put the photos and the lightly curled paper in the envelope back on the table, next to his half empty mug and the newspaper of today.

I see his eyes catching sight of the paper envelope, resting on it for the smallest of moments, and when he talks to me a while later, I know the hardness in his eyes is not directed at me. He, too, knows who sent the letter – it was as though the weather had predicted the arrival of a pushed away memory, unwanted to face like cold rain on an unguarded, unexpecting, struggling face.

He does not touch the letter for days, and dust starts to settle on top of it. As I clean the house, I do not swipe off the thin layer coating it now. It seems like a force of nature – I know it is two, in fact.

As the days start to pass, I start to ponder. The sender. Why did he bring it here, throw it in to the letter box?

I noticed two days ago that, whilst the envelope carried a stamp, there was no marking, it had never seen a post office, or another person’s hands. A ghost had stopped by, and gone again, unnoticed.

He should have known I would be there to receive it – wouldn’t he? I decide that he would.

He does not like me – said that he hated me (and him), but I know it is not all true. It is because I stole a part of his, and never gave it back. ... but he also stole a part of what declared itself to be mine, forever, and I know I will never have it. It was never mine, never like that.

But he left the letter in the letter box. Did he think I might see it?

I do not hate him, I can understand, and I believe he knows. We probably share another sentiment or two, where a memory we wish that was ours respectively instead – is missing.

I know it is that evening that he finally opened the letter – not blowing the dust off first, it’s still clinging to his fingers as the pictures fall out. They are still trembling, shaking violently – so much emotion, why did he take coffee with himself into the study on top of the letter? Oh, dearest – as he walks into the room.

I know it that moment, the pain in his eyes is spreading, ever spreading, as water waves do when you toss a small rock into a puddle. They keep expanding, solely the barriers of the puddle keeping them in – but if they could, they would expand on forever, into unseen territories, only there slowing down ... but never entirely.

The smell of burnt paper, and something else.

We both know he read the letter, saw what I saw, and felt more than I could even assume to comprehend when I held those memories in my hands for a while. He knows he just made an irreversible mistake, and I see the low fire in his chimney through the gap in the door behind him.

And I hold him as he breaks down in my arms and starts crying silently.

* * *

Epilogue/The Letter:

I know it’s for naught – the tears, the pain that we kept in. I know it’s for naught, this silly letter I am writing. But I do it anyway.

“Don’t send me letters!” You once said back when we were just pretending to fight. You slammed the door closed behind you, walked back into the room smiling like the sun no second later. I called you a fool. God, I do not remember why. I know you punched my arm, just a bit harder to make the feeling of touch linger, and said that’d be me. Well... I guess you were right. It was me. But also you.

You ran, not looking back. So did I.

We are both to blame. Ruining each other.

Funny, eh? Just that it isn’t. It broke my heart, and yours, as well, I can feel it in pieces all the miles over here. I know you can feel the pieces and shards of mine, too. If you can’t say more to me, or even admit to yourself – please be at least this true, we both know it is.

 I would love for you to come back

I meant to write more, but the cat ran over it, can you believe it? Never mind.

As always,

With Love

[goodguyjean]

What’s in a rival? Jean Kirstein in the Attack on Titan manga versus the anime.

Warning: Anime critical. These are just my thoughts, and I’m always up for further discussion, especially if there’s something I’ve missed! :)

Jean considers his options while grounded by defective equipment, episode 13.

In preparation for season 2, I decided to finally sit down and watch the Attack on Titan anime all the way through. I’ll cop to only having jumped around in the anime before, just watching my favorite scenes from the manga. My initial reason for avoiding the anime was that it’s hard for me to handle screaming and crying, to be honest. Then I read about some of the differences—particularly those regarding Annie—and those departures from the source material were disappointing to me. However, I love the Clash of the Titans and the Uprising arcs in the manga so I’m eager to see what the animators do with them in season two (I am particularly looking forward to: Gesumin, the Ackerman showdown in the saloon, YumiHisu, Ymir’s facial expressions, Jean’s fedora, Connie’s straw hat . . . and many other such important things xD).

Therefore, I’ve dived headfirst into the anime for the first time this weekend. As of right now I’ve watched the entirety of the Trost arc. 

There are changes I like and those I don’t. As I predicted, the death of Eren’s mom was difficult for me to handle with the addition of sound, although it’s incredibly moving and well done. I love when the “camera” pans out to show the beautiful scenery and the size of the walls; it gives a sense of scale that I think is missing from the manga, while also demonstrating why the denizens of the walls might think they’re truly in a time of peace. The character designs are all recognizable and sometimes prettier (particularly compared to the rougher art of the first few chapters), but I wish they didn’t put lip gloss on all the female characters. The music is awesome. Etc.

However, many of my biggest critiques have to do with characterization. One that I haven’t really seen talked about before (although it could be that I just missed it!) is the anime’s presentation of Jean. I obviously have a soft spot for Jean, so I might be hypersensitive to any changes in his character, but I think the alterations are worth talking about because they speak to an overall attitude shift between the manga and the anime. There are other character redesigns that also bother me (Annie and Hange, to name the two biggest ones) but I know others have already looked at those extensively and I don’t have much else to offer to those conversations.

For this piece I will sum up what I think of Jean’s characterization in the Trost arc in the manga first and then go through what changes in the anime. My thesis is that the anime!Jean is flattened so that his critique of Eren rings more hollow, making him less of a real challenge to our spirited young protagonist. While the manga uses Jean to present the merits of survivalist perspective, eventually arguing that Jean’s value for human life is what drives him to become a strong leader and the moral center of the series, the anime transforms Jean into a naive coward for Eren to convert. 

Jean in the Manga

Shadis’ assessment of Jean in chapter 18.

I think there are three important aspects of Jean’s pre-Trost character in the manga which make him a compelling rival for Eren:

1. Jean is a defeatist who genuinely believes that the titans will kill everyone eventually. His goal of getting into the interior is all about making the most of the remaining life he has left.

2. Jean is suspicious about the government’s motivations for the operation to “retake” Wall Maria and doesn’t like it when the higher-ups toss around words like “hero” when what they really mean is “bait” and “fodder.” Jean’s bluntness comes from his distaste for empty rhetoric.

3. Jean is jealous of Eren’s relationship with Mikasa and Armin. He dislikes Eren’s relationship with Mikasa not just because he has a crush on Mikasa but also because he thinks Eren will lead her to an early death.

Obviously, all of these points are connected. To speak to the first one, when we initially encounter Jean in chapter three of the manga, he straight up admits that he thinks humanity doesn’t have a chance.

Jean, the pessimist: chapter 3.

He then uses the operation to retake Wall Maria to justify his position. As readers we learn this important piece of information about the world from Jean, someone who we’re already beginning to suspect harbors resentment towards the royal government. 

Jean lays it all out for Eren in chapter 3.

This information helps us put Jean’s desire to live in the interior into perspective. He shrugs at Eren’s reminder that five years ago, Wall Rose was part of the interior too. Jean is fully aware that another titan attack could spell the end of humanity, he’s doubtful about their chances of success if an all out attack is launched, and he’s decided he’s going to enjoy what time he has left. His pragmatism is infuriating to Eren, who can’t comprehend why someone would stop fighting. 

Eren’s jibe that prompts Jean’s discussion of the cull, chapter 3.

In this introductory scene we also get hints about Jean’s attitude towards the monarchy which the big flashback in volume four later expands upon. He sneers at using the phrase “human stronghold” to describe the border-town of Trost when—as the reader already knows from explanations of the walls in the extra material—such towns are more accurately titan magnets.

I think the scare quotes say it all, chapter 3.

An explanation of how the border-towns work, volume 3. Jean seems to be referencing this rhetoric in his speech at the graduation party.

We learn later that Jean has pretty much always been suspicious of the government’s posturing and that he’s committed to practicing honesty because he mistrusts people who ask others to lay down their lives for a cause. For Jean, there’s not a significant difference between Eren’s speeches about ending the titan threat and the monarchy attempting to bribe people into settling in bait-towns by calling them “human strongholds.” Something that endeared Jean to me early on in the series is that he calls Eren “eloquent” when he first meets him.

Babby Jean is totally willing to admit he wants to live the best life he can manage, chapter 15.

In deeming Eren “eloquent,” Jean suggests that Eren’s boasts are hollow, meant to mask his insecurities. And at this point, he’s correct: Eren doesn’t know much about fighting the titans yet, and he is indeed posturing in front of the other cadets. At this moment, Eren’s not much of a threat to him personally because he’s already resolved to look out for number one, but his attitude will change when perceives (rather possessively, but that’s a separate post I think) that Eren is taking people whom Jean cares about with him to the front-lines. Jean’s wariness of nice, but thoughtless sentiments leads him into most of his conflicts with Eren, even post-Trost, when he often forces Eren to think about the real human cost of his actions. Based on how Jean’s character develops from the Female Titan arc onward, I would say that Jean sees the value in individual human life and has a hard time surrendering anyone for a cause, no matter how great. After all, is it really better to sacrifice yourself or others when you could all be making the most of what you already have? What’s the point in winning if the individual doesn’t matter? Throughout the series Jean puts a human face on all of the conflicts, making him valuable as a voice of critique for both Eren and the Survey Corps more broadly. Of course, this doesn’t mean that he’s always right or that he is incapable of making sacrifices himself, but his priority is maintaining the sanctity of human life as far as he possibly can. Interestingly, it looks like Floch has taken over this role for Jean in recent chapters.

It’s worth noting that Jean is equally suspicious of Marco’s “It’s an honor to serve the king” rhetoric, chapter 3. All idealists must prove themselves to him, even though he’s an idealist himself. For what it’s worth, I think Marco is actually just naïve. Jean tries to get Marco to break out of his “honor student” role, with limited success. 

I think a lot of Jean’s concerns are also with who the government, the military, and even sometimes Eren ask to lay down their lives for the service of humanity: it’s usually refugees, the poor people in border-towns, and lower caliber soldiers. These are people who are more vulnerable, who routinely must give themselves up for nothing more than empty praise (i.e. what does it mean to be called “the bravest of warriors” when you may not have much of a choice about where you live?). Jean thinks human life is valuable just because it’s human life, and doesn’t appreciate others assessing his worth. So he plays the system, proves himself by arbitrary standards in order to survive.

Jean infuriates Eren by admitting he knows training is a farce but he’s going along with it anyway, chapter 17. Eren actually asks for Jean’s opinion about the type of training they receive here, suggesting that Eren worries a bit about Jean’s perspective. They’re both drawn to testing each other out, worried about how the other can counter their life philosophies.

Along similar lines, Jean thinks Eren is not appreciating what he already has: namely, his attractive and talented friends. Eren’s reckless actions lead them into danger, and Jean resents Eren for that.

Jean envies Eren for his friends, chapter 17.

Jean reminds Eren of both his good fortune and his responsibilities, chapter 3.

Obviously, Jean is being presumptuous in his assessment of Eren’s relationships. Mikasa can quite clearly look after herself and has chosen her role as Eren’s protector while Armin has his own motivations for going outside the wall. However, it gives us insight into Jean’s world view: if you have something good, like nice friends or an opportunity for a cushy life, why waste it? Jean’s own love for his friends eventually trumps his self-preservational instincts and pushes him to join the Survey Corps to protect them, aligning him with Mikasa, Eren, Armin and even Ymir. His growth lies in looking beyond his own survival, but he already has the predisposition towards this attitude, as the Trost arc demonstrates: he just needs a little shove. 

The overall picture of pre-Trost Jean I get from the manga is of a person who is hampered by his own cynicism. He’s aware of his society’s problems but instead of attempting to fix them he’s given himself up to them. While several of the questions Jean asks—why does the government get to throw us away? What’s the point of fighting a losing battle?—are reasonable, they lead him to be self-centered and a defeatist. His method of fighting the system does nothing to dismantle it and is purely about his own survival, but he matures by looking beyond himself to protect others. Additionally, his conflicts with Eren are presented as more of an even fight: Jean is not easily cowed by Eren and forces him to consider how is actions affect his comrades, while Eren--in combination with others--does eventually inspire Jean to take a stand for something beyond his own life.

Jean in the Anime

Jean and Eren meet in episode 3.

In the anime, Jean has the same goal of getting into the interior but his reasoning behind it is much less nuanced. Anime!Jean never expresses the same kind of defeatism he does in the manga, so it seems that he really does think he’ll be safe if he makes it into the interior, rather than just safer. He never mentions the cull, a suspicion of the government’s empty rhetoric, or even his concern for Eren’s friends. Instead he naively believes that he can find security somewhere in the Walled World. Eren sets him straight while Jean has almost no meaningful critique to offer his rival, at least during the Trost arc.

Because the anime presents events chronologically, the first time we meet Jean is also when Eren meets Jean. Their introduction is quite close to how it’s presented in the manga, except that Jean does seem really willing to fight Eren and the tension doesn’t defuse quite as much after Jean apologizes. While Jean does point out that Eren is afraid and trying to cover it up, he does not, at least in the English dub or the English sub, call Eren eloquent. The slight connection between Eren’s speech acts and some of the government’s rhetorical maneuvering is lost. This could be a translation problem (indeed, I’m not sure what the original Japanese manga says either), and it’s a bit of a minor point, but it irks me that the connection between “honest” and “suspicious of your fine words” is missing: instead it’s all about Eren being a scaredy-cat. It sets up their conflict to be entirely about bravery--is it better to be an open coward than someone who pretends to be courageous?--instead of being ideological. Eren has to prove to Jean that he’s not actually afraid rather than proving that he can acknowledge the human cost of fighting the titans.

The theme of bravery colors all of Jean and Eren’s future confrontations in the Trost arc. Take, for example, the fight in the mess hall, which the anime combines with their other fight at the graduation party. In the manga their argument begins with Eren asking Jean why they have this farcical system of training for the right to move away from danger, but in the anime he opens by calling Jean stupid. When Eren points out, “Five years ago this was the interior,” instead of manga!Jean’s infuriating “I know” we get “You got a point to make friend? I’m right here” (for reference, this is episode five, the English dub; it’s not significantly different in the sub). Rather than throwing Eren for a bit of a loop Jean is antagonized by his rival. Over the course of this encounter Jean never mentions that he thinks everyone is going to die eventually because of the results of the operation to “retake” Wall Maria. He has very little critique to offer besides a vague desire to “play the system.” 

Eren realizing everyone is watching his fisticuffs with Jean, episode 4.

Without a clear motivation, Jean’s survivalist attitude turns into simple cowardice. When Eren wins the physical fight, he demonstrates that he is a true soldier. In the manga, Jean gets an extra line about this not being the end of things between him and Eren and Eren teases Jean about almost losing his spot in the MP by getting caught brawling (a neat line to point out Jean still has some fight left in him), but in the anime this encounter effectively silences Jean. He no longer has any meaningful critique to offer Eren.

Additionally there’s no direct conflict between Eren and Jean at the graduation where Jean gets to bring up that Eren is responsible for his friends as well as himself. Instead, Jean sullenly watches while Thomas Wagner tearfully discusses the cull, Eren responds with an equally tearful rallying speech that borrows some elements of his conversation with Jean in the manga, and then runs out in a huff. Jean thinks “Haha, sucks to be you buddy. I’ll be having a great time in his majesty’s barracks!” Eren’s new test is to prove that bravery has a purpose, that it can lead to great success. Eren needs to put his money where his mouth is and Jean is watching him to see if he’ll do it.

Scared Thomas, episode 4. Everyone in this anime is really shiny.

To be fair to the anime directors, the decision to substitute Thomas for Jean might have been to give more import to Thomas’ eventual death in Trost. However, taking away Jean’s most significant confrontation with Eren also lessens Jean’s role as a rival and a critic. When Eren attempts to dissuade Armin and Mikasa from joining the Survey Corps with him after his argument with Thomas, it doesn’t carry the weight of Jean’s words about Eren being directly responsible for “dragging” them into danger, even if it is prompted by a concern for their well-being.

There’s also an additional confrontation between Eren and Jean right before the battle of Trost, where Eren—of all people—reminds Jean of his training as a soldier and that he should be prepared for a battle of this nature. It’s a small addition, but Jean definitely “loses” this rhetorical fight because he stares transfixed at Eren and then goes off to tell Daz to get up and face the situation like a man. Eren becomes the source of Jean’s courage in way that he’s not in the manga, where Jean’s survivalist tendencies actually allow him to be a good leader, to inspire others to fight for their own continued existence. Whereas manga!Jean realizes that his attitude has its uses within the military and that he does want to make a stand and protect his friends, some of anime!Jean’s development stems from Eren taking him to task before the events of Trost.

Additional fight, episode 6.

All of this may seem kind of nit-picky, but it serves to undermine Jean’s original role within the story. In the anime, he doesn’t exist to give a somewhat reasonable voice to the side of self-preservation, one which Eren must seriously consider before refuting. He’s not meant to make the viewer think about the other side of Eren’s arguments, the potential advantages of staying within the Walls. He doesn’t ask us to consider the government/military’s vocabulary. Instead, the military is made to seem fully aware of the sacrifices they ask others to make through the voice of Rico, who reminds Eren that her comrades are fighting for him: it’s the voice of an insider rather than the critique of a someone looking in, who has seen others used by this system (even if we learn later that Pixis does take responsibility for what happened during the cull and that the monarchy and the military are somewhat at odds about this). The test that Jean presents to anime!Eren is the test of winning reluctant hearts and inspiring courage in the cowardly, not of winning an intelligent ideological opponent to his side.

Personally, I find these changes make both Eren and Jean less compelling characters. I guess I’ll have to see where they go in the next arc, but I’m a bit worried. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on my analysis!

[laureviewer]

Pokémon Sun & Moon: A Review

As a lifetime Pokémon fanatic, I couldn’t wait to walk into the local Game once again to pick up my very own copy of Pokémon Moon, even at 24 years old. After the explosion that was Pokémon Go causing a bigger stir than Team Rocket “blasting off again”, the shop was decked out with Poké merchandise, including hats, shirts, keyrings, and cards, and Pokémon was proved more popular than ever. And the icing on the cake? It came out on my 7 year anniversary, so my boyfriend and I could be geeky together (we would have been anyway, but hey, Poké-versary it is).

The concept is very much the same as the first Generations Red and Blue: you are given a pocketable creature from the local Pokémon Professor, and set off on an exciting adventure [with little more than a phone and backpack] from your mum. The aim, of course, is to train your cute little lizard into a mighty dragon of destruction to defeat eight gym leaders and become Pokémon Master, all whilst thwarting your rival and Teams of evil trainers along the way.

Even the basic concept of Pokémon games as outlined here is challenged right from the outset. In Sun and Moon, you move from Kanto, where Red and Blue are set, to Alola, the new Hawaii-esque region. Here you experience a whole new culture in the Pokémon universe, where instead of Gym Leaders and the Pokémon League challenge there are Trial Captains, Island Kahunas, and the Island Challenge, where trainers have to undergo all of the islands’ trials and battle Totem Pokémon, the guardians of the respective islands. Indeed, the region has a very tropical feel to it, with palm trees, warm and friendly people, and rituals that one feels would emanate typical Hawaiian practices if the world of Pokémon existed, such as worshipping the great Pokémon spirits called Tapu which protect each island and serve as deities for the islanders. This brings a fresh new feel to a franchise that could very easily become dull after over 20 years, and makes the game really stand out from its predecessors.  

The starters are what everyone gets excited about when new Pokémon game is announced – how they look, their evolutions, and their types (although they’ll always be some variety of water, fire and grass, of course). While the first few games’ starters hold a special place in my heart, probably due to the originality that the first generations could have as the franchise was so new (eh, who am I kidding, it’s nostalgia through and through), there are a couple of gems in Sun and Moon. It was a toss up between the grass/flying Rowlet and fire-based Litten, but I eventually gave into my kitten-loving self and chose the latter. Though a grass/ghost final evolution was a tough one to ignore, as that match-up is so rare and original. On a replay, that would be my pick.

But oh my Arceus, what was the water starter? It starts off cute, fine, has potential, though it looks a lot like Pokémon X and Y’s Oshawott, which also looked like some sort of clown for some reason. Then its second evolution really does look like a clown with a skirt and pompoms on its ears, and then its final evolution, while slightly better, is just a weird sensual mermaid water/fairy type. Not a fan, and once I traded it over to my game just to ensure a water Pokémon made it into my party, it’s also not that exciting to battle with either.

All in all, the starters were okay, but nothing can ever beat my lovely fave Cyndaquil. Or, you know, freaking Charizard.

The main difference between Sun and Moon is as their names suggest: while Sun is a ‘normal’ Pokémon game, insofar that during the day according to your DS it is also daytime in the game, Moon is set 12 hours behind. Having got Moon, I have to say that the time difference didn’t make as much difference as I thought it might. In Pokémon Crystal, my favourite Pokémon game of all time, playing at night meant you could catch a wide variety of Pokémon that you couldn’t during the day. In this new generation, however, the time of day didn’t seem that much different – useful if you only tend to play at a certain time during the day. So, while I was worried about getting Moon in the first place, don’t worry �� though if you want an Alola Vulpix, like I did, you may want to consider getting Sun instead!

This brings me to one of the biggest pulls of the games: Alola Pokémon!

Pokémon Sun and Moon, much like Pokémon Go, obviously wanted to draw in old fans as well as new. Alola forms are Generation One Pokémon, but like we’ve never seen them before – Alolan Vulpix is now an ice type, while Alolan Marowak is a ghost/fire type, while Alolan Meowth looks slightly seductive with his dark upgrade. All-in-all, it’s a clever way to engage the older generation in the new game, although it was quite difficult predicting the type advantage if a rival trainer threatens to bring one out, as both the old and the new Alola types exist in this game, and so you’re never quite sure if you’re going to be facing the old favourite or the new Alolan Dugtrio with its luscious head of locks.

Ever since Generation VI (X and Y) the item Exp Share has reverted back to its original Generation I function, which means that if you turn it on, all of your Pokémon receive experience points (EXP) regardless of which Pokémon you are actually using to fight. While for some this feature may be very useful as it means you only need to use one Pokémon in theory to level all of them, it really messes with my OCD. I want to use all of my Pokémon, regardless of strength or type, and Exp Share negates that purpose. Also, Exp Share seems to make all of your Pokémon level at a very fast rate, meaning that towards the end of Moon I was finding that the big battles such as the Pokémon League, rival and Island Kahuna battles seemed incredibly easy compared to early games. However, this may be less a problem with the games and more the fact that I am a 24 year old adult playing a game intended for children…  

There are many more incredible and exciting new features in this game, including the Rotom Pokédex which is a Pokémon database with a Pokémon trapped inside it (a bit horrendous when you put it like that), which talks to you and also guides you around the map of the region, which is big enough to definitely get hopelessly lost in. Not only this, but there is a market in the map now so you can see where you’re meant to be going, which if you’re awful with directions like me (even in games), this is a massive advantage. The updated Pokégear, your display, also introduces new interesting features not seen before in past games. Festival Plaza, for example, lets you interact with friends or players around you, allowing you to chat and battle over Wifi or direct link. Pokémon Polago is a bit redundant after you have enough beans, but they allow you to gather enough said beans in order to feed your team in Pokémon Refresh, which is by far the most useful aspect of your Pokégear (obviously other than your actual Pokémon, and the items, and the map… shhhh). I recently had a battle with James, and learnt its incredible advantages – he had never touched Pokémon Refresh, while I consistently made sure to go in periodically to feed, stroke and ‘love’ my little guys, increasing their happiness, satiety and enjoyment. In battle, this means that your Pokémon really feel a strong connection with you, and every so often they will dodge a move in time with my shout, refrain from fainting to stop me worrying, and perform critical hits to be praised. Not only did this give me a really annoying edge over James (and I WON!), but it also encompasses all that the Pokémon franchise has been rabbiting on about throughout all past and present games: love your Pokémon, rather than use them simply as tools for fighting, and you will become ‘the very best, like no-one ever was!’. Plus I now get to gloat, muahaha.

Ride Pokémon are also a fantastic new feature in the game. Throughout the game, you can get a (SPOILERS) Tauros for charging, Lapras for surfing, Machoke for, uh, carrying you and pushing things, and a Charizard for flying, amongst others. While this is a great idea, I did actually miss the level of strategy that came with HM moves. The Hidden Machines that you couldn’t remove from your Pokémons’ movesets meant that you had to ensure you had a diversity of different types of Pokémon or ‘HM slaves’ that could learn a few of the moves that were necessary to navigate the whole game, such as Whirlpool to get rid of whirlpools in your way and Strength to move obstructive boulders. The graphics are cool with the new Pokémon though, which have definitely graduated from the default Lapras sprite you got with ANY surfing Pokémon.

God knows what Pokémon this was...probably a Feraligator.

The gameplay actually divides me as a seasoned Pokémon player. The animation, while of course utilising far better graphics than games gone past, actually takes ages in comparison, meaning that battles that shouldn’t take very long take ages watching the Pokémon charge up their moves, shake their tail, or . This is particularly apparent with Z-Moves, another new feature in this game. The Z-Moves are extremely powerful all-out moves you can only use once per battle, mediated by Z-Crystals which you can find or earn throughout the region by doing the Island Challenge. These moves, while graphically impressive, take ages to complete – for example, Litten’s final evolution’s Z-Move involves the Pokémon taking their rival to a boxing ring and charging at them with all its power. It’s useful in those tough battles, but hard to decide when the best time would be to use your only Z-Move, especially when you don’t know whether the Pokémon to come out next is stronger or weaker than the last.

Finally, I must talk about the one thing that really affects my opinion of any game: the story. The story is kind of a mind-screw at this point, with (SPOILERS) a fashionable woman, Lusamine, with an overly fanatical love of beauty unleashing Ultra Beasts, Pokémon from an alternate dimensions, into Alola and wanting to enter Ultra Space, said dimension, herself and stay there with the only things she’s attached to. Throughout the game, we learn that she has abused her two children, Gladion and Lillie, by abandoning them and neglecting them throughout their lives. This brings a very interesting dynamic to a Pokémon game that we haven’t seen before – many children and even adults playing this game may find this storyline particularly harrowing due to their own neglected childhood, and so could prove to split opinion with how Lusamine is treated by her children at the end of the story. All in all, it’s interesting, and her motivations are understandable but not so much that they are devoid of mystery.

As a veteran Pokémon player, I’ll always be biased. But this game is a lot of fun, and benefits from all of the interesting new features such as Z-Moves, Pokémon Ride and Alolan Pokémon. The new Pokémon themselves are interesting, without the ‘running out of ideas’ feel of some of the new Pokémon from other generations, such as Trubbish and Klefki (wow, a pile of garbage or a set of keys as your animal friend, who wouldn’t want that?).

The only massive thing I would change is the Exp Share function. I hate having to use it to be powerful enough, but when I do, I’m completely OP and don’t get to use some of my ‘weaker’ Pokémon as much – and for some reason, I feel bad if I don’t use all of them at least sometimes. This may be put down to how I also play games such as Skyrim and Final Fantasy XV – I must complete all of the side quests as well as the storyline, no matter how many I get. Maybe I’m just a perfectionist like that.

My badass team. 

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

10: One and One

To some, a delay would invite the possibilities of losing focus. To some, maybe anticipation turns to an overeagerness to just get to it. That overeagerness is like a sugar high and the subsequent crash. He couldn’t speak for his partner, but for John the concept of time was just a little blurred. The goal for him remained the same as always: to succeed. That means procuring the Television championship. That means kicking off NSFW the right way. So here he was. Trying to figure out just how to do that. The small text on the glowing screens strained his eyes so he adjusted the pair of narrow framed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose to minimize that impact. He used his index finger and thumb to scroll through a video gallery on the ‘streaming’ network, stopping every once in a while at one of the descriptions. He was seated at the scuffed up wooden round table in her dining room. The other three chairs of various makes were at this point vacant. An open notebook was laid before him and he used his left hand to tap the eraser end of a pencil on the page. All lights were off in the house except for the two bulbs in a glass fixture overhead. John went to press play on the next clip when he heard the front door open. Her steps and movements in the living room were loud and boisterous. She may have announced herself but he was concentrating on the last bullet point on the page. Finally, she stepped into the room he was in and and flicked on the lights via a switch just to the right of the door way. John looked up at her wryly, taking the reading glasses off and carefully folding the arms shut. “I’m hoooooome,” she called out, flopping unceremoniously into the opposite chair. She looked quite happy, and perhaps slightly tipsy. John tucked the glasses into the front pocket of his t-shirt, “how was it?” “Christ, that was great. I got a good feeling about this one, Church. I mean, she’s funny, she’s smart, she’s, okay, a stone cold fox… yeah. She’s shaping up to be a keeper.” “That’s good.” “Yes. Yes it is. You have no idea how fuckin' hard it’s been to find a good woman in this town,” she waved a hand, “Anyway. What’ve you been up to all evening? I mean, obviously you didn’t throw a wild party or nothin’ while I was gone.” John liked that she did her own thing. He was starting to see the enjoyment in what would be a healthy isolated where someone somewhere would eventually just say hello. He closed the notebook, “Homework.” “That so?” she leaned over a bit, giving a cursory glance to the notebook on the table, “Figure it ain’t Trig 1.” “It’s about our job.” “Thought it might be,” she gave her chin a tap, a tic of hers when she was recalling something, “Is that what all the other notebooks are for? Notes? I mean I didn’t read any or nothin’, I just, y’know. Noticed.” “Yes. Most of them are just that. You forgot something,” his tone was without judgment as he placed a small box with a flip open lid on the table in front of him. “Aw, geez, my fuckin’ cigs,” she picked the box up and pocketed it, “Shouldn’t leave those things laying around. Didn’t need ‘em tonight anyway. I really have been trying to cut down.” “We aren’t each other’s keepers - however we are partners,” he flipped the notebook open to the first page. Each line was filled with tiny, precise, neat writing, “when I came back, I was under the impression that muscle memory would be a enough to get by. However, that was not the case. My first weekend back in this business, I failed. It wasn’t just about losing, it was that I embarrassed myself. I gave the impression of being a wash out. I could barely breathe. I was not ready. And of course, there was the issue of time. You can’t defeat time,” he paused, “but that is actually the easiest thing to resolve. It’s like sharpening a knife. It’s been,” he turned two pages, “eight years since you’ve competed full time. Your last appearance was here in your current city of residence at a local outlaw show. Three years ago. You can’t wipe that away but you can treat your body better.” “I know, I know. Seriously, I rarely touch these things anymore. Carry ‘em around mostly out of habit, but nowadays I only light up if something’s really fuckin’ wigging me out. Which I think’s progress, considering I used to be a fuckin’ chainsmoker. But… you’re right. I’ll try harder,” she took the pack out of her pocket and tossed it instead into a nearby drawer. “I get your point. But what do all the notes have t’ do with anything?” “Body and mind. That first night, nobody saw me on my hands and knees wheezing and coughing. Nobody saw me laid out on the concrete for nearly an hour. Here’s what they did see: a tremendously unprepared wrestler outmatched by the vigor of youth. When I started, I could count on my strength and ability to burst through any mistakes that I would make. Twenty years later, I’m a little slower and with none of the experience to show for it,” he turned to the next page, “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. That’s from Art of War. So I went back to the drawing board. The red head from last month, she had been on a slide but that doesn’t seem to matter to her, nothing to be honest seemed to matter to her. Her movements were devastating but they were also sloppy. She took one too risks,” two more pages, “and the sadomasochist was powerful and deliberate and despite having an advantage in numbers, he relished too much in the aftermath of his every blow. He gave me time to recover and deliver receipts.” “And he was probably angling to go after your feet.” “Correct. Hobbling one’s leg in this case would have been a very sound strategy.” “Anywho, this is… kinda fucking amazing. You notice this kind of stuff about everyone?” “Not without due diligence. Think about it, Mike. The baseball stuff we watched last night. So what you see on the TV, it’s the end result of deliberate planning. What happens is somethings at the mercy of circumstance and the ability of the player but there is always a plan. The pitcher and the batter. It’s a man trying to hit a ball out of thin air. Look at their eyes. Look at their body language. That is the real game. The opponents have prepared for each other. The batter knows by habit what that pitcher’s worst throw is. The pitcher knows by habit how to make that batter swing just too late. Now who can execute? It’s the same with our sport.” “Holy shit. I didn’t think you were even paying attention, you didn’t seem that into it.” John shrugged, “I couldn’t tell you what the score was. So in the traditional sense, yes, I wasn’t paying attention. But I saw what I wanted to see. After my first defeat, I learned that I was not in shape and I did not know my opposition. After my first few wins, I could see that this was going to be an uphill battle. The idea of training isn’t exclusive to us. All of us should be reviewing tape. All of us should know what each of us is capable off and how to counter it,” finally he turned to the page that he had been writing on earlier, “that is what I am doing now.” “Eh, you didn’t miss much, game was a fuckin’ blowout. Mets gotta figure out how t’ beat the goddamn Braves, that series was a fuckin’ embarrassment,” reaching over to the counter, she grabbed her hat and jammed it on her head. She’d forgone it for her date, “Anyway, on one hand, yeah, you’re absolutely right. BUT. Do we really need t’ put this much work into Team Fuckface? Not t’ tell you what to do, but I’d think this level’a study’d be better placed on Ruthann. Especially after a bye week.” He pushed back in his seat and stood, “That was earlier this afternoon. In a different book. Our debut is what matters at this moment. And on the cover of their book,” he pressed his index finger on the page, “they are vulgar human beings with no redeemable qualities. And as true as they may be, they are not be taken lightly. Like me, the boy is a former collegiate wrestler and under all of those corner cutting measures is the pure base of a professional wrestler. He talks and talks and talks and more often than not, he backs up those works. Angel of Death isn’t just some local big man. He’s a mercenary who accepts payment for blood. He extracts that blood through untapped skill. They are a team in name only. They are one and one and their only chainlink is cash and all of the evils it summons.” He stopped and he could almost predict her response. John sometimes left awkward moments in the air and just as she opened her mouth, he continued, “Graveyards are littered with the bones of the people who are just happy to be at the dance. They loved this sport and many of them were vanquished by the ones who leech onto it like a parasite. We can’t just be good people. We can’t just be on the right side of history. Our love for this business won’t matter. What will matter is knowing who they are, what they do, why they do it, and making sure they don’t take advantage of our perceived weaknesses.” “So we kick their teeth in. But… first we study on how best to fuckin’ kick their teeth in,” she grinned, the one she tended to get when she had designs on ring-related violence. “Y’know, I got the network on the Roku. So we don’t gotta hunch over our phones. Want me to bring up anything in particular, or do we start from the beginning?” “From the beginning,” he started towards the living room and stopped short at the door way, “The boy’s official debut. I eliminated him. He chose to run his mouth before that and made many enemies. I picked the bones. If I knew what I knew now, he would have left much earlier. Watch his eyes. Not what he does. Everything he does is crisp and nearly perfect. His eyes in the most perilous moments betray his actions and if we play it right, they’ll betray him next Friday, too.” “Gotcha.” “And big man. So happy to do something on his own when he uses his unbelievable strength to toss out that strange little man who thought no-one was watching when he snuck out of the show last Friday with other people’s belongings. Look at him when the boy takes all of the credit and never bothers to come to his aid just before he was dumped out." John turned back around to face her. He held one finger up from each hand. "That is the essence of Collateral Damage. One and one.” “Not like us,” Mike said it with absolute certainty.