#they're implied to be there

[miss-writes-a-lot]

@ozqrowweek day 6 - Festivals

Ozqrow Week Day 6 - Festivals

Team STRQ had made it to the finals in the Vytal Festival. Their leader, Summer Rose, would be representing them in the 1v1 match that night, a match Qrow desperately wanted to be in but, according to his sister, his semblance would only be good at landing them at the bottom.

Whatever. He didn't care. He was fine just watching from a random noodle stand that was playing the match live on a shitty t.v. instead of with his teammates in the stands because he was totally not sulking about what his sister said and letting it get to him.

He didn't care at all.

He stirred the overpriced noodles around in the bowl as he looked on in boredom as they finally started the 1v1 matches. Summer was somewhere in the middle so she wouldn't be up for a while, maybe even longer if the others before her were both competitive meat heads like the ones they faced earlier in the week. He tuned most of what was happening out as he shoveled noodles into his face.

The sun was beginning to set. The sky was painted orange and a pretty shade of lavender, like the cotton candy Summer had tried to gorge herself on 20 minutes before she had to get to the arena. Raven had to wrestle it out of her hands because she was so adamant about eating that stupid mound of sugar. He chuckled at the memory, followed by a pang of guilt settling in his stomach.

Tai was probably pissed at him for ditching them. Raven wouldn't care all that much, she'd probably think she won somehow. Summer would be crushed.

She didn't know that Qrow had left soon after she went to go line up with the others for their introductions. He only stayed for 5 minutes so she could see him and see him being supportive before going to not sulk.

He sighed. He swallowed the last of his noodles (and his pride), through his cash onto the table, and got up to leave when he spotted a familiar silver-haired second year in a white button-up shirt and green slacks, much more casual attire than he was used to seeing.

“Oz?”

The silver-haired boy turned around. “Qrow?”

Qrow’s heart fluttered, “Hey, what’s up? Didn’t think I’d see you around here during the tournament.”

Ozpin rolled his eyes, “Yes, well I managed to slip away for an hour or so.  They don’t really need me there. It’s more of a formality than anything. But I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be in the arena with the rest of your team. Summer is competing, isn’t she?”

“Ah, yeah. Uh, yeah, I was just about to head over there. I was grabbin’ a quick bite of something – uh, do you want to hang out for a bit before Sum’s match? Maybe play a quick game? I could win ya somethin’ cute.”

Ozpin hummed, “Why not? I have a few minutes before they realize I’m gone.”

“Sweet!” Qrow put his hands on Ozpin's shoulders and turned him in the direction of the line of game booths, “So what tickles your fancy? Balloon darts, ring toss– I heard the sorry sap for this year’s dunk tank is that little shit second year who spat spitballs at you during class~”

“That would be highly unprofessional.”

“And all the more fun.”

Ozpin playfully rolled his eyes, “Maybe next Vytal Festival—” He stopped, gasping aloud before pulling Qrow close to him, “Qrow, look!”

He pointed at the milk bottle toss booth. A giant fox blush in an olive green vest and a pair of round glasses hung overhead. Qrow’s face drained. He could hear his wallet screaming. “Y-you want that? You sure you don’t want the bunny with the carrot?”

“Please Qrow? Look at him! He’s begging us to take him home! I already have a name picked out for him!”

“You just saw– you know what? Sure. I’ll win you the fox no sweat!”

Ozpin beamed. Qrow waltzed up to the booth, threw down 5 lien, and grabbed a softball from the dispenser. He threw on a cocky grin but inside he was praying to the brothers for him not to royally fuck his chances to impress the hot upperclassman he’s been pining after for the entire year. He squeezed the ball, lined up for the pitch, and threw the ball as hard as he could. It flew through the air until it mysteriously curved, hit the edge of the table at the far left, and bounced back into Qrow’s face, earning him a bloody nose.

“Oh gods, Qrow, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He said, waving it off, “All good.  I’ll just go again.”

He grabbed another ball from the dispenser and threw it. That time, the ball went over the milk bottles and hit the back wall of the stand. His face burned with embarrassment. Raven was right. His semblance wasn’t useful at all. No doubt the next one would end up hitting Ozpin and ruining his glasses or giving him a concussion. His hand trembles. He felt a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You can do this,” Ozpin whispered, “And even if you don’t, it’s okay. I don’t really need it. I just…wanted to spend time with you.”

Qrow’s heart skipped a beat. His face burned red and he found himself with a piece of newfound confidence.

His crush admitted to wanting to spend time with him. He was touching his shoulder and telling him he actually wanted to spend time with him.

Now he had to get the damn fox.

He took a step back, lined up to pitch, and with all of the strength and confidence he could muster, he launched the ball into the first tower of milk bottles. A stray bottle fell against the tower on the second table that knocked over the other set of bottles. Qrow crossed his fingers as the ball ricochetted off the back wall, hitting and knocking over the last table, spilling the bottles everywhere.

Ozpin gasped aloud. Qrow grinned, fist-pumping the air. “YES! Haha! Sucked it, Gods! I fucking did it!”

“Alright kid, what do you want?” The man at the booth asked.

“One stupidly giant fox plush, my good sir.” The man rolled his eyes, pulled down the fox toy, and handed it to Qrow, who then, in turn, handed it off to Ozpin, “One fox son for you, my dear friend.”

Ozpin squealed, hugging the plush toy with such love and adoration. Lucky bastard. “Thank you, Qrow!”

“So, whatcha gonna name him?”

He gestured to the fox, doing a little bow as he spoke, “Qrow Branwen, I would like to introduce you to Walter Heathcliff Foxwold of the future Foxwold fortune!”

“Foxwold fortune?”

“Oh yes, what else is he supposed to pass onto his future children that I will soon begin to accumulate over a long period of time?”

Qrow laughed. “Jeez, how are you this cuuuuu — oh, h-hey! Look at the time! Looks like it’s almost time for Summer to get up there! Guess I should get going…do you think we can play some more games after? Maybe I get you some cotton candy?”

Ozpin’s smile fell as he smushed his face in the fox, “I don’t think I can. I’m already pushing two hours.”

“Then come with me to the tournament! We can watch the fight together! Spend a little more time with each other before you have to go!”

Ozpin didn’t say anything for a long few seconds before he reached for Qrow’s hand and squeezed his hand. “Okay. I like that idea.”

“R-really?”

He nodded.

Qrow was beaming. “Awesome! Let’s get going!”

He pulled Ozpin along as they raced to the arena to go enjoy Summer’s fight and enjoy the time they had with one another before returning to their normal-ish lives.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[beybuniki]

i tried watching the 1st movie and i couldn't move on from the very ridiculous premises of how half of class 1A made it to that island, my point is that there's no way that deku doesn't know about bakugo's summer plans, so this is what i imagine went down a week before the movie takes place

[aquapede]

the voices in some god's head

[elalalune]

Reaching through the looking glass

(Wonderland au)

[journey-to-the-attic]

funny picture allsort :^) (reference photos below)

[eggydaxy]

Cage cinematic universe (bc multiverses are sooo in right now)

[the-awful-falafel]

The Peppino dominance hierarchy

[extraliga-related]

With everything that's been going on lately, here's a short non-comprehensive accumulation of things that could be called progress regarding relations between men's hockey and being queer:

The 🇦🇺 AIHL's Melbourne Mustangs, advocating for trans rights in sports since 2017, and the same team in 2023, donning pride jerseys designed by former goalie (and twin sister of Ty) Tia Wishart who is part of the LGBTQ community.

Jase Polglase of the AIHL's Central Coast Rhinos who puts pride tape on his stick every single game.

Robert Dowd and Marc-Olivier Vallerand having a dance after a win with the Sheffield Steelers.

Starting off with individual efforts, the 🇬🇧 EIHL has since extended their pride event to the duration of a full weekend following a conjoint initiative by the teams' fanbases in 2019.

Zach Sullivan, one of the few out queer athletes in the sport, felt supported enough by his team to come out as bisexual ahead of the Manchester Storm's pride game in 2020.

Danish goalie Jon Lee-Olsen came out as gay a year prior and was reportedly supported by his teammates.

The 🇸🇪 SHL lead the way, awarding the cause a full week since 2019 with elaborate campaigns and getting refs as well as coaches involved. It's a colorful sight.

While Pride Games are at present not an official part of the schedule, several 🇩🇪 DEL teams are joining in. Augsburg and Köln do their part, Berlin has one of the dedicated queer fanclubs and visibly stands against homophobia since at least 2016.

As of 2022 the entire league, as well as a growing number of clubs in the tiers below, cooperate with Hockey is Diversity e.V.. So does the Para Ice Hockey National Team, including Jörg Wedde, who also keeps pride tape on his equipment.

🇫🇮 Liiga's TPS added these stunning jerseys to the mix.

While all the aforementioned teams already wear the jerseys for at least one full game, IF Kiruna of the Swedish 3rd league stepped it up several notches. In 2014 they've decided to wear rainbow jerseys for a full season in support of the LGBTQ community. Since then they've made the rainbow a permanent fixture in their logo and club identity.

___

Plenty of clubs out there hosting events where queer people are given a platform and shown support in a multitude of ways that aren't merely empty words.

And even if it's not part of general discussions within a league, you've got voices who are willing to speak up.

[madamemiz]

If you're lost, you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting

Time after time

finally finished the third in my series of fully rendered dca images, yippieee!!

[foryoupeko]

Headcanon that Kokichi uses fake signs of affection to annoy ppl.

Drawing this made me realize that Kokichi in my head is just Nagumo from Sakamoto Days.

[meggalice]

Had to sketch out the closing moments from Chapter 13. Wow that really is an unlucky number, hey Dee? I have been obsessed with @remedyturtles' fic Fire Fight. Seriously if you haven't already go give it a read. They are absolutely killing it and the last chapter has left me in pieces, said pieces are still on the edge of my seat though.

[francy-sketches]

It's always 'why did aegon jack off in the tommen suicide window' and never 'why did tommen kill himself in the aegon nut window'

[hairmetal666]

Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08

[1pcii]

zoluko sillies

[fruity-m0nster]

so far all the Batstarion drawings i did are shitposts xDD