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c-atm · 4 years

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'Ohhh man, how did it come to this?"

This was the thought of one Steven Quartz Universe. Currently, waiting on the roof of his school for one Connie Sachini Maheswaran.

"This is so nerve-wracking!" He thought out loud as he paced in a circle and folded in front of his chest. "Why did I come here? Why did I not just leave? Oh, right, I asked her to come here!... WHY DID I ASK HER TO COME HERE?!" He yelled, scratching his head wildly. Before breathing calmly and deeply. "Don't lose focus; remember what you came here to do." He said to himself as he clenched his fist to center himself. He came with a motive.

That motive was Connie Maheswaran, and unraveling the enigma that was Connie Maheswaran.

For some reason, beyond his knowledge, Connie was a delinquent of sorts. She didn't follow the dress code, always finding her way into a fight( which she hadn't lost one yet); she was a bit alarming to be around as well. The rumors of her snapping at a teacher were infamous, and many. She was also a bit of a bully...at least towards him. Nothing wrong or harmful, just...

"She's so damn stressful." He shouted to the blue sky.

There were other things as well that made him want to keep an eye on her. For one thing, her grades.

While he was the top student in his class, Connie was one of the top students...In the city. She was quite the athlete and had her hand in martial arts, fencing, and tennis.

Just this past weekend, he found out she was musically talented with the violin. He happened to spot her while walking around their city and caught her playing on the streets with some other performers collecting money, which she took none of.

Being a savant when it comes to music himself, he could tell when someone was in love with their craft, and the melody that she produced sent shivers down his spine. From quick and powerful hip-hop to slow sensual and slow R&B to wild and rebellious rap and rock, to things he never heard before. The impromptu concert was something extraordinary. And so far from the 'Connie' in school, it's hard to imagine them as the same person, but there was no way it was anyone else but her.

"Not with those prideful black eyes." Steven started scratching his head, "where is she!?"

"Hehehe-hmm-hmm!"

Steven froze; he knew that snicker. He turned to the roof entrance to see her laying on her left side on top of the roof entrance, smirking at him with her cheek in hand.

"How long have you been there?"

"Enough to see everything." She teased, " the pacing, the head-scratching, the proclamations, and everything in between." She chuckled, seeing his nervous face. The way his lips formed a straight line, the slightly puffed cheeks, and those brown eyes that seemed to shrink just a bit, and the slight cold sweat from his head.

'So cute, always so fun to play with.' She mused, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show, had me waiting for quite a bit, you know."

He blushed in embarrassment as he looked at his watch read 3:00, "sorry, had student council work. Still, 15 minutes late isn't that bad."

"I've been here since 1 p.m. Two hours spent waiting for you."

"I apologize for the Waitaminuet." Steven pointed at her accordingly, "You skipped afternoon classes...Again!"

"One was self-study... The other two." She paused, trying to think of a good excuse, her face cutely scrunching up. "Yeah, I skipped them." She admitted with a shrug.

Steven groaned, ready to comment, but stopped his thought as he looked closely at her, more so her legs.

So much of it was being shown from her hiked upskirt, and it didn't help hide her curves either. The loose-fitting, two-thirds button blouse and tie combo weren't better. "Come down here, so I can fix your uniform...Again!" The president barked at the smirking delinquent.

"You sure you want me to do that? You might get a glimpse of my delicates", Connie gave a faux gasp before reaching for the hem of her skirt, "of course, if that's what this is all about-." She peeled the cloth back, letting a bit of thigh show, "Guess I can show you."

"Oh, re- I mean...No, no! " Steven screamed, turning around blushing, "come down. I won't watch."

She grinned as she tipped herself over the edge, landing silently on her feet in a crouch. Seeing that he still didn't realize she was on the ground, she slowly sneaked to him, not too close. Close enough to bend over by her waist, her lips pursed by his ear.

"Fwoooooooh!"

"Ahh!" Steven screamed as he leaped from Connie's whistle. He turned with an annoyed glare at the taller girl, a corner pout on his lips as she continued to grin mischievously.

"Hello, Pres." She chirped as if she didn't scare him out of his skin.

"Connie," Steven said with a growl. Usually, it would be 'Miss Maheswaran,' but today, purpose takes precedence over professionalism.

"Wow, 'Connie' off the back and so casual too. This must be more serious than I thought." She tittered a bit mockingly, her fingers upon her lip.

"It is for me." Steven sighed as he looked at her clothes.

The sunflower pleated skirt hiked up to just below her navel, making it look 'dangerously' short; the short sleeve white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show a bit of her sports bra for the day(pink with a star), the pink bow tie which hung more like a chain and cascaded over her breast, and the blue blazer which was two sizes too big and she wore almost like a cape. The only regulation was the navy thigh highs with red and blue sneakers and her hairstyle, a loose mid-back flow of black with a sword clip in the perfect center.

"Drink it all in, Pres." She raised her arms behind her head and slightly arched her back, giving him a flirty pose, her teasing grin ever-present. " I know you like to watch."

"DO-DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY IDEA HOW THAT CAN BE TAKEN?!" He screeched and face cherry red.

"Given the current circumstances," she placed a few fingertips on her chin, looking upward before pointing at him, "you're attentive of your fellow schoolmates." She offered him a thumbs up and a wink. "Good job, Pres! Way to stay charmingly diligent." She laughed boisterously.

He scoffed a laugh, "I appreciate the praise, but is it true, I wonder." He sighed as he began what was almost ritual for the two of them. "Here I got a fellow schoolmate who's a little wayward and wild." He started by buttoning up her shirt," She gets into fights, she skips classes, she dresses messy and revealing," He buttoned her collar button before moving to the tie. "And she seems to love surging my blood pressure."

"Well, you do make a cute cherry, Pres." Connie countered with a grin.

"She also never takes anything seriously." He breathed in slight annoyance, "or at least, that's what it seems."

"Hmm, Is that so?"

"Yes, you see. I have seen evidence of the contrary." He undid her tie altogether before throwing the cloth over her shoulders. "Attire excluded." He let out a little smirk at his joke." I just want to know why there's such a disconnect between her school persona and the one I've seen." He implored as he tied the diamond-point bow around her neck neatly.

Connie didn't respond as he adjusted her skirt to just above her knees, as school allowed.

"Maybe, there isn't."

Steven looked up at het to see her looking down at him with a neutral countenance.

"Wha-"

"There isn't a disconnect." She sighed as she took a step back and then passed him towards the railing. "Do you think I come from a broken home? I don't." She hiked back up her skirt, "my Am'mā is a doctor, my Tantai is a private security guard. Both heads of their fields and currently working in Delmarva, leaving me in our nice modest brownstone." She playfully sniffs.

"You must miss them," Steven whispered.

"Somewhat? Not the first time." She shrugged, "plus, kind of hard to miss them. They make sure to have video chats with use every morning and evening." She chuckles, "Dad, even try to synchronize our meals, so we eat the same thing." She shook her head, smiling.

"Sounds nice."

"Not a dream, but I'm loved and allowed independence." She stretched out the tie letting it hang at her breast as she leaned at the rail. "What about you, Pres? What made you such a hardass for rules and regulations."

"I'm not a hardass." Steven rubbed his nape, looking away as she undid her buttons as they were before. "Do I come off like one?"

She side nodded, waving her hand, "Just a bit."

"Argh." He shook his head, "wait, this isn't about me-"

"Hold on now." Connie raised her hand, "you can't just ask a question and not expect to be interrogated yourself."

"I'm not interrogating you." Steven countered, "I just... "

"What?" She offered.

"Wanna know why!?" He barked, "Why you act so differently in school and outside of it. Why someone with your intelligence, athleticism, talent, and allure…" He sighed, "act so lackadaisical, rebellious, and aloof."

"Why do you care so much?" She inquired, looking upward, "

"Just...I don't know." He admitted, "it's your so questioning?"

"A lot of people act differently from business than they are in their personal life." Connie looked at him with an arched eyebrow before sighing. "Do you act the same at home as you do here?"

"Well.."

"Outside of watching me with those chocolate browns of yours, that is."

Steven eyes widen at the teasing, flirty tone of her voice. He felt a shiver down his spine when her face adopted the style.

Those long black eyebrows were dipping down over half-lidded raven eyes that twinkled in the afternoon light with soft, slightly parted, puckered lips and the slightest cherrywood blush on her brown cheeks. "You thought I wouldn't know when my favorite browns were watching me play violin on Saturday."

"I-"

She teased as she walked up to Steven, making him red in the face as he turned away.

*Chu*

Steven turned his eyes towards her as he backed up just a little, his hand on his right cheek, trying to fight the small smirk.

"Usually, you would act much more abrasive when I kiss your cheek, Pres." she grinned, "could you actually be resilient to my charms...or maybe you're crushing on me?" She laughed in slight play.

"Why did...No," Steven clenched his fist as a scrowl came to his lips." do you always do that? Make it so hard to have a conversation with you, Connie?"

"A conversation? On what?" She folded her arms over her stomach, "on how my clothes are wrong? On how I should be more courteous to substitute teachers and not skip those classes, despite them being nothing more than extra study-halls. How I should be more forthcoming." She glared, "you don't wanna conversation, you wanna lecture." Her glare softened, "you wanna guide and help someone you think need it, and as honorable and even attractive as I find it...I don't need it. I'm not begging for attention or a lost lamb or your new pet project or whatever. " She sighed, looking away, "I'm just who I am, and that's all I can be."

Steven rubbed the back of his head, "I know." He kissed his teeth, "I wasn't...I didn't call you up here to lecture you."

"Hmmph!"

"I swear, I didn't." He at her eyes, realizing the small moisture in them. "I really just wanted to talk."

"Yeah," She blinked a few times. "Another round of complaints, again."

"No!" Steven shouted making her jump and turn to him. He rubbed his cheek, "Sorry?"

"You're nervous."She noted with a small smile, "You scratch your left cheek when you're nervous."

"Um.." He put his hand down, only to instinctively continue scratching.

"You're reactions are so cute, Pres." She chuckled behind a fist.

"Come on; this is what I'm talking about." He muttered, "can't even tell you that I want to get to know you without being teased." He blabbed involuntarily.

Connie felt her voice lock in her throat as her cheeks burned under her skin. "What?"

"I want to get to know you." Steven implored nonchalantly before the implications hit him. "I mean…Um.."

The two looked at each other with not so different eyes. Both were feeling a bashful warmness in their chest, one that rendered them too afraid to speak but urged to be anything but silent.

"I'm interested...in you, " Steven admitted to Connie and himself. "In knowing you...I mean... Outside of school." He finished, scratching his cheek.

"Just outside school?" She sighed, ignoring the warmth in her chest, as she pressed her palm to her cheek. Trying to get a rise out of him.

*Chu*

"Steven?" Connie's voice broke as she felt his lips on her other cheek. "That..you…"

"An answer to your question!" He implored, quickly, "I'm interested in you… all of you." He announced, "That's ok, right?"

Connie wanted to tease him on his change of words, but with his hand out toward her, basically asking her to grasp it. She came to realize it wasn't a fumble of words at all.

"Mmmhmm." She muttered, taking his hand.

The two giggled at the feel of their warm palms. "Um...Can I walk you home, talk to you on the way?"

The (seemingly) genius delinquent nodded at the hardworking president. "Already trying to learn about me, Pres. .Steven."

"Well," he gave her a flirty grin as he leads her to the stairs, "you did say my diligence was charming."

"Yeah." She involuntarily squeezes his hand, "it is." She breathed out, closing the door behind them, ending one chapter of a rivalry and opening a book of friendship, love, and more.

#steven universe #connie maheswaran #connverse #steven universe future #steven universe fanfiction #steven and connie #older steven #older connie #connverse fanfic #facememe

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justlookfrightened · 5 years

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Zimbits bingo post #1

“Your dog is in my yard again”

Bitty looked out the kitchen window and sighed.

The dog from across the way was in his yard again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Dogs were great. They were warm and furry and wagged their tails and could be taught to sit and lie down and come when called and STAY WHERE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE.

Which was not in Bitty’s backyard, drooling at the gate of his chicken coop.

Bitty growled, grabbed the broom from its hook next to the back door, and headed outside.

Not that he’d actually hit the dog or anything. He just wanted to be able to keep his distance. The dog was a black and white pit bull, probably more than 50 pounds, with a massive head, and Bitty had heard things about pit bulls. About how they clamped down and never let go. While the dog didn’t look threatening now, who knew what it would do when confronted?

Well. Bitty had a pretty good idea, because this was the second time this week and the fourth time this month that he’d had to shoo the dog out his yard.

At least the coop was strong and secure. Coach probably never thought that when he taught Bitty to build things he was just encouraging his baking habit; Bitty had decided to get chickens as soon as he moved to a house with enough property to care for them because he wanted the constant access to fresh eggs. But now his chickens were pets as much as egg suppliers,and he’d be heartbroken if this goldang dog hurt any of them.

He stalked out the back door brandishing the broom.

“Hey!” he yelled. “You! Skedaddle!”

The dog turned from the coop to face Bitty, tail up, ears pricked forward, tongue lolling out.

Did that mean he was mad? He certainly didn’t look scared.

Bitty jabbed the bristles of the broom in the dog’s direction.

“Go ‘way,” he said. “Get!”

Instead of running, the dog jumped towards the end of the broom, trying to pounce on the bristles. The dog ended up down on its elbows, rear end in the air, tail waving like mad. Bitty could have sworn the dog was smiling at him. It didn’t seem mad.

“No, I don’t want to play,” Bitty said, swinging the broom towards the dog yet again, even more careful not to hit … him? her? It. Definitely it.

The dog stood up and trotted back towards the rear of the yard, a blue identification tag swinging merrily from its red collar. If Bitty got close enough, he could maybe get the owner’s name. At least an address or phone number, so he could give the guy a piece of his mind.

Bitty followed at a distance, watching the dog slip under a loose section of chain-link fence at the bottom the yard then bound up onto the back deck of the house not directly opposite, but one over.

Well, at least Bitty knew where the dog lived now.

That evening, Bitty buttoned up his shirt, shined his shoes and tied his favorite red bow tie around his neck. Maybe it was overkill, but Bitty knew he had a baby face, and he didn’t know what he was walking into. What kind of owner would that big black dog have? Someone who liked to intimidate people? Or a family that didn’t know they were harboring a potential chicken-killer?

Bitty hoped the jaunty red tie would strike the right note either way.

He picked up the pecan pie he’d baked in a disposable tin that afternoon and a plastic container with a half-dozen eggs and marched himself out the front door, down the sidewalk, and around to the other side of the block.

If he wasn’t sure he had the right house (a mid-size colonial with blue shingles), he could have told from the deep barking that came from inside as soon as he rang the bell.

He could just write a note and leave it with the eggs and pie …

The door opened.

The guy definitely was big. And buff. And way underdressed, at least compared to Bitty, in loose athletic shorts and a dri-fit T-shirt. His dark hair wasn’t long but managed to look a bit of a mess anyway. His light blue eyes felt ice-cold as they stared down at the offerings in Bitty’s hands.

“We don’t need any —”

“I’m not selling —”

There was a snuffling noise, and Bitty looked down, taking in the man’s highlighter-yellow sneakers along with the black muzzle of the dog, trying to work it’s way around the man’s knee.

Bitty took a large step back, almost falling down the top step in the process. The man’s leg straightened, effectively penning the dog in the house.

“Puck, sit,” the man said. “Sorry about her.”

Well, that was one question answered.

“What do you need?” the man asked, still brusque, but maybe not quite as terse as before.

“I wanted to give you these,” Bitty said, holding up his offerings.

“Ooo-kay,” the man said, not reaching to take the pie or the eggs. “Who are you? I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m your neighbor from around the other side of the block. Eric Bittle.”

“Are you bringing everyone eggs and pie?”

Now the man just looked puzzled. At least he wasn’t grumpy anymore. But Bitty was probably going to make him grumpy again.

“Um, no,” Bitty said. “It’s your dog.”

“The pie is for my dog?” Jack said, glancing down at the dog, who was staring at Bitty from behind the man with … was that a hopeful expression?

“No,” Bitty said. “The pie and the eggs are for you. I don’t even know if a dog can eat pecan pie.”

“No,” the man said. “Pecans aren’t good for dogs. But she can eat eggs. In moderation.”

Bitty stopped his eyes from rolling at the last comment. This man clearly took his diet — and probably his dog’s diet — seriously. Maybe pie hadn’t been the way to go?

“Of course,” Bitty said. “I meant I wanted to talk to you about your dog. It — She keeps getting into my yard, and she’s terrorizing my chickens.”

The blue eyes blinked as the man processed that.

“You brought me pie because my dog is scaring your chickens?” he finally said.

“And eggs,” Bitty said. “Really, I just wanted to ask you to please keep the dog in your yard.”

The man nodded.

“You’re the one with the chickens,” he said. “I wondered. I heard them.”

“I don’t have a rooster because I didn’t want to wake the neighborhood every day ...” Bitty started.

“No, not that,” the man said. “I’m usually up early anyway. I heard the … clucking? I guess … when I went for a run in the morning the other day, when it was really quiet, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.”

Bitty’s arms were starting to get tired from holding the pie and eggs, but he didn’t dare set them on the step, especially if dogs shouldn’t eat pecans.

“Um, can you take the pie, Mr. —” Bitty thrust it towards the neighbor again.

“Zimmermann,” the man said. “Jack Zimmermann. I’m sorry, I didn’t know Puck had been getting out. I travel a lot for work, and I just got back a couple of hours ago. I have a friend who comes and takes care of her when I’m gone, but he didn’t say anything about her escaping. But I don’t really eat a lot of pie.”

Jack took the pie anyway, and the eggs, and set them on a table inside the door.

Bitty let his arms relax and said, “It’s happened several times now, usually a couple of days in a row, in the afternoon, and then not for a few days. I followed her today to see which yard she went into. I live behind you and over one.”

“Huh,” Jack said. “Okay. The yard is fenced —”

“She’s getting under it,” Bitty said.

Jack nodded.

“That would explain the scratches I found on her back. Shitty said she hadn’t run into any other dogs. He didn’t mention chickens.”

Shitty? Bitty silently mouthed.

“With all due respect,” he said, “how would Sh — your friend knew what she encountered? If she’d getting out of the yard.”

“He probably hasn’t realized,” Jack said. “He likes to stay here when I’m gone because it’s quiet and he can study — he’s a law student — so he probably thinks she’s in the yard while he’s studying. Hold on, he hasn’t gone home yet.”

The man, Jack Zimmermann, turned to call into the house, “Shitty! Can you come out here please?”

The dog, Puck, took the opportunity when Jack turned to get out, coming right up to Bitty. Instead of jumping, she was snuffling around his knees while Bitty stood stock-still, hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening pose.

“Puck!” Jack turned back. “Sorry about that. We have to keep working with the trainer, especially on ‘stay,’ but I’m pretty busy. You can pet her — she likes people.”

Bitty very gingerly lowered his right hand, reaching past Puck’s head (well away from her mouth) to pat her muscled shoulder. She turned and bumped his hand with her head, swiping across the palm with a wet nose.

Bitty’s fingers found themselves resting behind her ear, so he obliged her by scratching. Puck let out a contented sigh.

“Who’s this, Jackabelle?”

Jack had been joined by a man in nothing but Wonder Woman briefs. His shaggy hair was a mess, including the full mustache, and his eyes looked tired.

“This is my neighbor Eric,” Jack said.

Shitty stuck out a hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Did you bring that pie? It smells delicious.”

“It is delicious,” Eric said, because while Jack had been polite, Bitty was not used to having his baked goods ignored to this extent.

“And the eggs,” Jack said. “From his chickens. Which apparently Puck has been terrorizing in the afternoons.”

“She has?” Shitty asked. “But she goes out and then she’s still in the yard —”

“She’s back in the yard when you notice her,” Jack said. “I’ll have to get the fence reinforced. Or install a new one she can’t get under. In the meantime, she has to go out on a leash. Or a tie-out in the yard, I guess, if she wants to play fetch or something. But I don’t want her tied up alone. Only if you stay outside with her, all right?”

“Sure, brah, whatever,” Shitty said. “Wouldn’t want the Puck-princess to get hurt, would we?”

He glanced at Bitty. “Or to hurt your chickens. Sorry, man.”

“Yes, I’m sorry my dog has been bothering you,” Jack said. “Puck, come.”

The dog reluctantly got up from where she had settled half on Bitty’s foot.

“You’re not going to invite your neighbor in to share a slice of that pie?” Shitty said. “What kind of heathen are you?”

“I —”

“You don’t have to,” Bitty said, even though he was kind of curious now. A tall, gorgeous man with a sort-of-trained dog and his friend who seemed to think clothes were optional? Jack said Shitty — really, Shitty? — stayed when he was traveling, but that had been three weeks in the past month. What did he do?

“He doesn’t have to, he wants to,” Shitty said to Bitty, then he turned to Jack with a look Bitty couldn’t interpret. “Don’t you, Jackie-boy?”

“Fine,” Jack said. Bitty somehow thought the exasperation was more for Shitty than for him.

“If you don’t want just pie, I could make an omelet,” Bitty said. “If you have some vegetables.”

“Even better,” Shitty said. “All the protein even you could ask for.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bitty squinted one eye open and looked at the clock. The sun was up. Almost seven. Puck would have to go out.

She must have heard Bitty move because she bounded onto the bed and lay on top of him, her elbows pinning his shoulders while he she tried to lick at his face.

“Puck, get off,” he said, holding her midsection with his hands and rolling over, dumping her onto her back next to him. He sat up, scratched her belly for a moment, and got out of bed to find his running clothes. Bitty had learned that a nice run in the morning did wonders for her behaviour the rest of the day, and it was good for him as well,

Then he would have time to feed the chickens, make a couple of videos and tidy the house. Jack would be home late tonight, after his game in St. Louis. There should be plenty of eggs to make an omelet for their breakfast tomorrow.

Tagging: @zimbitsbingo

Read Chapter 2: Mutual Pining

Read on AO3

#zimbits #my fic #zimbitsbingo

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misskikuwrites · 5 years

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Into the Wild (2/8)

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

The train clattered to a stop at the Meet-up Spot, idling at the southern boundary of the Wild Area for trainers to depart. Gloria stumbled out of the station and into the sun, stretching her arms high above her head with a satisfied sigh. Bede followed after her with a beguiled smile that she couldn't see. He forced his expression back to neutral before she turned to face him with a spirited smile, a spring in her step.

"Here we are!" she chimed, motioning to the small wooden fence ahead of them and the land beyond. "The Southern Wild Area!"

"I've been here before, Gloria."

Bede strode past her, ignoring the tingling in his chest, the hum of his blood that ignited around her in a strange song. A damp fog had settled over the land, cutting visibility down to metres in a layer of grey. The air was thick and cool, a chorus of Pokemon cries sounding from beyond.

"Oh, wow!" Gloria gasped as she came up beside Bede at the entrance gate. "I've never seen the fog this thick before."

"It shouldn't pose a problem for us at all, and should disperse when the wind picks up before noon." He glanced at her. "Unless a little bit of fog is enough to put you off?"

"As if!" she scoffed and stalked through the gate.

Bede held down the bark of laughter that filled his chest and followed with the twitch of a smile tugging at his lips.

Gloria studied her hovering Rotom phone for a moment, a map of the Wild Area on the screen. A small marker blinked rhythmically, denoting their GPS position by the gate.

"Lost already?" Bede quipped.

She rolled her eyes, pocketing her phone. "I was thinking we should head west, then loop around to Motostoke. That should take us a few days. That way, we can rest in Motostoke before planning where to go next."

"Sounds fine to me."

She nodded and snatched a Pokeball from her bag, tossing it out in front of her. Cinderace cheered happily, greeting Gloria with a trill, before studying their foggy surroundings inquisitively.

"Fyrian loves the Wild Area," she said, smiling affectionately at Cinderace as he sniffed the air eagerly.

Bede raised an eyebrow as Cinderace dashed from flower to flower, jogging around the dirt track at every new sound, new scent he found, scattering a flock of Rookidee from the grass.

"I can see that," Bede said. "I don't mind you having him out, as long as he doesn't set the whole place on fire."

Gloria snorted. "He wouldn't do that - he just wants to run around and stretch his legs. It's good exercise!" She shook her head at Bede and started down the track, taking a winding path that deviated to the west. Cinderace stayed close, always in sight in the low visibility of the fog, never wandering far from Gloria.

Bede entertained the idea of sending his Hatterene out as well before deciding against it. Hatterene wasn't one for hiking. And, if anything happened up ahead, they'd need a fully rested Pokemon to help.

As they walked through the fog, scores of wild Pokemon studied them from the long grass. Skwovet squeaked and scurried across the path and up trees when Cinderace approached. Gloria giggled as Cinderace cooed sadly to the skittish Pokemon as they fled out of sight.

"It's pretty calm around here," Gloria noted. "It's more of the outskirts, the places people usually don't go, that I need to check. Any problems around here would be obvious and dealt with immediately, so we can move on-" she gasped. "Is that a Ralts?!"

Gloria pointed to a shuffling figure in the grass, barely standing taller than the greenery. A sliver of pink poking up from a green head that timidly shrunk into the grass…

Gloria sucked in an excited breath, ushering Cinderace over with frantic gestures.

"You're not seriously going to send your Cinderace against it, are you?" Bede asked incredulously. "That is, if you want there to be a Ralts left for you to catch."

Gloria pouted. "I know that!" she hissed. "I'm just going to scare it closer. I don't want it to faint on me!"

Bede wasn't so sure but didn't say anything more. He stepped back to give her and Cinderace more room, interested to see how this would unfold. It took a moment, a few seconds of scanning the grass, for him to spot Ralts again. The thick grass rustled and shifted as the small Pokemon walked, blissfully unaware of the trainer whispering to her Cinderace and pointing straight at it.

Cinderace bolted at the grass. He leapt over Ralts, streaking through the air with a powerful jump, landing on the opposite side of the Psychic Pokemon. Ralts startled and bolted. The tiny figure burst from the thick grass and right into the waiting arms of Gloria. She tossed a Love Ball quickly, before Ralts could panic and flee again, and the ball absorbed Ralts in a flash of light. It fell to the ground and began to roll. Once, twice, the Love Ball wobbled on the ground, the clasp flashing red with every movement. It rolled a third time, then stilled. Finally, it clicked.

"Yes!" Gloria cheered. She rushed over and swept the Love Ball off the ground, holding it to her chest as she twirled giddily on her feet. "I caught it!"

Bede gave her a slow, superfluous clap. "Amazing. The Champion of Galar caught a Ralts. Who would have thought that was possible?"

"Oh, hush, Bede." She pouted at him, breathing out a sharp puff of air in his direction. "Just because you've got a Gardevoir already doesn't mean I can't be happy with my first Ralts."

Gloria brought out her Rotom phone, scanning the Love Ball and bringing up the details of her new Pokemon.

"Ooh, it's a male!" She looked at Bede with an elated gasp. "That means I can get a Gallade! We'll be like a pair then! Your Gardevoir and my Gallade will be a perfect match!"

Bede looked away from her dazzling smile, his heart fluttering up into his throat, and tried to act disinterested. Her innocent declaration meant nothing. Definitely not the way his heart, his mind, had interpreted it; wishful and lovesick thinking on his part clouded his judgement.

"That hardly makes us a pair," Bede said, brushing her off. As if his tongue didn't feel too large in his mouth. As if he didn't long to have her realise the effect her simple words had on him.

"We'd be an amazing battle duo!" she continued, completely unphased, and started down the track again. "We'll both have Rapidash soon, I'll have a Gallade - we can be a Psychic-Fairy team! The battle tower will be no match for us!"

"You seem to forget that would leave us open to massive type disadvantages."

"Pfft, who cares."

Bede rolled his eyes at her, still studying her new Pokemon's details on her Rotom Dex. A fresh sparkle lit up her eyes, a sparkle of wonder and delight. It drew Bede in, drew him closer, his head turning to capture that sight and etch it into his memories. He forgot to breathe for a moment as his heart squeezed.

"Oh, it knows Teleport! Glad it didn't use that earlier!" she laughed sheepishly. Her smile fell to the Love Ball cradled gently in her hands. "Guess I need to find you a Dawn Stone soon, huh?"

"Aren't you planning a bit ahead, there?" Bede noted. "Shouldn't you focus on the plan at hand?"

"I can do two things at once," she scoffed. "And, speaking of planning, I need to come up with a nickname for him! Something cool but also fitting… hmm…"

"Nicknaming again?"

"Yeah! That way, it feels like we're family, like they're a part of my team."

She tucked the Love Ball safely away as the path began to slope down a gentle hill. Cinderace leapt into the air and skidded down the hill like a hyperactive child on a skateboard, feet kicking up a cloud of dirt. Cinderace flew forward, curled into a roll and nailed the landing at the bottom, barely visible in the fog.

"Don't go too far!" Gloria called. Cinderace echoed a reply, bouncing on his toes as he waited eagerly for them to catch up.

Bede let himself smile faintly, to relax, as he got used to the quirks and oddities of hiking with Gloria. She was as excitable as her Cinderace, gasping and cooing at the different Pokemon that emerged from the fog, pointing out anything and everything that was remotely interesting. Her Cinderace ran around like a preschooler on sugar, which didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

They kept to the beaten track as the sun began to rise further in the sky, and worked their way around to the south-western edge of the Wild Area. As the mid-morning breeze finally picked up, the mellow fog lifted and the air began to warm. They shied away from the sun, driving deeper into the thickening trees. The dirt path faded the further they went, weeds and shrubs sprouting and obscuring the track until no sign of it remained. The scattered undergrowth and leaf litter made it impossible to tell whether there had been a path beneath their feet in the first place.

"I do hope you're not planning on getting us lost in here," Bede said pointedly. The tall trees and fallen logs scattered around them all looked the same. He sent a quick glance behind them to the narrowing sliver of sky fading in the distance. The dense forest seemed to encroach around them.

"Of course not. I've got my Rotom phone, remember? The map and GPS are still working."

Bede shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his gaze fixed forward. The towering trees and dense brush was nothing like the cool shade of the Glimwood Tangle. The light pouring through the canopy made Bede feel exposed. Too warm, despite the shade. It was too different to the cool embrace of darkness and earth he was used to.

Gloria scouted a few steps ahead, scanning the forest around them as if it were familiar to her and not an endless circle of repetitive trees. She stopped, pausing to crane her ear to the canopy for a moment. An array of different Pokemon calls, chirps and cries, filled the air. Gloria nodded, satisfied with whatever she heard.

"What, exactly, are we looking for here?" Bede asked as Gloria headed off again. Her Cinderace bounded by her side.

"Anything amiss, really." She shrugged. "It could be anything from overly aggressive Pokemon, to a partially collapsed cliff, a broken bridge or a new nesting site that needs to be protected."

"Which means, we are not looking for anything specific - we are merely wandering about until we stumbled across something wrong. Am I right?"

"Well… Leon didn't exactly word it like that, but…"

Bede sighed. "I cannot believe they force the Champion to do something so tedious. Surely there are other insipid fools they could trick into such a dismal task."

"Aw, come on. It's not so bad!" She gave him an encouraging smile. "It's so quiet and free of people here, it's like we've got the place to ourselves!" She motioned to the forest around them, devoid of people and alive with Pokemon. "It's like we've run away in secret or something, right? Like no one knows we're here?"

The glee in her voice, the cunning twinkle in her eyes, made the protest forming in Bede's throat disperse immediately with a silent, sharp intake of air. The idea that this was a secret between the two of them made his blood buzz in his veins. She had a way of setting his blood on fire, and he almost choked at the sneaky wink she gave him. It knocked the breath from his lungs as if her Cinderace had kicked him square in the chest.

Before Gloria could notice the look on Bede's face, a burst of noise rippled through the forest. Furious hollars and guttural cries sounded to their right. Gloria glanced at him in a look of momentary panic, before the fear in her eyes steeled itself and she nodded at him. Bede pushed away any doubts, anything holding him back, and returned her nod.

They rushed towards the noise, leaping over fallen logs and shrubs, ducking around trees and skeletal branches. Bede snatched Hatterene's Pokeball out and held it at the ready as the torrent of cries, the waves of noise, got louder and closer. Large figures leapt through the trees in the distance. A volley of rocks launched through the air, scattering the Pokemon as they shrieked.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Gloria cried as a group of trainer's came into view. A Gengar hovered in front of them, shooting rocks into the air at the panicked Passimian.

Bede did a quick head count of the four trainers as he came up beside Gloria. The group of young men turned.

"None of your business!" one of them cried. The others jeered.

"Can't you see I'm trying to catch a Passimian?" the trainer directing his Gengar scoffed. "Stupid things won't get out of the trees!"

Gengar lifted a circle of floating stones around it, each pulsing with psychic energy, and sent them flying into the trees again.

"I said, stop it!" Gloria snapped. "They don't want to be caught!"

"Piss off!" one of the trainers spat. "This doesn't concern you."

"Fyrian, Pryo ball!" Gloria cried, and a fireball streaked through the air and slammed straight into Gengar. The Passimian in the trees hollered and whooped.

Gengar spun in the air like a helium balloon in the wind before coming to a stop and grinning.

"Oh, that's it!" Gengar's trainer snarled. His mates sent out their Pokemon; Excadrill, Hakamo-o and Weavile.

Bede sent out Hatterene, his Pokemon settling beside Cinderace. He glanced at Gloria, saw the blazing steel in her eyes, and a smug rush of confidence coursed through him.

"No mercy." Her sharp whisper sent a tingle down his spine.

His lips curled into a smile.

"No mercy."

Cinderace was the first to move. Flames licked off his feet as he launched a burning kick at Weavile. Gengar spat a dark, swirling ball at Hatterene as Excadrill sliced at the soft dirt with it's solid steel claws, burrowing deep and out of sight. Hatterene slapped the Shadow Ball to the side with her tentacle, launching a blinding sphere of light at Hakamo-o. The dragon sliced at Cinderace as he drove Weavile back with precise, swift kicks. Cinderace launched into the air as Excadrill burst from the ground where the fire rabbit had been seconds ago. Hakamo-o and Weavile struck Excadrill instead before Hatterene's Moonblast landed and threw the three Pokemon back into the dirt.

Cinderace landed swiftly on Gengar's head, driving the Ghost Pokemon into the ground. With Hakamo-o fainted and returned, three opposing Pokemon remained. Bede swept his eyes between them. Cinderace cleanly dodged Excadrill's swiping claws, hopping backwards on quick feet. Weavile struggled to stand, Gengar lifting off the ground with barely a scratch.

At Bede's command, Hatterene conjured a wave of fire around Excadrill. Cinderace shot forward with a flurry of powerful kicks as Excadrill flailed in a panic. The steel mole fell back with a thud as the flames died.

Another one down. Two to go.

Hatterene dealt with Gengar in no time with Psychic, Cinderace knocking Weavile down with another Blaze Kick. The trainers returned their Pokemon, snatching more Pokeballs from their belts.

Passimian rained from the trees. They dropped down in front of Bede and Gloria, forming a barrier of fuming, hollering Pokemon. They growled and cried at the four trainers, thumping the ground with their feet and shaking the earth.

One of the trainers screamed and tried to run before a Passimian dropped right in front of him. The trainer stumbled back with a shriek and fell on his ass.

Bede's blood ran cold. The crowd of Passimian bared their teeth with deep growls.

"What the fuck!" one of the trainers cried. "Do something!"

Bede snapped his attention to Gloria as she drew her fingers to her lips and sounded an ear piercing whistle. The sharp sound cut through the forest, through the roaring Passimian, and they stilled. The group of Pokemon shuffled, a ripple washing over them as they chattered and faced Gloria.

"Enough," Gloria said. Her hand, teld tight behind her back, trembled. "Let them go. They won't bother you anymore. I think they've learnt their lesson. Am I right?"

"Y-Yes!" one of the trainers cried, the other's quickly echoing. "Please, let us go!"

The Passimian chattered to one another for a moment, a wave of sound and commotion flowing over the group before they shifted and formed an opening.

"You four, get out of here. You won't be so lucky next time," Gloria said, and the trainers didn't wait another second. They scrambled out of the circle of Passimian and fled through the trees.

The group of Passimian barely gave Gloria and Bede another glance before scattering and disappearing into the canopy again. Cinderace drew up to Gloria's side, sounding a concerned trill, as her shoulders slumped.

"Gloria?"

She jumped, turning to face him with wide eyes. The blood had drained from her face, leaving her skin pale and ghostly white. Her mouth opened with silent, unspoken words, lingering panic alive in her eyes. It pulled on his heart, and Bede took her hand, her skin cold as ice. She stared, agape, at their hands as he cupped her frosty fingers in both of his. Her shoulders trembled.

"I knew you weren't dressed for this weather," Bede chided, keeping his voice gentle.

A deep ache settled in his chest, tight and constricting. He pushed through it, dropped her hand and slipped his jacket off. He drew his large, magenta jacket over Gloria's shoulders, pulling it closed around her. She looked so small and fragile, almost completely enveloped in it. She peered up at him, a sliver of her fingers visible at the edges of his coat as she hugged it closer. Bede let his hands rest on her shoulders for a moment longer than he felt necessary, longer than he knew was proper. A brief moment that felt too long, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of his coat in a soft, barely-there caress he hoped she couldn't feel. He felt her eyes on him. On his face, his eyes, and he deliberately turned away to return his Hatterene.

His face burned at the knowing, cheeky smile Hatterene gave him before he returned her. He heard Gloria sigh faintly. Looked over his shoulder to see her eyes had fallen shut, her nose buried into the collar of his jacket. An arrow of heat shot down his spine, bursting into flames in his chest. Setting his blood on fire. He stiffened involuntarily, frozen and burning at the same time. A shiver washed over him, sending a trail of goosebumps down his arms. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move an inch, a single muscle, as Gloria stood there with her eyes closed, wrapped warmly in his jacket.

The deep breath Gloria took shattered Bede's petrification and he managed to compose himself before she opened her eyes. A faint hint of colour had returned to her cheeks.

"Thanks, Bede," she said softly. A miniscule smile grew on her face, her eyes drifting over to meet his.

"Well, I wasn't about to stand back and let the Champion go into shock in front of me." He brushed her off as his cheeks warmed. He hated - and loved - the way she said his name. The way she drew out the syllables, making it sound tender and delicate on her tongue. Like a whisper of a song that calmed the tumultuous, raging seas of his heart.

Her soft laugh was a serene twinkle of noise, sweet like a wind chime in a gentle breeze. Her eyes crinkled at his comment, somehow finding amusement in his words.

"That was… terrifying," she said apologetically. "In many different ways. I'm so glad you're here with me, Bede. I don't think I could have sorted that out by myself."

"I suppose I don't mind taking a part of the credit for that. However, if it was up to me, we wouldn't have found ourselves in that mess to begin with."

"Oh? And what would the oh-so-mighty Bede have done instead?" She cocked an eyebrow at him in a challenge, thought it was hard to see her as anything but adorable in his oversized coat.

"I wouldn't have agreed to this in the first place if I were the Champion. Surely there are enough overly eager league staff to do this sort of thing."

"You agreed to come with me, though."

"That's because you asked, or rather, you pleaded with me to join you, if I recall correctly."

Gloria hummed absently. "I did. And I'm glad you agreed to help me."

"You said that already." A steady warmth coiled tightly on his cheeks.

Her giggle was like a spark of lightning in his chest. "I know, I know."

Bede swallowed before he combusted internally. "If we're done here, we should move on." He could hardly wait to escape the confines of the forest so he could breathe easily again.

"Alright," Gloria said, checking their position on her Rotom phone. "If we head north, we should reach the edge of the forest in no time." She pointed slightly to their right and led the way.

The rest of their trek through the forest was mostly uneventful, save for Gloria pointing out the different species of Pokemon she saw. Cinderace strode happily by her side, matching her boundless energy.

Soon enough, they exited the forest and stepped out into the warm embrace of the sun. A patchwork of grassy fields, crystal clear lakes, flowing rivers and sheer cliffs rolled out before them. Gloria hummed in delight as the sunlight kissed her face. She'd slipped her arms into the long sleeves of Bede's jacket a while ago, and raised her arms up with a sigh.

Bede bit back an amused smile at her antics. With the loss of his thick jacket, he was thankful for the heat of the midday sun. Gloria stepped over to the edge of the cliff dropping down before them, a rugged path winding to the ground. A cluster of trees nestled against the base of the cliff beside a flat, glassy lake.

"Ooh, that looks like a perfect spot to have lunch!" Gloria gasped, pointing at the lake. "We can get down there through here." She motioned to the narrow, rocky trail, and returned Cinderace into his Pokeball.

Bede took one look at the trail and recoiled. "No. I adamantly refuse. That does not look safe at all."

"Come on, live a little!" Gloria scoffed and shuffled down the path.

"Gloria…!" Bede protested but she was already stepping down the sharply angled track, kicking up a handful of stones. They clattered off the side of the path, disappearing into the trees below. She looked over her shoulder at him with a grin which did nothing to settle the nerves swarming in his lungs. His feet felt like lead. The cliff seemed to drop away endlessly into nothing, the height churning his stomach as his vision swam.

Gloria peered up at him for a moment before shrugging. She turned back around to continue when a loose stone shifted beneath her foot. Her leg slipped out from beneath her and she lost her balance with a sharp yelp.

"Gloria!"

She stuck her other foot out to catch her but the edge of the cliff crumbled beneath her weight. She slipped over the edge and screamed.

"Gloria-!"

She was gone. Her scream echoed into deafening silence. Fading into nothing. No thud, no cry. Nothing, no sound at all met Bede's ears as he scrambled to the edge of the cliff, seeing only trees and dirt below.

"Gloria!" His cry burned his throat. He sent out Hatterene as his blood ran cold, and froze his heart in icy panic. "Teleport me down there!" He barked, Hatterene flinching as she felt each and every one of his emotions crash through her. Light flashed around them. A blink and they were at the base of the cliff.

Bede whirled frantically, pushing conjured images of her broken body from his mind. Images of blood and matted hair, limbs twisted and-

Bright magenta caught his eyes. Gloria lay slumped on her back on top of a crushed bush, tangled in branches and leaves. Trails of blood ran down her legs from a mess of scrapes and cuts to her bare skin.

Bede rushed over as she shifted, wincing sharply and rubbing the back of her head. Her cap was nowhere to be seen.

"H-Hey, Bede…" Gloria puffed and sat up as best she could on the broken bush. "That's one way to get down here quickly, huh?"

"What is wrong with you?!"

Gloria flinched.

Bede's throat burned, raw and tight, a surge of heat rising up inside him that he couldn't fight, couldn't swallow. It erupted with venom, with pain and fear and fury.

"What on earth were you thinking?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?! What kind of complete idiot are you?!"

A firm touch on Bede's shoulder silenced him. Hatterene nudged him with the tip of her tentacle, the disapproval in her eyes dousing the fire in his veins. He looked back at Gloria slowly. She drew smaller under his gaze, a glimmer of tears in her eyes when she blinked.

Bede's heart plummeted into his stomach. He dropped to his knees at Gloria's feet, a shameful chill cooling his blood.

"Sorry…" Bede said. "That… was not becoming of me. I should not have yelled at you." He sighed, raking a hand down his face in shame. "I thought you were…"

He couldn't finish that thought. He took a breath, closed his eyes and settled the rapid thundering of his heart. When he met her gaze again, fragments of clarity came together in his mind.

"Can you stand?" He held out a hand to her, and she took it after a moment, after she studied his expression and nodded. Bede pulled her to her feet slowly, catching her elbow to steady her. "Let's get you seated somewhere."

He directed her over to a fallen log a safe distance away from the cliff and she plonked herself down on it with a hiss of pain.

"How do you always manage to injure yourself like this?" Bede chided, though his voice was as soft as a sigh. "You must be the most accident prone Champion in history."

"I'm just unlucky." Gloria pouted, hefting her bag off her back with a grunt.

"I would consider yourself lucky to have fallen down a cliff and be able to walk away afterwards."

Bede ignored Gloria's huff and retrieved his first-aid kit from his bag.

"I'm getting a strange sense of deja vu here," Gloria noted with a slight smile.

"You're the reason I packed this in the first place. If it was anyone else, a simple kit could do. For you, I made sure to stock up."

Bede unzipped the kit, revealing an array of different bandages and gauzes, disposable gloves and wipes, along with a variety of creams and salves with a neat package of scissors, tweezers and painkillers.

"Wow, that's a lot of stuff." Gloria studied it intently as he looked through the contents.

"How do you feel? Anything possibly broken or sprained?" He looked up at her and froze. She was leaning over to study the contents of the first-aid kit, bringing her face dangerously close to his. She didn't notice their proximity, too focused on the kit.

"I don't think so," she said, leaning back and giving her shoulders an experimental roll. "I'm just… really sore. Kinda bumped every part of me on the way down." She rubbed the back of her head again before gasping, "My hat!"

"Priorities, Gloria. We'll deal with that later."

She grumbled and slumped with a pout. "But I liked that hat…"

If she was complaining about her hat, rather than the pain, then Bede took that as a positive sign. "Come on, take off my jacket. I need to see if you're hurt anywhere else."

Gloria sounded a noise of protest but relinquished Bede's jacket back to him. She unzipped her own jacket as well, shrugging it off her shoulders. Her arms were relatively unscathed, protected by two thick jackets. A few patches of red bloomed on her arms but that was it. Bede's jacket, on the other hand, was covered in dirt, as was Gloria's legs.

"Did you hit your head on the way down?" Bede asked.

He pulled a bottle of distilled water out of the kit and stood, walking around Gloria so he could study the back of her head. Her hair was a tangle of knots, twigs and leaves. He couldn't see anything through the disheveled mess, lightly gracing her hair with his fingers before sighing.

"Do you have a hair brush? I'll have to untangle your hair before I can see anything through all this."

"Yeah, it's in my bag." Gloria leant over and dug through her backpack, retrieving her brush and handing it to him. "Thanks," she said, not meeting his eyes as she turned away quickly.

A bubble of heat formed in his chest. Bede swallowed the strange, airy feeling in his throat and lungs and tried to focus on the task at hand. Gloria's hair. A mess of brown tangles, littered with detritus. Usually so soft and silky; the memory of how it felt to touch her hair sent a slow trickle of heat to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"Tell me if it hurts," Bede said quickly. He tightened his grip around the brush, deciding to remove leaves and twigs with his fingers before anything else.

"Okay."

She sounded so quiet, her voice so soft and faint, yet it seemed to echo in his ears. Bede steeled his attention on her hair and not the hum of heat filling his body.

An amused trill sounded in front of them. Bede looked up from the tangle of Gloria's hair to see Hatterene grinning at him, the tip of her tentacle held in front of her mouth cheekily. He fumbled for Hatterene's Pokeball, returning her quickly as he flushed.

Damn Hatterene reading his emotions. He scowled to try and fight the blush burning his cheeks as he continued to work on Gloria's hair. With the majority of detritus removed, he began to carefully run the brush through the top layer of her hair. Gloria hummed, making Bede pause.

"What is it?" he asked and swept a few strands of her hair aside.

"You're surprisingly gentle," she noted.

Bede raised an eyebrow that she couldn't see. "You expected something else?"

"No, it's just… guys aren't usually so careful with a brush. I've had Hop try to detangle my hair once and it was a nightmare."

"If you haven't noticed, I have experience with curly hair," he pointed out. "I know how to be gentle with tangles."

"Ah."

Bede breathed a faint laugh. "My hair does not sit like this naturally. If I left it to its own devices, it would look like a Rookidee nest in no time."

Gloria laughed. "I would pay to see that."

"Hopefully, you never will."

Bede worked bit by bit on her hair, finding her snapped hair tie buried deep in a thick knot. He held it out to her, placing it in her hand when she reached for it.

"Great," she huffed. "The one thing I forgot to pack a spare of."

Bede brushed out the remainder of tangles and knots, smoothing his fingers over the back of her scalp. She sucked in a sharp breath and Bede stole his fingers away.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "You have a small bump on the back of your head."

Gloria reached back and touched the spot tenderly. "Yeah, that sounds about right." She ran her fingers through her hair satisfactorily and gave him a smile. "Thanks. That would've taken me ages to do."

Her warm gratitude stuttered his heart for a moment. "How are your legs?"

He walked around her, kneeling in front of her legs and pulling out a clean cloth from the first-aid kit before retrieving the distilled water again.

"Covered in dirt," she said. "It might be easier for me to rinse off in the lake."

Bede blinked at her. "Sure. That would also work."

"Why don't you have lunch while I'm gone?" She undid the laces on her boots, kicking them off and removing her socks. "The sandwiches are in my bag."

Gloria stood and wiggled her toes, stretching out her aching legs. The trails of blood running down her bare legs had dried into the dirt caking her skin. Bede stole his eyes away from her long, bare legs mere inches from his face and nodded.

He retrieved a lunch box from her bag as she wandered over to the lake, sitting so that he wasn't staring straight at her but could still keep her in his peripheral vision. He wasn't completely ready to let her out of his sight just yet. He munched away at his sandwich, trying not to focus too much on Gloria as he ate.

Her gasp at the frigid water sent a jolt through Bede. He almost choked on bread when she bent over, her pert ass in the air, to wash her lower legs. He swallowed too quickly, a too large bit of bread sliding painfully down his throat. He stole his drink bottle from his bag and took a few deep gulps of water. His body was alight with searing heat. His chest burned like a furnace, spilling molten blood through his veins. He scowled, trying to force that image from his mind and took a few quick bites of his sandwich.

Arceus, he wanted to take another look.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Gloria said, suddenly beside him. Her legs, arms and neck dripped with water. Glistening beads slid beneath her collar as she peered at him, blissful unaware of how she looked.

Bede suddenly forgot how to breathe. A bit of sandwich went down the wrong way and he erupted into coughs.

"Bede! Are you okay?" Gloria was at his side, patting the square of his back firmly. Bede coughed into his hand, tears stinging in his eyes as his body protested. He frantically waved her off and drank greedily from his bottle.

She settled on the log again, tilting her head in concern as he recovered from his coughing fit. She had no idea how she looked right now, those gloriously long legs stretched out before her, beads of water sliding across her smooth skin. Bede tasted the water on his tongue and a blinding image of him tracing his tongue across her bare legs flashed in his mind.

Fuck.

Bede cleared his throat and stared at the half eaten sandwich in his hands and not the distracting legs in the corner of his eyes.

This was bad. He hadn't even spent a full day with her and his mind was already running wildly. How was he still to last a whole week like this?

"You okay now?" Gloria asked innocently.

Bede nodded, taking another bite of the sandwich so he didn't have to answer her. He didn't trust himself to form a coherent sentence right now. Gloria accepted his nonverbal reply and retrieved the rest of the lunch boxes from her bag. She placed one on her lap, opening the rest, before sending out her Pokemon.

Bede found himself relaxing as the Pokemon surrounding them took his mind off thoughts he didn't want to entertain. His Hatterene, along with her Cinderace, Ponyta and newly acquired Ralts ate happily in the shade. It took a bit of coaxing from Gloria for Ralts to calm down enough to accept the sandwich, but soon settled at Gloria's feet, nibbling quietly. Ponyta came and nestled down beside Ralts, greeting the new Pokemon with a soft whinny.

Gloria smiled in adoration at her Pokemon, the love in her eyes flustering Bede's heart. He felt Hatterene's knowing stare on him once again and focused on eating.

The afternoon passed slowly. After the events of this morning, they'd decided to take it easy for the rest of the day. Bede patched up the raw skin on the back of Gloria's thighs, wincing at the large scrapes as he bandaged them. The rest of the cuts and scrapes to her legs were minor in comparison, and, other than bruises to the rest of her, she was lucky to come away with only those injuries.

Despite Bede's protests, Gloria took his jacket to the lake and washed it off, her Ponyta running laps of the shore and kicking up a spray of water. She hung his jacket to dry on a branch before settling in the shade on the grass beside him.

"Sorry about earlier," she said quietly. She watched their Pokemon run around on the grass, Ponyta galloping after Cinderace, Hatterene tracing something in the dirt with her tentacle as Ralts watched, captivated.

Bede glanced at her. "For what?"

Gloria went to curl her legs beneath her and winced, quickly deciding to stretch them out in front of her instead.

"For not listening to you and going down the cliff. I really thought it looked safe…" She tapped at her phone, marking the spot on her GPS map for later. "That was exactly why they needed someone to scout this place. The next person to tumble down there might not be so lucky."

"Every trainer who comes here knows the Wild Area isn't something they can take lightly. It's supposed to be the first major challenge they face," Bede reminded her. "If they're not prepared, that is their own fault."

"I know, but there are some dangers they shouldn't have to face. Falling down a cliff is certainly one of them." She sighed, putting away her phone. "Anyway, I should have listened to you. It was stupid of me not to."

"You're right, it was stupid." He looked out over the grass as she pouted sourly at him. "But… it did look safe. Even I couldn't have predicted that it would collapse like that."

"Then why'd you protest so much?"

Bede worried his brow slightly. "I… do not deal with heights very well."

She blinked at him for a few seconds. "You're scared of heights?"

"I-I'm not scared of heights, I merely do not like the risk of falling from them, that's all!" he barked in protest.

"Sounds like you're scared of heights to me," she teased. A cunning smile grew on her face in amusement.

Bede huffed. "If I were afraid of heights I would not have gone on the Ferris wheel with you."

She thought about that for a moment. "That's true. You seemed fine up there."

He raked a hand through his fringe with a sigh. "That's because there was no risk of me falling. Ferris wheels, sky taxis, they're fine. Climbing down a cliff like that with no railing is a completely different story."

"That… actually makes sense." Gloria nodded slowly.

"Of course it does."

"Guess I really scared you, huh?" She smiled at the grass between her feet sheepishly. "I've never seen you so upset before…"

Bede's heart fell into his gut, weighed heavily with regret. Nausea rose up his throat as his stomach churned. The biting words he'd spat at her crashed through his mind, his throat clamping like a vice as he winced at the memory.

"I regret that," he admitted quietly. "You didn't deserve any of it. I should have checked to see if you were fine and not…" He sighed, ashamed of the vile words he'd snapped at her without thinking. Ashamed that he'd let her witness that part of him, that he'd aimed that vitriol at her.

A gentle touch on his arms brought him out of his regret. Her hand rested just below his shoulder, and she smiled sweetly at him when he met her eyes.

"It's fine, Bede," she said, settling the abashed throbbing of his heart, the distressing ache in his chest. A wave of calm washed over him. "Really, it doesn't bother me. It actually made me realise that you care about me. A lot."

Oh, shit.

She slid her eyes away from him, her hand dropping from his shoulder, and Bede froze on the spot.

"I…" he couldn't speak. Nothing would form on his tongue, the words lost in the tightening of his throat. His mind swam in panic. He gaped as the walls of his heart closed in on him, shutting down any means of escape or denial. He was trapped.

Gloria curled a lock of her hair around a finger, a bashful smile playing on her lips. "I never really thought about it, but I guess it makes sense. After all this time… now that we're friends, of course you'd care about me."

Something shattered deep inside him. "What?"

"I mean, you wouldn't have agreed to come out here with me if you didn't care, duh." She breathed a short laugh.

Bede stared incredulously at her. "That's the conclusion you came to?"

She tilted her head at him. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Bede sighed heavily and decided to count his blessings. With her as oblivious as this, now was definitely not the time to tell her how he felt.

Gloria blinked at him but didn't press further. The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing around with their Pokemon and setting up their tents by the lake. Gloria busied herself with their dinner after insisting that she cook by herself for the first night because she wanted to prove to Bede that she could make a decent curry. Soon enough, Gloria dished out her aromatic curry, handing out the plastic plates to her Pokemon and Bede before settling down with her own on the rug he'd laid out.

Their Pokemon tucked in eagerly, which meant that it had to be fairly edible, and so Bede took a tentative bite. He hummed as the rich spices and flavours mixed on his tongue. There was a faint kick to it, just enough to feel but not overwhelming. He nodded appreciatively as he didn't particularly enjoy spicy food, though he wasn't sure if Gloria knew that or not.

Gloria made a happy noise in her throat. "See? Told you I can cook!"

"It's decent, I'll give you that." He gave her a sliver of a smile. "But if you let the pecha berries cook a bit longer until they're soft, it'll taste better."

His comment didn't perturb her in the slightest, maintaining her grin she ate.

Night fell swiftly, the sun disappearing over the horizon as they finished washing the dishes in the lake. They kept a small fire going for a while, chatting to pass the time, before the exhaustive day caught up with them and neither could keep themselves from yawning.

With their Pokemon safely returned into their Pokeballs, Bede and Gloria crawled into their respective tents for the night.

Bede slid into his sleeping bag, a heavy weariness weighing on his eyes. He sighed in the darkness, struggling to believe that it had only been one day and he was already this exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally too. Dealing with Gloria's endless energy, her reckless impulsivity and blissful naivety was utterly exhausting. He didn't know whether or not to be glad she was oblivious to his feelings, but decided he could deal with that for now.

Anything was better than her finding out how much he longed for her when she only saw him as a friend.

He'd just have to keep his heart in check for the next six days, that's all.

Bede stifled a groan.

That was easier said than done.

#bederia #bede #gloria #btyu #dressedinpinkshipping #pokemon swsh

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years

Text

Anonymous asked: Hi! Do you follow some sort of exercise regime? If so, would you mind sharing it? Were you able to stay in shape whilst at university?

Staying fit and living a healthy lifestyle is important to me and I do my best to try and sustain that especially as one gets older. Although compared to how sporty I was during my university days and what I do now is a touchy subject as I fall woefully short. Real world demands of of work and the personal keep sabotaging my good intentions. For me being sporty was less about weight loss and fat gain than about the mental side of being physically fit. The release of oxytocin was natural way to fight any stress or anxiety that we all have to deal with at different times in life. It was about challenging my mind through my body to set goals and have the bloody single mindedness to focus to go beyond them. The benefits were for me developing a mental steeliness and emotional resilience.

As a girl growing up partly in the Far East I learned martial arts which was a very healthy way to keep fit. I did ‘baby’ judo at 4 years onwards which was really about having fun learning to fall over and getting up again. More seriously I then progressed to jiu-jitsu (Japanese and then later in life Brazilian style) and Kendo (I fell in love with the Samurai heritage living in Japan). I dabbled in other forms of martial arts over the subsequent years but nothing too seriously. In India, as a teen, I started to do yoga. Don’t laugh but yoga (not the Californian bohemian kind from the 60s that’s been mainstreamed into the modern Western bourgeois lifestyle) really gets you fit. You can leave aside the more questionable spiritual side of it and still enjoy the physical and emotional benefits of yoga as I still do.

At boarding school I still carried on with martial arts but also did ski-ing (very Swiss) and cross-country ski-ing (very Norwegian). I did do lacrosse and field hockey naturally - partly because we were forced to - but I ended up breaking a few bloody noses and bruised shins because I was overly competitive and I hated losing. I enjoyed the camaraderie but it wasn’t really my métier. Instead I did a lot of fencing and that required focus, agility, speed, and good bum muscles! Mountaineering and hiking were my outdoor escapes from being suffocated inside school walls.

So by the time I reached university I was already somewhat sporty. At university I primarily did field hockey and also modern pentathlon. Modern pentathlon includes the five disciplines of running, shooting, horse riding, fencing, and swimming. I did all five disciplines separately growing up as a girl. I grew up with horses but I would be the first to say I wasn’t a natural rider. Swimming and running I loved to do in the open countryside. Swimming in the sea, river, or a fjord was heaven because I disliked crowded public swimming pools. Running over semi-long distances was really my bread and butter of staying fit and mentally resilient. I also carried on my martial arts of jiu-jitsu and Kendo. University was the only time I ever really went close to hardcore in the gym but out of duty rather than love.

The Norwegian winter sport of Skiskyting (now called biathlons) was something I did from the time I was almost 11 years old. During my university years I did it less because I could only do it in Norway and not in England where I was studying. Skiskyting is simply cross country skiing and rifle shooting (the rifle you carry on your back as you ski) over 12 km or so. Like most Norwegians, I was born with skis, and so I took to Skiskyting like a duck to water. If my father had taught me fencing (very British army), my Norwegian mother is the one who showed me her Norwegian traditions - she’s always had been a very good skier. I love to ski and in Norway we do lots of ski walking which really gets you fit.

Coming up to the present day I have reduced my activity to fit around other demands on my time especially with work and travel. It’s been a constant juggling act because when you live in a big city and you have a demanding career with long hours (as well as travel) then it becomes more tough to adapt and sustain a healthy routine.

I still dislike gyms. Even to this day I try and avoid them if I can. I can’t stand the overflowing testosterone and the social posing. Overhead music is a huge turn off for me. I prefer the solitude of my own thoughts if I can and not listen to blaring music.

These days my daily routine always begins with morning yoga - partly because I have to. To avoid muscle cramp as a result of of an old back and knee injury from my past Army days I have to keep supple and flexible as much as I can. Even when I travel and I stay in a hotel I’ll do yoga in my hotel room - I won’t do it in the hotel gym and spa - so I’ll steal/liberate a yoga mat from there and stash it in my hotel room.

I try to do a 5 km run every other day. I love doing this because it helps me to release the oxytocin and this puts me in a good mood for the start of my day. I feel free and unbound when I am running. I get my best ideas to solving problems when I am running. It doesn’t matter if I am traveling as I will get out of the cocoon of the hotel and just go out for a run (as I dislike hitting the tread mill inside the hotel gym). To me, a great way to discover a city is by getting lost in it. At home in Paris, the Bois de Boulogne isn’t far for me to do my run. In the park I’ll do sets of crunches and squats. If I have a breakfast meeting then I’ll switch my run to lunch time or after I finish work I will do a late night run. I’m fortunate that I can shower at work if I need to.

Every other day when I’m not running I will cycle into work which gives me an alternative cardio work out. I supplement this by going swimming twice every week but I do that at a private health club and on a day when I haven’t done my 5 km run.

I continue to keep up my martial arts by joining martial arts club to do Brazilian jui-jitsu and Kendo. I also keep my fencing up by joining a club. I attend when I can, usually weekly. Both martial arts and fencing are a good way to keep fit and mentally alert.

Every two weeks I’ll play a game of squash with friends at a sports club as we’re part of an informal squash ladder. It’s a fun way to stay healthy and chill out with friends.

Every calendar year I will do a charity half marathon - there are plenty in France such as breast cancer - often with a friend. I’ll do it because it’s firstly for a good cause and secondly it forces me to have a set goal and and so my running and training regime will reflect that.

Every year I set myself a goal of competing in 2-3 amateur/semi-professional triathlons spread out in the calendar year - usually in the middle of rural France. The best way to train on technique is by joining a regional club/team. I enjoy the friendly camaraderie when we travel for the events together. The great thing about this is the age range from super fit teens to avid competitors into their 50s from different walks of life. It’s very down to earth and there’s no peer pressure other than the goals you set for yourself.

Every year I also set a goal of doing 1-2 biathlons in Norway. Again, I do that by joining a semi-professional club in Norway and I’ll go to compete when it fits around my seasonal calendar. I love this because it allows me the rare treat of just being Norwegian and forgetting everything else of being English or thinking like the French. So I love the Norwegian dry humour and the laid back friendly atmosphere of being back even if the food is barely edible!

Speaking of food, as you well know there’s no point going on any exercise regime if you don’t address the other half of the equation: a healthy diet. The truth is you can cut out more calories from what you eat than you can burn with exercise. Exercise and diet go together hand in glove. For me this is an extra challenge. Contrary to what you might think just because you live in Paris doesn’t mean you dine on gourmand food every day. The days of 2 hour lunches with wine are fading away and giving way to grabbing ‘le sandwich’. In fact, there are worrying culinary habits from American culture which is dictating bad eating habits especially amongst the young. The temptation to buy processed food and use the microwave or grab a takeaway is too much for some. It’s also true many young Parisians simply don’t know how to cook.

Speaking personally I love cooking and one of my weekend rituals is to go to a local farmer’s market and buy fresh vegetables, fruit, and lean meat for the week. Cooking helps me to ‘power down’ from the stress of work. I enjoy the ritual of trying out new recipes and putting on small intimate dinner parties or cooking for loved ones at the weekend. To me it’s a lame excuse to say you can’t whip up a quick healthy meal when you come home after a hard day at work. You can. You can buy ingredients and prepare food ahead of time. Make up a rough menu for the week and plan ahead. There are plenty of recipes to healthy eating for the week.

My biggest challenge when it comes to diet is saying no to good food when I dine out. One of the side effects of my work is that I have to attend quite a few business dinners with corporate clients. So it’s nearly always a well regarded restaurant. It would be rude to say no to the fine food. I enjoy good food - one reason why I like living here in Paris - and if I get the opportunity to dine at a great restaurant then I’m not sticking to a celery stick and mineral water. I do try to be sensible about what I eat when I dine out. I’m not a freak in the sense that I’m counting calories in my head but I do reason to myself that if I gorge on cake here then I better make up for it over there, perhaps a few extra laps of the pool. I love wine - as I also like whisky and other drinks - but I limit the number of glasses by also taking mineral water and herbal tea instead. I smoke cigars on occasion so I adjust my exercise routine accordingly.

I am also sometimes guilty of cheating myself out of a good night’s sleep because of meeting some work related deadline or my body clock is off because of travel jet lag. So I try and make it up some where because rest is so important. The point is to know your body and know your limitations. Above all, be reasonable and be kind to yourself.

There’s an old maxim I learned from my army days. No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. This is true in life too. So plan your exercise and diet regime with that in mind. How we stay fit and healthy depends largely on our environment so there is a difference between being a university student in a dorm room with a bad case of the munchies and an essay crisis, and being a harassed mother with kids to feed and who want MacDonalds and candy in the suburbs, or a young person taking first steps in a first job on the career ladder and resorting to late night microwave dinners. Social media environment keeps pushing perfect body memes which again is unrealistic so don’t let that be the benchmark of defining success. The key is get real. Set realistic goals and break it down to a level manageable for you.

One can instil good habits that are healthy and sustainable. If I was in your position I would first see a nutritionist to explain and educate you about food groups. He or she would tell you where you can get your nutritional requirements from a wider variety of foods according to your means and availability. You also can get an idea of where you can have your pizza or your cake and not feel guilty about it.

Get a nutrition plan and take it to your gym - I know, I know, I said I hate gyms and I do but you might not. A good gym will have competent personal trainers on hand. They can draw up an exercise plan based on the nutrition plan and also listening to your expectations that is hopefully based on realistic goals. I’m not suggesting you have a personal trainer on retainer. But you only need one lesson for him/her to draw up a plan for you to follow. The rest will be up to you and how you motivate yourself. You may find the grind of going to the gym of doing cardio one day and actual gym work the next too much. Fine, find other things outside of the gym that you will enjoy and get you comparatively fit and doesn’t bore you. If you find it hard to motivate yourself then do it with a friend.

Once you start to enjoy it and see the benefits of it, it will no longer feel like a turgid routine but just a growing habit towards leading a more healthy lifestyle.

Thanks for your question

#question #fitness #wellbeing #health #exercise #diet #personal #bio #me

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irelise · 5 years

Text

the yew tree 1.2/?

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw, mutant revolutionary, ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier and claiming his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

start reading here!)

Warnings for this part: past suicide Rating: M Word count: 2189

Sebastian had prepared tea for them today; most generous. He balances the cup on his saucer, breathing in the smoky scent as he watches Sebastian move around the room.

“And how have things been progressing on your end? Any complications?” Sebastian asks.

“Not as such, but I admit he is different from what I was expecting.”

“Oh? I’ve always thought he was simple. No depth to him at all. It’s why I chose him for this plan.”

His skin itches. “Do try not to ruin everything with your overconfidence.”

Sebastian laughs. It’s an unpleasant sound, far too smug by half. “You worry too much.” He picks up a book. “Ready to move onto the next phase?”

***

Erik knocks on the door, a stack of books balanced precariously in his arms. “In the study,” Xavier calls, and Erik lets himself in.

Xavier is at his desk, the gas lamp bathing his face in a warm glow. “Erik! How did your errand for Dr. Schmidt go?”

“He wanted you to have these.” Erik sets the books on the desk and steps back. Xavier picks up one immediately, flicking it open.

“Oh, this is wonderful. Come see, Erik.”

Obligingly, Erik steps closer again, peering at the pages. The paper is of fine quality, the print crisp and clear, but the text itself is too technical for him to grasp without further study.

“Dr. Schmidt has kindly agreed to tutor me in the medical sciences,” Xavier says, sounding delighted. “He said he would lend me a few books from his personal collection; this must be it.”

Erik shakes his head. “No, these are for you to keep. A gift, he said.”

“Truly?”

And here’s an opportunity to slip in another sly comment about Shaw’s high regard for Xavier, but there’s a bad taste in Erik’s mouth as he says, “He’s told me that you’re one of the cleverest people he’s ever met, and he would be honoured to help you achieve your potential.”

A charming dusting of pink settles over Xavier’s cheeks and he absently flips to another page. “It’s very kind of him to say. Going to university has always been one of my dearest ambitions, but my health makes it impossible, and my uncle has been reluctant to hire more tutors for me when it’s unlikely I’ll be able to put their knowledge to any practical use. Have you had much formal schooling, Erik?”

“No.”

“But you’re literate?”

“Yes, Dr. Schmidt taught me my letters and numbers. Basic sciences. Enough to get by.”

Xavier toys absently with his book, tongue darting out to run against his upper lip. “Would you – that is, only if you want to, would you like to join me in the evenings when I study? I’m sure you’ve noticed already –” Xavier glances at the bookshelves around them “– evolution and genetics are my preferred fields, but I have plenty of old textbooks lying around on all manner of subjects. I’m sure we can find something to your interest.”

Erik is no academic. He values knowledge only for its practical use, but something in him stirs at the thought of learning about mutation – his heritage – even if it’s from a human.

There’s just one thing holding him back. “…What do you want from me?”

“I’m sorry?”

He knows he shouldn’t be questioning Xavier like this, but he can’t stop worrying at the question like a hound on the scent. “Men like you, men of your station, they don’t just offer things. So tell me, what do you really want?”

That unreadable look comes over Xavier’s eyes again. “Oh, my friend. You’re so quick to believe the worst in people.”

My friend? Erik bristles defensively at the appellation. “I have my reasons.”

“I know,” Xavier says simply. “And I’m sure they’re good reasons. Better safe than sorry, yes?

“Exactly.” He isn’t going to let Xavier off the hook. Erik looks at him, angling his chin up in challenge. “Well?”

Xavier’s mouth quirks, giving him a rueful look. “Would you believe it if I said I’m lonely?”

And there it is again – Xavier’s damnable openness about his own weakness. A familiar spark of anger flares up in Erik’s chest. “So, what, am I going to be your charity case? Are you going to pretend I’m your equal? Your friend? I can’t be your equal and your servant at the same time, my lord, that’s not the way things work.”

Xavier looks surprised, and then delighted, the madman. Erik scowls. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smiles. “Thank you for your honesty, Erik. So, is that a yes to evening lessons?”

“Did you hear a single word I said?”

Xavier laughs, rising to his feet. “Come, let’s see if we can find a good textbook for you to start with.”

***

They develop a routine after that. Every evening, after Erik retrieves Xavier from his sessions with Shaw, he helps Xavier bathe and brings him dinner (Xavier must have an enormous lunch with his uncle, because his dinners are as frugal as his breakfasts), then the two of them retreat to the study, sitting side by side either on the armchairs or at the desk, depending on what strikes Xavier’s fancy that particular night. Often, Xavier reads aloud to him – and all that poetry reading must be good training, because Xavier is an engaging speaker, with just the right balance of liveliness and seriousness. His enunciation is perfect, and Erik admits (very privately) that his accent has a certain charm.

Tonight, Xavier reads from a book on the origins of humankind: “As we peer back through the fossil record,” he recites, “through layer upon layer of long-extinct species, many of which thrived far longer than the human species is ever likely to do, we are reminded of our mortality as a species.”

Xavier pauses, and Erik watches the back-and-forth dart of Xavier’s eyes as he scans the page before continuing.

“There is no law that declares the human animal to be different, as seen in this broad biological perspective, from any other animal.” And with an air of finality, Xavier concludes: “There is no law that declares the human species to be immortal.”

Erik scoffs, rearranging his long legs into a more comfortable position. “Leakey must be delusional if he seriously believes that humans will quietly lie down and accept their own extinction.”

Xavier looks up at him. The gas lamp casts soft shadows, smoothing the angles of his face. He looks impossibly young. “Really? Personally, I find it quite comforting to know I’m part of something bigger.”

Scowling, Erik waits for Xavier to start preaching we’re all part of a bigger, unseen plan; we should strive to live humbly and obediently, but Xavier only says: “Even if I were to die tomorrow, nothing about the world will change. The Earth will continue with or without me – just as it will continue even after the last human is gone.” His gaze flicks past Erik, to the window, and he smiles ruefully. “I’m sorry, my friend, I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.”

“You’re not,” Erik grumbles. “The way you talk, it sounds like you think nothing lasts.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t. I’ve seen too many people hide behind that sort of philosophy as an excuse to do nothing.”

Xavier looks delighted. “Why, Erik, are you calling me lazy?”

Mad, he’s absolutely mad. “You’re free to interpret it however you want,” Erik shoots back, wondering why he isn’t more annoyed at Xavier. “All I’m saying is – you’re bright. You’ve got the money and the connections. If you wanted to, you could make a lasting difference.”

“A difference to what?” Xavier is looking out the window again.

Mutants, Erik thinks. He follows Xavier’s gaze, looking past the deep dark of the yew tree, past the fencing that marks the boundaries of the property, all the way to the emptiness beyond. He wonders if it’s true, if Xavier has never left the estate since his arrival here.

“What’s important to you?” He finally asks.

Xavier closes his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Erik wants to shake him, but he just takes a steadying breath. “Then that’s something you need to figure out,” he says gruffly. “You’re not going to spend your whole life inside this mansion.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” Xavier shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter as he props his book open again. “Well! That was certainly a tangent. Let’s keep going, shall we?”

Erik can recognize someone trying to make an escape. He almost presses the point – but then reality floods back in and he remembers, for the first time that night, the mission. He’s only a servant here, no matter how much familiarity Xavier treats him with.

“We were talking about extinction,” he prompts Xavier.

“Right, yes. The extinction of the human race – that’s quite a thought, isn’t it?”

“It does seem unlikely.” More’s the pity. “It’s in human nature to fight to the bitter end.”

Xavier taps at his bottom lip. “Must it always come down to a fight? Extinction can happen for all sorts of reasons. You remember when we’ve read about the Neanderthals?”

“That’s a terrible example,” Erik says dryly, “considering violent conflict with Homo sapiens caused their extinction.”

“That’s only one theory – one of a number of factors, in fact.” Xavier’s mouth curves into a generous smile. “I prefer the theory that interbreeding – a result of peaceful cohabitation with Homo sapiens – had contributed to their fade.”

“Make love, not war? All that poetry of yours has filled your head with too many stories, Charles.”

Wait. Xavier is looking at him with bright eyes. You used my name, Erik can almost hear him say.

This wasn’t – This isn’t supposed to happen. What is he doing – playing house with Shaw’s toy, teasing and bantering and debating? The drumbeat of his heart rolls against his chest like thunder. He’s making a mistake. He’s getting too close.

“Erik.” In the space of a blink, Xavier has leaned forward. His fingers are warm where they curl around Erik’s wrist, grounding him. “It doesn’t have to be a fight all the time.”

He breaths out harshly, no longer sure what they’re talking about. “Yes. It does.”

“No.” The firelight catches Xavier’s eyes, scattering gold along the lines of intensity on his face. “We – both of us, and all humans, for that matter – we can choose the better path. We all have the potential to make the right choices.”

Xaviers’ fingers are a firebrand against his skin. Erik swallows, pulling his wrist away. “If you’re going to pin your hopes on other people’s potential, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“But I must,” Xavier murmurs. “If I can’t have hope, then what else is left?”

God. Shaw is going to destroy him. Erik is going to hand him to Shaw on a silver platter and Shaw will suck him dry and toss his broken body aside. Desperately, Erik reminds himself that Xavier is only a human, a spoiled entitled human too lazy and complacent to look past the high walls of his opulent cage.

The words ring hollow.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls softly. “The world isn’t as kind as you think it is.”

“Maybe not, but you are kinder than you think you are.”

Erik huffs out a sardonic laugh. “No. I’m really not.”

Suddenly, he can’t bear to be in the room for another second longer. “May I be excused?”

It’s a crisp and clear night outside. Erik breathes in deep, the cool breeze settling into his lungs, his heart, his head. An exhale, and he pictures the choked mess of his thoughts flowing out of him, leaving his mind clear once more, his convictions once more solidifying, crystallising.

Gravel crunches under his boots as he makes his way through the grounds, and then he’s leaving the path behind, treading through grassy fields. It’s peaceful here, his only company the wind and the soft background hum of wildlife.

Before him, the yew tree looms, its diameter impossibly thick, the complex tangle of its branches sweeping wide. Yew trees are among the longest-lived, Erik recalls. This tree was here long before he was born, and it will still be here long after he dies. He looks up at the gnarled branches, thinking about Charles, thinking about the night they first met, thinking about a noose and a pale, dangling body.

A low stone wall stands just behind the yew tree, demarcating the edges of the property. He could just leave right now, Shaw be damned. Erik can see it so clearly: vaulting over the stone wall, following the road until he reaches a village, stealing a ride on an automobile, on and on until he returns to where he’s supposed to be. The safehouse. The Brotherhood. He can return to the fight right now, and Shaw can’t stop him. His fingers clench as he pictures the facilities, the scream of steel and the screams of the humans all twisting and collapsing together in a spray of iron.

Erik turns and walks back to the mansion.

(next part)

#cherik #xmfc #my writing

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tgr489 · 4 years

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A dancer, a developer, a socialist and a claustrophobe

How do you prepare for a lockdown? How long was it gonna it be? The government were saying 3 weeks, developments in other countries were telling a different story. How bad could it get? I’ve seen that movie Contagion, an eerily prophetic flick when viewed again post curfew one night.

As February ticked along we scrutinised our work plans, built our team and laid the foundations for a 3-month run. We had a couple of weeks downtime while we waited for details of our test group and preferred creative direction(s) we would be pursuing. Those weeks at the beginning of March were spent sliding forwards and back along the anxiety scale. The lockdown posed the possibility of being locked up in my apartment for an extended period and was troubling, actually deeply concerning. Squirrel and Lexi had been coming and going to mine as they pleased, sometimes together, often separately. We have a strange functional/recreational arrangement going on. It works for all of us, no one is under any pressure and we have fun. My fear was when told to isolate would they fuck off back to their respective nests, leaving me to fly solo in my own personal hells. The other area of consideration was that of work; it would likely be frozen for the duration! No work, no friends and nothing to do was/is one of my nightmares. I talked this out one night with Nic on FaceTime, who advised me to just pack up come home to New York, or leave for somewhere remote. We discussed possible remote locations over virtual whisky and bangers, planed our vast island retreats and who would be there rah-rah. Was fun talking bullshit with her, I miss her. I thought on it after the call, staring out of the window to Old Street and witching hour traffic, watching the last few stragglers stumbling their way home. I gazed around my place; it’s pretty big, so feeling confined isn’t much of an issue, no outside space to speak of, just a small balcony overlooking the courtyard, but there are a few small parks close by for any extended alfresco demands. It wouldn’t be so bad to stay here. If work got canned and the girls weren’t here what would I do? I can occupy my time well, but if I have months of it I’m really not sure how bad I would get. With hardly any of my effects here, I would be limited. Maybe Nic was right. After a restless night, I’d formulated the scenarios I was dealing with and went to my favourite local greasy spoon, the Shepherdess, for some artery-clogging sustenance. I sent out messages and put my fate in the hands of my friends. With a full builders breakfast in my belly, I went and lazed in the park with a cloud of smoke and waited for replies. it was a happy way to kill the time.

My invitation for the girls and Zac to move into mine were accepted, with thanks, and a caveat from Zac, his girlfriend had to come too. There were numerous reasons why, which I won’t bore you with, but fear and jealousy played the leads. We planned for the impending lockdown which was, by that time, inevitable. The mood was positive as we talked food, navigating each others’ preferences, likes, dislikes and allergies. The drink was a huge consideration point. How much do you drink? Be honest. Do you drink every day? Will circumstances in your life make you drink every day? Our drinks bill outdid food by 50%. Everyone thought I’d over-ordered, I wasn’t so sure. What remains now is like the back row of my parent's liquor cabinet and the random shit they bought for one person at a party which no-one else drinks. It won’t last long. I can’t see it go to waste and even though it may taste like shit, it’ll do the required job.

It was all smiles and laughter at the beginning. We cooked, ate meals together, played cards, danced, cried, talked and talked about anything and everything. An initial abundance of work saw us through the first week or so, which was nicely topped off by one of my neighbours getting carted off by paramedics because of Covid. That was a wakeup call to the seriousness of the circumstances. I was suddenly a leper among friends. I’d been close and spoken to the guy quite a bit the weekend everyone moved in, so my flatmates were understandably nervous. Fearing the worst we waited to see if any of us would develop symptoms. The claustrophobia of the situation started to gnaw away at each of us, culminating in Mel losing the plot one night over dinner, screaming in a panic her worst fears which we all resonated with, but hadn’t voiced. She fled to her bedroom with Zac in pursuit, leaving the three of us to eat in deathly silence. We cuddled up on the couch and watched the fading light through the windows, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted as we aired those fears. With some wine and bangers to relax us, we got to that happy place, and when our couple returned sheepishly to the proceedings we were all cool, glad that worries had been aired and shared.

None of us got the bug so we relaxed, resuming our daily hour of outdoor activity. TBH I didn’t really care at that time whether I got it or not. My reasoning was if I did get it I would develop antibodies so I’d be OK going forward. I was also busy enough the time passed quickly. We’d agreed we would front-load the work and capitalise on our forced enclosure. I think in the first week I’d worked 80 hours, the second even more. With nothing else to do (as in go nowhere), it seemed like the best thing. Zac took the same approach, although Mel was in two minds… while she didn’t want him working so much, she was enjoying the praise she was receiving for her project running ahead of schedule. At the end of our self-imposed isolation, and as a celebration of not being infected, we hit the town for a night out. With everything closed no decisions had to be made for a venue, so we stuffed our backpacks with goodies and walked into Soho. The streets were void of everything, save a few people enticed by the emptiness, even those sad bikes left behind because of lost keys or stolen wheels appeared to have been removed. We dropped Fairy’s and/or Special K, smoked up and drank leisurely as we roamed the streets reminiscing over the venues we passed. Retelling past escapades at certain locations as we slowly ascended the summit of alternative reality. As the evening progressed I felt more like we were in some lab experiment and were mice trying to find the piece of cheese. I had a moment of terror when I started imagining too much, about a huge hand coming across the sky to pick us up. It was short-lived and the only truly wobbly moment of the night. Soho became China Town, then Mayfair, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Mayfair, Regent’s Park, Primrose Hill, Hampstead, Finsbury Park, Highbury and home. We were separated for a while, I have no idea how long, or if that actually happened but I remember it being just me and Lexi. Could’ve been 10 mins or an hour, I was oblivious, I just remember the others not being around and trying to locate them. I don’t even remember finding them, but realised they were back with us as we were climbing the fence to the Heath. We took the last of our gear on top of Parliament Hill (apparent highest point in London) admiring our contagion town as the sun came up. The last bottle of red was cracked and we swigged and toasted the morning. Once the sun cleared the horizon we were off again, this time with the purpose for home and recharged with the last of the goodies. It was by far the longest leg of the journey, on weary legs, our reserves depleting rapidly. By the time we hit Finsbury Park the drugs had worn. Conversation was reduced to simple questions, nods and grunts. There were people around, mainly runners and dog walkers, but a dedicated bunch was loitering around the Lidl (supermarket) as we exited the park. From there to home there was no talk whatsoever, it was just survival mode and everyone dealt with it solitarily. At home I made the best cup of tea I think I’ve ever had, strong and loaded with sugar, not something I usually take, but it helped. I showered for an age, cleansing the grime off my body, the sins of the night draining down the plug. No one was around so I took myself off to the park in the baking heat, passed out, the sun’s rays purging the remaining toxins from my body. I slept nearly the whole day. A night like that, wandering the empty streets of London may never happen again and I’m so happy we did it.

Weeks turned into a month. The project came to a natural break. market research, evaluation and QA blah-di-blah blah. The monotony still hadn’t set in, yet, and with the new freedom of no work we set about having some fun and enjoying the time on our hands.

Eating and drinking can take up a substantial part of the day, especially when you’re making elaborate feasts for every sitting. No sooner is breakfast finished and it’s time to start making lunch, always a 2-course affair of either entree-main, main-dessert, entree-dessert or if you were feeling really piggy, go fo all three. We all took turns to make our favourite meals, our signature dishes and ingenious ways to not waste any food. A month of this and I started seeing the signs of the reduced activity (when you can see it in the mirror, it’s already gone too far), so engaged myself in some cardio fitness routines and yoga with squirrel to keep the extra weight in check, I also began a running regime on the empty city streets. My neighbour recovered and returned, his gaunt grey face told a story of horror and had me reconsider my previous hope of contracting the virus. We sent them up a care package of some squash risotto and chablis. They were thankful, we made friends, they allowed us access to their roof terrace. Nice! This provided valuable additional space to hang out in because despite it’s cavernous open plan lounge/diner/kitchen/study, the walls in my place appeared just a tad closer each day. Our neighbours above, Shirley and Raymond, were/are a lovely couple, who fawned over us a little whenever we were on the terrace together. Inquisitive of our lives they asked lots of questions, posed some interesting ones for us and generally provided a good sounding board on the navigation of life. I would say they’re 50/60-ish, he’s in ‘finance’, she’s in the charitable sector (i.e. works for free to offset her fella’s evil deeds). Regardless of their ethical/non-ethical careers they are great neighbours and we are forever thankful for the use of their roof for the fresh air and sunbaking, the latter in full swing as the heat dialled up.

When the first wave of food ran out we ran sortie’s to the local Waitrose and Tesco for a re-stock, no alcohol at this pit-stop. Queuing for shop entry was a novel thing at first, it then became a ball-ache, now it’s non-existent, but I prefer this over the crowded aisles and stress-fueled shoppers. With the paranoid in society stockpiling essentials, we had to think on our feet a little more and buy basically anything which may constitute collaborative ingredients for a meal. The killer missing item for me was bread. I need a loaf in my kitchen at all times, it's my go-to snack with PB, and I generally try to keep a freezer-loaf as a back-up. But all that was left on the shelves of my local supermarkets were nasty paste-y white bread. Don’t get me wrong I will eat white bread, usually wrapped around a fried egg, some sausages and dripping with ketchup and Tabasco, but I can’t eat it every day, and we shouldn’t either. I found a local baker in Hoxton and bought a 20kg bag of flour and a tub of yeast with a plan to bake bread every day. This was a therapeutic, enjoyable start to the day, I felt so fucking righteous and wholesome. A week later I bought a bread maker off eBay, it made way more sense. I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread every morning! The drawback here, it was small, so we had to make 2, sometimes 3 loaves, but one was generally enough to see out breakfast.

Work came back for a week-long sprint, I thrashed my side of this out in three 15 hour stints. Zac paced it out for the week, keeping in sync with his missus. We were all starting to disappear into ourselves a little each day. FaceTime, Zoom and Hang-outs became my good friends, bringing mates to me through the ether. I spent hours buried in my laptop, with a compulsion to connect with those in my life from afar. Nic and Luce were not doing so well, from an emotional perspective, and Kashie had fucked off back to Slavwegia as events were unfolding, and left them to it. Neither could get home or out of town and things were getting scary in New York. The landlord has frozen the rent ‘until a time which is convenient for regular payments to resume’, which was a very nice gesture indeed. That has taken the sting out of the situation for them. Harv had gone upstate, as had Jase and co. and remained living in a sense of normality. Friends in Asia were seeing a clearing through the trees, coming out the other side, there was hope. I even messaged my ex, just to make sure she was OK, which she's not, and she started to blame me for it. I took a few of her cutting remarks without reply because there's a bit of guilt with me so I felt I deserved it, but her continued little digs at me through our chat just pissed me off so I ended the call politely abrupt, wishing I'd never bothered. I spent the rest of the night stewing about her in moody silence, pretending to read while my flatmates played Monotony. My thoughts took me to the mystery girl of my past. Where was she, who was she, was she OK? why do I think and dream about her so much? it's doing my fucking head in. I find myself scanning for her whenever I'm out, which is harder now that face masks are in use, and plausibly a good thing to dissuade me from the madness of it.

Katje busied herself by running dance/yoga/cardio classes from our dining room via zoom, which seemed to take up a large chunk of her day. Sometimes Lexi would join in but mostly she was reading or binge-watching something. The fitness instalments provided a pleasant distraction from work, watching the girls in their ever-smaller clothing getting sweaty and flushed. I upped my running game as the effort reduced, pushing myself to pace a little more each day, capitalising on the time and solitude it afforded me. I also used the runs to meet up somewhere central with friends across town, have a distanced chat before continuing home. It was on one of these runs, as I finished at the river and stretched out in front of that Tate, I had a spark of an idea for a great campaign. I ran home through the deserted city streets, thinking, and the further I got the more I knew my idea was a winner, runners runners everywhere. I pitched it to a friend who‘s in marketing at Adidas and he liked the idea but needed something more visual to float it around their team. There would be legwork to do, excuse the pun, but with a fresh idea, I was game for it. I tapped up some of my new links on Strava then looked at the flybys on my longer runs into town to see who I’d been passing, looking for people who liked to run long and came from outta town into the contagion zone. Once I’d identified an array of potentials I roughed out a storyboard, sent it off and sat back to wait. The reply wasn’t long in coming, it was a yes!! At least it was something to take my mind off the real work.

I connected with all of my candidates then sent them each a message asking if they were interested in my proposal and if they were could we speak. I had 19 candidates, including me, and after my calls, it went down to 16. It was simple, run into central London and plan to run every street from the middle out, over however many runs we did through lockdown, tag the runs and post them on social. The first weeks running would give me the basics for a teaser video that would attract more runners and build a following, then a challenge posted on Strava for anyone to partake in. Each km run would attract a donation from Adidas to a charity. Running gear would be fronted to the challenge team so the brand would be visible in all shots, and their generosity extended to 2 pairs of runners, 3 pairs each of leggings, shorts, long and short-sleeve tops, masks and a phone pouch arm-band thingy. The first run was planned so we all met in Golden Square late morning, not too early to start and close enough to lunch so we could give everyone a drink and snack. It was without a doubt one of the weirdest lunches I’ve had when straight, all strangers, apart from me and the 2 girls, swapping our stories over energy drinks and bars for about an hour or so. We bid farewell and made our journey’s back to our respective pods. The girls provided some assistance throughout the project duration, which was about 5 weeks; choosing photos, involving themselves in some of the video editing and compiling all the routes from the trackers so we knew what roads had and hadn’t been covered.

The girls also got a crash course in digital marketing and how some of it works, which they were astounded by. Lexi understood but Katje was in disbelief, even with Zac and Mel chipping in, so I made her watch the Unexplained Truth on Netflix, that Cambridge Analytica doco thing. Explained what I know of facebook and how I’ve used it, Adwords, insta, blah blah blah, pointed her to a myriad of resources and explained how everything you see is targeted. Everything. She’s now a little paranoid, maybe too much, but it’ll subside. She’s all over facebook and insta for work reasons so kinda knows what goes on, but not to the depths the 3 of us were telling her. She said we were evil. On that note, I will pull on my cloak of darkness and bid you farewell.

Later Gators

#lockdown #lockdownlife #lockdown london #project #fitness #running #baking bread #bang to rights #strava #marketing #evil marketing #propaganda #Summer #my london life #self isolation #isolated #life of riley

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE EMPRESS with the faceclaim of ZHANG ZIYI. I cannot express to you how outright excited I was upon starting the app, and how much my adrenaline rose throughout. I could highlight everything in this app and it would be justified, but the resignation in being wed to Septimus and the distance she put between her daughter and herself and the repeated motif of sing me a song really just... floored me. I’m not even kidding when I say my jaw dropped a few times throughout the app. You have a true skill in weaving words, and I fully believe that Calliope will capture the hearts of her subjects as Queen-Consort on the dashboard with absolutely no reservations or hesitation in her. I’m thrilled!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME: Becky

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST, and I would rate my dash activity at about 4-6, meaning I’m more or less on dash around half the time. However, I’m applying to/preparing for graduate school, so my activity might take a hit from that (and also dealing with home renovation so twinsies??), but I’m definitely always on discord!

ANYTHING ELSE?: Thanks for reading and considering my application! I just want to say that you did a great job with Dishonored, so I seriously wish it the best of luck moving forward! Also, I took some liberties with NPC’s (amongst some other things, i.e. guessing at court politics, informed by different media and historical influences) for the background portion of the application, so if anything doesn’t line up with your vision please consider it canon adjacent and that I’d be happy to change anything accordingly if I were accepted!

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON: THE EMPRESS.

NAME: CALLIOPE. From Greek kallos, meaning beauty, and ops, meaning voice. Chief of all muses, mother of sirens: a historied name heralds greatness, which is exactly what is expected of her, from birth to now — and who is she to deny her name? Strictly speaking, her name means beautiful-voiced, and never one to disappoint, singing is one of many things she spent her youth cultivating, though hardly a line of melody has been heard from her since she’s become queen consort; even so, her voice finds good use today in making hard to hear truths sound that much sweeter. Diplomacy by itself is hard, and even harder if one cannot even bear to listen.

EVELYN. Derived from Eve, meaning to live, to breathe. Left with the decision to live, eyes closed in intentional ignorance, to endure that which she’s lived with thus far, or take a bite of the forbidden fruit, unsure what might be wrought by it. Pose the question to anyone, and everyone’s answer shall differ, from their motivations to their goals.

VALMONT. Even after 26 years, the name feels ill-settled. Perhaps it’s a symptom of not loving the man the name comes with, not even liking him — but either way, it is hers now, as much as Altaire is not. It belongs to her, and she, it; a cruel reminder of how she is but equivalent to her husband in all the simple ways that matter to the majority of people.

(née ALTAIRE.) A call to the star altair, from the constellation of aquila. This is the name that she turns to, though she’s spent more years of her life a Valmont than she has an Altaire. ( Further elaboration kept in the extras section. )

FACECLAIM: I’d love to use (1) Zhang Ziyi or (2) Michelle Yeoh!

AGE: 46 years old.

DETAILS: I’m running out of time a little (was a tad overzealous in the background portion, oops), but I was drawn to the restraint and the duty that the Empress’ skeleton shows. It teems, a bit, with her raw power: she is regal and brilliant, but she is never consumed by it, always holding back, be it with her daughter, with her anger, or with herself.

She builds her own cage, stipulates her own conditions, calls that duty, and sees things through.

BACKGROUND: [ tw: blood mentions, violence ]

You are born with a tightly closed bud for a heart; you remember the feeling distinctly: how curiously stuffy and closed it felt in the cage of your chest as a child, roaming the echoing halls of the Altaire estate alone, with no equal. Nannies, maidservants, and tutors alike would chase you down those halls, all the way into the doorway of your father’s study, where they would skid to a halt, even as you brazenly pitter-pattered your way in.

Sometimes you’d turn your head around and watch them as they stumbled through a stammering apology to your father, and you wouldn’t feel a single thing, observing as blankly and uncannily as a doll on a shelf.

Your father is the eldest son of his father, and head of the family in his own right, and you are his first daughter.

There are certain dues and certain duties that come with such coveted title, and even as he scooped you into his arms and waved off the hesitant apology, he impressed the importance of it upon you.

He would stride to the window behind his desk, look out of it, over the grand view of your family’s ancestral estate.

“The hedges,” he would say. “They look nice, do they not?”

And they do.

“But they would fall into disarray if someone did not take care of them. Perhaps they would wither and die with no water, or grow too wild with no trimming, or maybe, they would get trampled by those who don’t care.”

You blink at him.

“Our groundskeeper must tend to that, and in turn, I, him. Do you understand, Calliope?” He asks, setting you back down.

You walk over to the window and set your hands on the sill, getting up on your tiptoes to peer out over the edge.

He smiles at this, running a fond hand over the crown of your head and smoothing it over your head. “Perhaps not,” he says, resting his heavy hand on your shoulder, and your knees lock with the effort to keep you standing firm for it to rest comfortably there. “But you will. You’ll understand what it is that we owe to each other.”

You don’t understand, because, really, how could you?

You eat from polished silver plates and with fine cutlery, wear silks woven from the sheerest threads; this all, you’ve never worked a day in your life for -- it’s simply something that just is, and no one seems to question it. So what could you possibly owe?

But the solemnity still weighs on you, your father’s expectant hand, as if still on your shoulder. The bud of your heart begins to bloom with the prospect of a future where you do understand.

The tutors work hard to impart their knowledge on you: as varied as recounts of historical battles, to fencing, and then painting; they work for you endlessly, and you realize, in turn, you must work tirelessly. Otherwise, what is the point?

You begin to excel, outstripping your cousins, companions, shattering the lofty ceiling of expectations over your head that, once upon a time, you mistook for shelter.

The bloom of your heart is nurtured to blossom through all this careful cultivation.

You always attend feasts and banquets and soirée’s, but you, rarely, if ever, host them. You pick at the food in front of you, loathe to take too much on your plate, unsettled by the idea of eating overmuch and owing thus in turn.

“Why don’t we host anything?” You ask your father one day.

“We don’t need to,” he says simply. “We do not buy anything we can make.”

“What are they buying?” You ask, frowning. “It’s a feast, not a market.”

“Loyalty, good will, perhaps love,” he answers. “These, daughter, are never wares that you can buy. You can have the initial illusion of them, but they will one day shimmer and fade. If you should speak, they should listen. If you should cry, they should mourn. And if you should bare all your fanged teeth and smile, they should tremble. These are not things that gold can ever buy.”

You practice a smile in the mirror that night.

You look a doll, and you go to sleep disappointed.

You sharpen your focus on your studies; your mind is made into a knife, your tongue honed to match, whet upon the leatherbound volumes tucked in the deepest crevices of the library. You hope these will show in the lines of your smile.

At the end of your 17th winter, you know three different instruments, from the zither to the lute, the quickest way to disarm and kill a man, and the battlefield strategies employed in three of Tyrholm’s greatest victories. But perhaps most importantly, you know how to hide all of this and play pacific diplomat.

You step into Septimus’ court for the first time when you’re 18, making your first, most notable debut, though most of Hightown knows you and your family already, but there are suitors to ensnare, traditions that must be followed. You flit and flitter between different people in the reception hall of the grand Castle Tyrholm, taking care to cover your laughs with a demure hand, to smile with your lips closed, neither teeth nor ambitions bared.

You catch the notice of many pleasingly well-matched prospectives, and you continue to nurture those fledglings into flights of fancy.

It takes time, of course, but after a full year, potentials, prospectives, all the likes turn into official declarations; to say you are pleased is to understate it.

You’ve worked hard for it.

Perhaps too hard.

You’re invited back to court while your family meets with all of those dedicated suitors, for reasons unspecified except that the King should wish to host you.

You make your way into the reception hall, make your rounds of formal greetings, all too wary of the way his eye follows your path, and the way his sixth wife tracks his venomously. Her family has never been too warmly disposed to yours.

He greets you in as grandiose a manner possible, his voice booming and carrying over the general noise of the gathering some ways away in the hall, jovial enough to almost make you forget the whispers of what he has done in the shadows.

“You’re from the Altaire family, correct, my dear girl?” He asks, clearing his throat. “Good family,” he says, as if to himself. “Always been good to the Valmonts.”

“We have only been the crown’s humble servants in the same way any other noble family has,” you say, dipping your head in acknowledgement and smiling.

“Nonsense,” he says, grinning and waving a grand, ringed hand. “Your father has held the south quite firm. Orderly. I have thought to reward him, but it is hard to find anything fitting. Except for one thing. How about you stay in the court?”

“Your majesty,” you start, mind racing, trying to find the most subtle way to bring up the matches your family is currently discussing.

“Your majesty,” his wife cuts in, looking at you. “As your wife, and out of the love I bear you, I think we should be careful of the dogs that we bring into court, to save ourselves the pain of being bit when we find out later that they are wolves.”

You dip your head again, trying your best to smile. “My queen,” you say, making yourself as soft and sweet as you can. “Family Altaire has always had the phoenix as our sigil. We are naught but the crown’s loyal songbird.”

“Phoenixes burn, do they not?” She insists, cold.

“They simply rise from the flames, my queen,” you respond.

“Songbird, you say,” Septimus cuts in, clearly having tuned out everything you and the queen consort has just said. “Do you sing?”

“If it pleases you,” you say, dismay sinking in your stomach, though you’re careful not to let it show on your face.

“It does,” he responds.

You return home soon after, and recount the happenings back to your father over dinner.

Neither of you are surprised when the queen consort dies a couple weeks later, in what is announced to be an unfortunate carriage accident, but your hands still tremble when you open the King’s gold stamped letter.

You wear a red veil in your wedding, a morbid carmine that you explain to be the olde colors of Altaire, and you steel yourself when he lifts it from your face.

Plans change, but duty does not.

You will do this well, as you have done everything, as you will do everything.

How Septimus can be twice your age but half as mature is beyond you.

“My darling songbird,” he often says when he calls on you. “Won’t you sing me a song?”

You bite the side of your tongue, meeting the eye of an advisor across the room, and refrain from saying, don’t you have court to hold? Things to do? “If it would please you,” you echo, bound to this role you must play.

“It would,” he responds, lounging back, contented.

“My little nightingale,” he says one day, sauntering into your quarters, once again before he must hold court, evidently putting it off. “I long to hear one of your melodies.”

You look up from the tome you are reading on Tyrholm’s laws.

“My king,” you say, injecting some amount of falsified surprise into your voice, though you have been preparing for this. “Is it not time for the court to meet?”

He grumbles and huffs and scoffs like a child told to do chores; you’ve upset him with this mention.

“How about I sing you a song after?” You offer gently. “I shall even keep you company through the whole thing.”

He thinks on this for a second, and acquiesces, sighing largely, as he turns to head out of your quarters, and you stand to follow. You grin, teeth flashing at his back.

It is an anomaly, at first, your presence. And then it is a pattern, and lastly, a habit.

He hardly pays attention, usually looking at odd corners of the room while people address him before an advisor prompts him with a suggestion, and he waves at them to carry it out, everything going in one ear and out the other.

You watch this happen several times before you start chiming in with your own quiet suggestions. The first time you do, he is stunned into being the most attentive he’s been all afternoon. But you simply tilt your head and widen your eyes and offer the mild upturn of your lips, as guileless as can be. But he seems to come to much the same conclusion he always does: as long as it is not something he has to do, it’s all fine.

And so it continues.

“I would like some peaches,” he says one day at breakfast, pushing his heaping plate away from him. “It is well into season, and we have not seen any. Where are they?”

“The harvest hasn’t been kind in the Norfolk region,” you remind him, cutting a bite sized portion off his abandoned plate, loathe for it to be squandered like such. “The duke told us as much two weeks back. They haven’t sent any as of yet.”

“They will not send us any?” he asks, now enraged.

You look up in alarm, wondering what exactly has set him off.

“Send summons to him,” he says, grimly. “We will see if he still does not have any to send.”

The poor duke looks rather more haggard as compared to when you last saw him, bleary-eyed, no doubt, from the hard ride from his region to the castle.

“Your majesty,” he says, bowing deep before waving people forward with a slipshod looking crate. “The few peaches we have from this year’s poor harvest.”

Septimus peers into it.

“They are bruised,” he notes.

“Yes, your majesty,” the duke responds. “From the ride. My most sincere apologies.”

“Just this crate?” He asks dubiously.

“We have no more to spare,” the duke responds, looking desperate and cornered.

You sit forward, your stomach churning, worried that this is taking a turn for the worse. “Those will go well in a pastry,” you say, as evenly as possible. “They need to be soft. My hopes for you to see a better harvest soon, right, my dear?” You rush out, looking over at your husband.

“If you had this now, then where were they two weeks ago?” Septimus presses on, red rising in his face.

“We must eat too, my king,” the duke yells.

Septimus turns to an advisor. “I want every peach seized from Norfolk,” he says. “Send men now!”

You realize fairly quickly that this is not headed in any good direction, but when you stand to try and appease Septimus, the speed at which you do leaves you lightheaded, and you stumble lightly, gripping onto your seat weakly. He looks to you, alerted by your movement in his peripheral, and concerned by the way you sway. The nearby guards are momentarily distracted by this as well.

In that moment, the duke springs forward, brandishing a small knife as he leaps toward Septimus, and your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth, a wave nausea forcing your mouth shut as you watch helplessly as everything begins to unfold.

“You can’t,” he snarls, as he comes in closer, fearful and wild. There’s a scuffle, and you stumble back, a hand pressed to your chest as you dodge the brunt of guards rushing in, and Septimus yelling, and the duke fighting.

When the din quiets down, you peer around the crowd of Kingsguards to the duke, where he kneels, knife slipping from his numb fingers, impaled several times by Septimus’ wary guards’ swords.

You struggle to catch your breath.

“I want every man’s head from the Norfolk region who is here today,” Septimus says, cold. “Bring them in.”

“Who’s blood is that?” You ask, looking at the front of his silks, where an accusatory patch of blood sits. “Are you hurt? You should rest before you bring the men in.” You amend.

“It’s just a stain,” he says, curling his lip in disgust as he looks down at the duke.

You clap a hand to your mouth, and stumble away, stomach heaving out its contents.

Everyone looks at you in concern.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

You turn back, wide-eyed, mouth sour and still trying to catch your breath. “I’m pregnant,” you say quietly, and are quickly escorted out of the room before the Norfolk men are marched in.

He comes in your quarters that night, freshly changed. “A song, my dear?” he asks.

“My voice cannot,” you say, looking out your window, purposefully making it hoarser; it’s easy, bile-seared as it is. “Perhaps we should hire a bard.”

You’re not allowed to sit in on court anymore, for the sake of your safety and your unborn child’s safety, and you try not to harbor a seed of resentment towards it for this reason.

Your absence is both noted and felt, and you try to keep that from watering the anger that takes root in you.

You distract yourself with whatever you can, though your freedoms are more and more restricted the further along you are, and it eats away at your heart, shedding petals with every passing day.

You push your way out of your rooms one day, announcing that you intend to go see what is in the cards for your child to Septimus, so you can at least have a reason to step outside.

You survey the faces of everyone you pass by, wondering what they’re thinking as you brush through the echoing halls.

The mage rests a hand on your belly before she draws it back quickly, snatching it away as if burned.

“What is it?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“The end of all things,” the mage answers as your breath stills in your lungs. “Or,” she amends, closing her eyes and turning her face to the sun. “The beginning of them.” She opens her eyes. “You are an Altaire, are you not?”

“I am a Valmont now,” you say, devoid of everything.

“With the sigil phoenix,” the mage continues. “It’s so beautiful. Cycles on cycles, life and death, ashes and embers.”

“Don’t,” you hiss, thinking about what your predecessor once said.

You try to ignore the mage’s words, but as more things begin to happen, you grow increasingly more worried about the kind of child that a man like Septimus can sire paired with your own ability to excel.

If he were more capable, would his reign truly be prosperous? Or would it simply be more effectively terrible?

Several things become clear in pain; as all with disasters, there is only striking clarity on how to move forward: one step at a time.

You writhe in your bed, hair plastered to your temples with sweat; you push and scream and tear at your silk sheets and your mind races.

First, your child can never see the throne.

Second, you must be bolstered where Septimus falters.

Third, you were queen to Tyrholm first, and a mother second, and your priorities must reflect that.

It is what you owe.

“It is a girl,” the midwife says. “Congratulations, your majesty. Would you like to hold her?”

“Not yet, thank you,” you say, looking at your reflection in mirror at the corner of your room and grinning slow and sure, watching as your teeth show themselves, pearly inch by pearly inch.

You look feral, and you tremble.

PLOT IDEAS: ⇢ I think that it almost goes without needing to be said, but I would be excited to see which way she turns, if she turns. In her skeleton, it felt like there was almost an undercurrent of ruthlessness that ran through it, from keeping her own daughter at arm’s length, to being just angry enough to consider what might become of her husband in that moment, and in deciding if there was a need to see one successor, ah, handled, shall we say, to ensure the other’s success — and that shows me that not only her options are open and flexible, she’s willing to see them through. She, in my opinion, is at a crossroads between the slow condemning certainty of stagnation versus the unknowable risks of advancement. One way or the other, the winds of change are blowing, and they are oftentimes a fatal breeze for those on the wrong side of it. And while I do think she would be content to have died for the betterment of Tyrholm as a whole, pointlessness is hardly on her bucket list. ↳ A small, secondary point to say I especially am curious about who may cultivate her, bend her ear, try to influence her. Whether that’s to convince her of the efficacy of someone else (her included, if perhaps Justice is swayed) taking power, to keep her convinced to consolidate behind her husband, or push another successor’s agenda — no doubt all of the back and forth as people try to figure out her stance will be interesting.

⇢ The flavor behind their 👏 family 👏 drama 👏! With Septimus more and more unfit to rule, and not getting any younger, the race for a proper successor (her own daughter exempted, of course, for the good of their people) is on, coup or no coup. I’d like to see how a family dinner - or any family event, really - goes, with all those complex relationships at play, every single relationship taut as the strings on a zither, and oh, how the tension must strum between them. Everyone must seem like children to her, playing at politics, each too caught up in their own wants and needs, forgetting about the big picture: the people of Tyrholm. Her interests and obligations lie in the betterment of Tyrholm’s general welfare, and who are her options? A fifty-fifty gamble with her own daughter, an heir apparent too desperate for admiration (which a steadfast ruler does not make), and a groomed successor too caught up with the ghosts in their own vision to see the bigger picture a monarch needs to see. I wonder who she’ll cast her lot behind, if at all any, and what ends she will go to if her own daughter decides the other two no more fit to rule than themself. After all, the people do love her - and if the World were to ask, would the people not follow?

⇢ There’s a core of loneliness in her that’s masked by layers of regalia and obligation: stuck with a husband she does not love, a daughter she cannot love, and a lover she has determined she must not love. But on that, she doesn’t dwell, cannot dwell — there’s always something to be done, after all. There’s always something to oversee, a city to govern, people to placate, and in the end, there is little of herself left for her. The thing about monarchs being peerless is, well, they’re peerless. Her husband finds ways around it: going through wives like wine, interesting people all brought to court, cast into the role of entertainment, balls and feasts and revelry galore; in which she always takes part but does not partake, and I wonder if there will be someone who sees the queen in her high tower, and if they’ll bother to knock - and if they do, what it might mean to her.

CHARACTER DEATH: I’m comfortable with it!

WRITING SAMPLE.

She wonders if the courtiers think her vain, with the amount of time she spends looking into the mirror. Certainly, she can understand that if one was simply to only look and not see, her behavior appears vain. But it’s with a profound lack of admiration that she looks at her reflection with, and more an examination of what others may see when they look at her. She has spent so much time studying the quirks of her husband’s quick changing moods: the way that it so obsequiously darkens in anger, upturns in joy, scrunches in pain, slants in mockery. As such, she needs to know: does her face tell of the anger that roots itself so insidiously in the hollows of her chest? Does it speak of the way she wishes to live, but lives to serve?

It does not.

At least, it does not when she goes looking for it, and she cannot say whether or not she is well pleased by this. It is, at the very least, a small victory in the way she tries to differentiate herself from her husband, entwined as they are through simple affiliation.

Calliope has found, recently, that she has a desolate sort of beauty. Time has been a kind master to her in a way that it hasn’t been to her husband; as he grows in width and wrinkles, only the subtle tells of lines are present in her. But with all things that are too passed by the ravages of time, it is, admittedly, a little eerie. Things too well preserved tend to tell of an absence of life; such is the only way it can stand untouched, a beautiful spectre of a testament.

She turns away from her vanity, walking over to the map she has splayed out over her desk, the rolled corners of it weighed down by various books. She traces the area she knows the troops are being led to with a careful finger; the parchment is wearing thin, and one wrong move may split the map in two. Victory is not what is in question, only the aftermath.

She’s torn from her thoughts rather abruptly, as a sharp knock sounds at her door, and it opens without her beckon.

“The Emperor is back,” comes the harried response, before she can even ask what’s wrong.

“And the troops?” She asks, striding to exit her room.

“Mostly unharmed, they say.”

“Good,” she says briskly, though her furrowed brow hardly mirrors the sentiment, and sweeps out of her room without another word. No one stops her on her way to the reception hall, though the halls buzz with movement and whispers. They conveniently quiet when she comes near; the silence is more worrying than anger could ever be, but she doesn’t slow until she reaches the entrance to the reception hall. The Emperor is not there, but Septimus is, and he looks at her before he turns from her, and she does the same.

It happens often these days, but she has spent years making herself indispensable, cultivating a small following in his inner circle, enough that she mostly need not worry for her own head yet.

The makeshift Koldam crown greets her from its display box when she finds her way to the entrance hall, the bark of its twined twigs flaking with week-old blood; the Emperor’s blank stare greets her as well.

He is not warmly disposed towards her, but it’s hardly about her now, both of them focused on that little nest they’ve taken to calling a crown.

“Well fought,” she says, but the slant of her tongue means what have you wrought upon us?

He doesn’t respond, still looking at the crown, and for the first time in years, she doesn’t see a petulant child when she looks at him. She leaves the hall, heart dry and withering, the petals of hope for any amount of normalcy shredding.

EXTRAS.

⇢ I drew the house banner for the Altaire family before I realized that there was a slight overlap (the color gold) with Valmont colors, but here it is! (x)

⇢ HEADCANONS. ↳ ALTAIRE. They were not always the wealthiest family in Hightown, as her father is wont to remind her. Never forget that, he says. But never let anyone else remember, either. It is hard for most families, preoccupied as they are with their own going-ons, to remember a time that the Altaire’s were not at the forefront of the noble houses. But trace the thread back far enough, and it will show that which their family has worked so hard to cover: that before they were everything, they were nothing.

It is a long story that no one dares tell; to tell it is to give life to it, and that is dangerous for a family that would sooner people forget it. Calliope only knows the gist of it: an old name hence forgotten, covered with a new one picked to match the place they chose to live in, a fortune amassed through taking advantage of circumstances not unlike what threatens on the horizon now, made unfathomably bigger still by cultivating the right people, and then proceeding to grow until their roots choked out the husks of their competition, so naturally integrated that one might mistake them for having always been there.

There are subtle changes one can spot if one looks closely. Much like the rings left behind by the years in tree trunks, they cannot hide growth completely. Old banners still have the color red instead of their more recently adopted secondary, even though new ones are emblazoned with their covetous phoenix in grand gold filigree, like it’s always been that way, with only hints of their old colors left as a subtle reminder to themselves. But it never does to forget oneself completely, and the house motto remains, as it has, an idiom in an old tongue: 一叶知秋. A single leaf heralds the coming of Autumn. Know that which will come from a single sign.

↳ BEHOLDEN. On her seventh birthday, her parents give her a finely worked bangle that resembles one she’s seen her mother wear constantly, and she puts it on immediately. It is too big for her at the time, and periodically it falls off, but her parents remind her without fail about it. Much of her youth is spent picking it up and putting it back on, until she needs no more reminders to put it back on, and it becomes a habit, a comfort, even, to wear. Eventually, almost without her notice through the years, she grows around it, its ever-presence; as it forms to the curve of her wrist, her hand grows enough that it stops falling off.

She tries pulling it off once, when she’s 16 and just noticed it never falls off anymore, but it catches on the bones of her hand painfully and leaves her with naught but a welt for her efforts. The bangle has a name, her parents tell her the next day, when they see the red around her knuckles, and it is duty. It will come off in two ways: if she breaks herself to rip herself free of it, or if she breaks it to escape. She does not try it again, and it glints and jangles on her wrist as she walks the halls of Castle Tyrholm now.

↳ LIKE MOTHER... like daughter. It was harder than she expected, sometimes, holding herself away from her daughter. Even now, there is an affability to the World, a multifaceted, unnameable quality that is inherently lovable. But she cannot love her like that, cannot be a mother to her first without forgetting her responsibilities. To love singularly is to favor above all else; to love consumingly is to declare you hate all other things. With a prophecy weighing on her daughter’s shoulders, it would be asking her to choose a single life over the lives of all people of Tyrholm.

She doesn’t know how to love them without having to eventually make that choice, and chooses to abstain from it completely. For all that they are similar, hasn’t it been nurtured to bloom by anyone but her?

↳ SILKS. Dresses are to a queen as armor is to a soldier. When she was younger, she wore the most current fashion, in usually Valmont colors; back then, she had been ushered in hastily to a court that had known six other queens, and she had to make some sort of statement. These days, her dresses are, more often than not, in her own family’s colors and adorned with more metallic accents, reminiscent of armor.

↳ I’m out of time but thank you for reading to this point!! I know it was long and A Lot In General, so take care and good luck with the rest of the applications and acceptances

#accepted #accepted: the empress

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ms-katonic-of-tamriel · 7 years

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Dream Daddy #1 - The Dadsonas

I finally did all the arcs. Go me, eh?

So anyway, I had run-throughs involving various characters, including Madanach, Cicero, Alistair, Dorian, Eliot Spencer and Argis. And I shoulda done a Varric one, bugger. Oh well. Still time. This is Madanach and Cicero, because Cicero’s got long.

Madanach was first and it took three attempts to get him a happy ending. Fucked up Damien’s final date and got dumped at Amanda’s graduation party. Reloaded, went for Joseph... and it turns out he won’t leave Mary. Mads is not OK with being the bit on the side. Reload. I will get you a boyfriend if it kills me, Madanach. Went with Hugo, and it turns out the bookish nerd is SUPER INTO watching muscly guys grappling with each other, and Madanach is also FINE with this. A bit too fine. You do not need to shout that loudly at them to get in there and kill the enemy. Calm down. But it went well, Madanach loyally gave the finger to the kiss cam to protect Hugo’s privacy, and Hugo has a new burst of confidence, not to mention someone who will be Far More Authoritarian Dad than Hugo ever can be. (The first time Ernest tries to join the Forsworn gang from the other side of town will be hilarious. The second time, not so much. Ernest claiming he’s a member anyway and shouting at Madanach in an argument that he’ll get the Forsworn to kill him nearly gives Madanach a hernia from laughing. Then he stops and seriously tells Ernest not to take the gang’s name in vain, he knows damn well Ernest isn’t a member, falsely claiming you’re a member is a dangerous move. Two nights later, the Forsworn pick him up, and drag him blindfolded to a darkened warehouse and terrify the living blazes out of him (he’s not actually harmed but a lesson is needed). When he’s finally sobbing and pleading for mercy, they relent and dump him on the edge of town... where Madanach’s waiting, in civvies. He thanks the Forsworn for bringing him and they salute before leaving. Then he picks Ernest and rather gently tells him not to romanticise criminals, they aren’t worth it and he can do better with his life than this. He’s a bright kid with a bright future. He doesn’t need to fall into a life of crime. He can have a better life than Madanach did. Ernest looks at his stepfather with new eyes, quietly goes home with him and gives neither Hugo nor Madanach any trouble again.) The Dad character was weirdly in character for Madanach! The right mix of social awkwardness, heart in the right place, cares dearly for his kids, capable of laying down the law when needed, a bit too competitive but there for his friends. I think he’d have worked out well with all the Dads, weirdly! Apart from Joseph. He’d have spent weeks seething and wanting to have Mary killed but not be able to bring himself to do it because he likes her, dammit, and then he realises perhaps it’s not Mary who needs killing. The gangland shooting of the popular youth minister is a crying shame and a tragedy, but Mary, although initially heartbroken, rallies and survives and a year later is a completely different person who no longer visits bars and is wrangling four kids who are sad but also surviving. Madanach considers chatting her up himself... but then Robert, the former one night stand who’s been ignoring him goes ‘I know what you did... *silence* *intense stare* *moar silence* *comfort is a distant memory* thanks. She’s a better person these days... want a drink?’ Madanach says yes to the drink, no to the sex, somehow a queerplatonic thing develops. Mary, Robert and Madanach end up buddies and effectively co-parenting the kids after Mary and Madanach stage an intervention for their Hot Mess Not-Boyfriend involving all the other dads. The repeated refrain of ‘ROBERT NO, STOP ENCOURAGING THE TWINS’ is a constant echo in the Christiansen-Smalls-Dareche household.

It obviously didn’t end like that, but it would have been great if it had. ;)

Cicero! Cicero was a delight. He was spoilt for choice, but managed to miss out on Robert due to being Unable to Say No (probably for the best, amirite?). Originally went for Brian, but the forced competitiveness jarred, because Cicero doesn’t do alpha-maling. He’d be losing on purpose and acting helpless and accidentally-on-purpose causing minor domestic disasters that Brian would have to come and help fix, meaning Cicero gets to watch a big strong man at work and then invite him for dinner as a reward. The fall in the lake on the fishing trip would be on purpose so Brian would have to rescue him. And then on the ferris wheel, Cicero glances over as Brian’s telling him not to panic, it’ll be all right, he’ll look after him (because he’s so used by this point to Cicero gazing adoringly up at him or pathetically up at him because he needs help). And then Cicero reaches for his knapsack and pulls out this harness and rope and carabiners and stuff that would put professional rock-climbers to shame, tells Brian to sit tight and make sure the rope stays clamped in place, and casually abseils off the fucking ferris wheel. He reaches the ground like he’s done this before (he’s done this before, he’s a retired professional hitman, continually riding on a ferris wheel is a great way to survey a carnival when your target works there). Brian’s phone rings and it’s Cicero wanting to know if Brian can talk the staff through repairing an engine - wait never mind, the problem is a live raccoon still in the engine, Cicero has this one -click. Minutes later, the wheel starts moving, staff advising everyone the problem is solved and do not look closely at the engine or the unmoving lump under the tarpaulin nearby. Cicero is looking very pleased with himself, and goes to cuddle Brian as he gets off the ride, only for Brian to stare at him and demand to know could he have sorted out all those incidents himself the whole time. Was he in fact losing at all those carnival games on purpose??? Cicero goes a bit pale and nervous, giggles and then ends up up admitting yes, Cicero won just enough toys to keep Amanda happy and lost the rest of the games because he was trying to fluff up Brian’s ego. Brian can’t believe this and tells Cicero he didn’t need to do that, Brian’s not the type to get angry if someone is better than him at something and he’d rather win honestly. Then he sees Cicero’s sad face, pats him on the back and tells him next time the carnival is in town, he wants Cicero to stop holding back, and promises he won’t mind losing, in fact he likes the idea of Cicero being a fiercely skilled individual, it’s attractive. Also it was kinda sweet being rescued for a change. Cicero beams and hugs him and they go off holding hands, Cicero promising Brian he will win him lots of prizes next time, that dart game is very easy once you know the trick, it’s all to do with the way the darts are weighted. Then Amanda and Daisy arrive in tears, because they lost the pet fish Brian won for Cicero. Cue Daring Rescue operation and Cicero deftly rescues Brian the Fish with one flick of the pole and then squeals all the way down the log flume and swears this was the best night of his life. Followed by watching the fireworks, cuddling Brian, and Brian saying he rather likes Daring and Brave Cicero and wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. There is kissing. It’s cute.

That’s the Cicero/Brian arc I WANTED but it’s not the Brian arc I got. Sigh. So I reloaded and went for Craig instead. (Missed out on Robert, Joseph not an option, Hugo and Damien too intellectual, and Mat’s niche indie musical tastes are a bit of an embarrassment for Cicero, who’s music collection is basically the G.A.Y. playlist and showtunes - identical to Joseph’s had he known it.) And Cicero/Craig REALLY WORKED as a pairing! Cicero’s in shape enough from all that running away from police and private guards and scaling walls and fences and wrestling targets into submission, and as said above, can abseil off a carnival ride without fear, so can keep up with him physically and show an interest in things athletic even if he’s not obsessed. And Craig has become so wrapped up in parenting he’s lost sight of who he is. He needs someone who will nag him into taking care of himself and lead him astray a bit, and his old buddy Cicero (who wasn’t very good at university in all honesty, he only went because it was expected, did Media Studies and Journalism because it meant an excuse to walk round campus with a camera and ask people impertinent questions then write a scurrilous anon gossip column in the student newspaper which he got material for by eavesdropping, breaking and entering and basically being a conniving little shit) is VERY good at tempting people down a path of irresponsibility. Also the third Craig date is perfect for Cicero - basically making Craig sit down and enjoy himself, being just mildly threatening if Craig tries to do anything like work, cackling at a tree that looks like a bottom, flinging himself off a waterfall and loving every minute of it, posing as he strips off for the swan-diving, cooing as Craig sorts the fire out then accidentally-on-purpose forgetting the other sleeping bag so they have to share one. Perfect!

The twins love him, although it pains him they will not be trained to do the creepy thing that Joseph’s two have got going, and River will never know a life without him tending to her. He’s very loving and protective of all three of them. Gods help the future boyfriends. XD

#dream daddy #madanach #cicero #skyrim

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

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#keepherinthegame drabble - hello, it’s called personal space.

In honor of @pitchstreetteam‘s March #KeepHerIntheGame campaign and this post, here’s a little Pitch oneshot for the prompt Bawson.

There’re still three days to send in your baseballs! You can even send them straight to Fox from Amazon! For more details, check here!

Ginny shrugged for what felt like fourth time in as many minutes.

Not because she was expressing her ambivalence, but because Mike wouldn’t remove his fucking elbow from her shoulder.

He’d been doing it a lot lately and Ginny was getting sick of it. Mostly because pictures of her pouting with her arms crossed over her chest as Mike leaned casually on her shoulder were circulating on the internet. Ginny looked like a child on the verge of a tantrum while her captain looked like her vaguely neglectful parent.

Not really the image of her she wanted out in the world.

(Or Mike’s brain, but that was a separate matter.)

“What’s on your mind, Baker?” Mike asked around the wad of gum he’d been working since the bottom of the third.

“Just trying to figure out how guilty I’ll feel if I push you away and you fall and break a hip.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him grin, the eye black stretching as the apples of his cheeks rounded in amusement.

“Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?” he wondered, gazing off into the distance. Like he was posing for his close up. On a hunch, Ginny peeked around his bulk and, yep. Rob had his camera trained on them. A glance at the jumbotron revealed shots of the crowd, so at least no one in the stadium could see her captain using her as a leaning post.

Who knew what was being broadcast on FS1, though.

It would be so easy to get a good shot in at the ribs. The man was weirdly ticklish, and it would serve him right for that weakness to come out on national TV.

Ginny just sighed and tried again. “You know the fence is right there, right?”

“Yep,” he replied, popping his gum along with the “P.”

She huffed, but did her best not to pout. The last thing she needed was to become a meme again.

“You’re lucky I’m not pitching today,” she muttered, watching Dom take his place in the batter’s box.

“And why is that?” Ginny could hear the barely restrained laughter in his voice. Well, fine. She’d see who was laughing in a second.

Smug, she replied, “Because Al would definitely yell at you if he thought you were tiring me out.”

Rather than looking to their manager or finally taking the hint and removing his elbow from her person, Mike studied her sidelong for a moment. A long moment. Finally, his lips quirked slyly and he leaned in to murmur in her ear.

“If I wanted to tire you out, Baker, I wouldn’t be doing it where anyone could watch.”

And then he was gone, jamming his head into his batting helmet and going out to take his practice swings.

Ginny wasn’t sure how to properly seem like every rational thought hadn’t just fled her brain at the suggestion in Mike’s voice. How to seem like her mind was still on the game unfolding before her.

She settled for not letting her mouth gape open and studiously avoiding Mike’s thick frame near the on deck circle. Instead, she watched Blip leg out a double and Cristiello get held up at third.

Then, because there was no good reason not to, Ginny stared as Mike took up his stance in the batter’s box. He went through his plate routine, but before he set his bat on his shoulder, Mike looked up, locked eyes with Ginny, and pointed his bat straight at her.

Ginny’s mouth went dry again. She checked the urge to glance around and see if anyone else had noticed in favor of watching the at bat. God, Mike was cocky, a smirk firmly planted on his face as he dug in.

He watched the first two go by, one high and the other a little inside but still a strike. It was the third pitch, which Ginny could see even as it left the pitcher’s hand would hang too long over the plate. Her eyes flashed to Mike’s face, caught the spark of eagerness there, and watched as his powerful shoulders bunched. Watched him stride forward confidently, bring the bat down and around to smash against the hanging slider and send it out of the park to end the game.

With a triumphant grin, Mike trotted around the bases, clapping Dom and Blip on the back when he finally crossed home. The rest of the team spilled out of the dugout to congratulate the hometown hero, but Ginny remained rooted in place.

She was still thinking about that look he’d given her. It didn’t help that those words were still spinning through her head.

What was he thinking?

Annoyance was starting to push out the dazed, starry feeling that had taken over Ginny since Mike leaned in decided he just wanted to blow their cover today.

Because while she and Mike had decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to deny their feelings for each other any more, they’d also decided it would be way too much of a hassle to make their relationship public.

Without checking to see if any of the cameras were covering her or if anyone was even paying attention, Ginny turned away from the field and marched straight into the clubhouse.

She was showered and changed by the time the knock she’d been expecting on her dressing room door came.

Without waiting, the door opened and Mike stepped in, still wearing his uniform, grinning. Like he didn’t know exactly how annoyed she was with him. Or was just very good at pretending she wasn’t.

“You see me win the game for you?” he asked, crowding into her space and attaching his lips to her pulse point.

“Oh, for me, huh?” she managed in spite of Mike’s clever mouth doing its best to distract her

“Who else? Gotta keep my girl in awe of my talent.”

“Well, maybe it would be easier if you didn’t use your girl as an armrest all day. Maybe she’d be more impressed.”

“C’mon, Gin,” he cajoled, finally lifting his mouth from her neck to look her in the eye. “There’re only so many ways I can touch you in public without raising eyebrows.”

“It’s not like you have to touch me in public,” she grumped. Maybe he would’ve taken her more seriously if her fingers weren’t curled into the sides of his uniform, holding him firmly against her.

“Can’t help myself,” he replied, dipping back down to nuzzle against her sensitive skin. “Now that I know what it’s like, how am I supposed to stop?”

Without any input from her, Ginny’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Mike’s jersey and she sighed, her head tipping to offer him better access. They really shouldn’t be doing this here, but he’d spent the last three hours riling her up, standing close enough she could practically taste the sweat dripping down his throat. His arm so close to where it had been when she woke up this morning wrapped up in him.

Honestly, she understood the urge—did he really think that she wanted to be further from him than necessary?— but it wasn’t as if they didn’t have a good reason for keeping this secret.

“You stop because you’re a grown man and have at least a little self-control,” Ginny finally answered. “It’s like you want us to get caught.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears turned red and he wouldn’t quite make eye contact with her. She rocked back to get a better look at him, but he studiously avoided her gaze.

“Lawson,” Ginny growled, a warning.

“No. No! I would never—” At Ginny’s arched brow, he changed tacks. “Okay, I would rarely risk outing our relationship, it’s just you smelled so good and—”

“That’s your defense?” she guffawed. “I smelled good?”

Mike looked pained. “Do you know how much of my life I’ve gone through sharing a dugout with smelly, dirty, sweaty dudes, Ginny? And you come along smelling like my laundry detergent and the shampoo you keep in my shower. I couldn’t help but wanna be close to you. And when I’m close to you, I wanna touch you, no matter who sees.”

He punctuated his point by walking his fingers up her arms and closing the gap that had opened between them. Glaring half-heartedly, Ginny let him pull her closer.

“When you get us caught, I’m making you handle all the press.”

“Deal,” he agreed immediately. “I’ll tell ‘em all how you wore me down, but you’re starting to grow on me. Oh! And I can’t forget about your shrine to me: rookie card, poster—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she laughed, hiding her face in his shoulder.

For once, Mike listened. He pressed a kiss to her temple and Ginny wound her arms around his middle.

“You know you have to make today up to me, right?”

“I assumed,” he replied easily, giving her one last squeeze before stepping away. “You got any suggestions?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she said, peering up at him through her lashes. She bit her lip for good measure, waiting for him to rock back into her space before deftly sidestepping him. There was a quick glimpse of Mike’s shocked face before she was at the door and stepping into the hallway. As she left, she tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll send you ideas while you take your ice bath, old man.”

“You’re killin’ me, Gin,” he groaned, sticking his head out the door and watching her walk away.

Ginny just smiled to herself. Clearly Mike liked to leave her hanging, but they’d see how long that lasted with a taste of his own medicine.

#Bawson #Pitch #renewpitch #keep her in the game #Bawson fic #i wrote something

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zanypeaceland · 6 years

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Scoliosis Specialist Long Island Appointment

By Virginia Adams

Scoliosis means an abnormal lateral curvature of the backbone which is usually found in adolescence in girls much more frequently than in boys. However, it is not a childhood disease alone. Often scoliosis progresses with time and in adulthood and hip, leg and neck suffering can lead to back pain. Moreover, as an adult, many people are developing scoliosis because of degenerative changes associated with age in the backbone, such as arthritis or fractures associated with compression. On the other hand, scoliosis specialist Long Island have stated that the condition can cause degenerative changes. Although 13 percent of the population aging 46 to 60, as were 39 percent over 60 years, were estimated to have had certain degrees of scoliosis, in the United States journal for neural radiology in 2010 Johns Hopkins studied. The rates in more than 60 healthy people in a previous study in spine were even higher 68 percent. More diminutive numbers are joined will specific exams. The majority certain incident patients do not bring an impact ahead certain incident physically or socially. Furthermore, it could also ruin, dragging the organ down in an expanding number of cases, also causes breathing, tension and remarkable discomfort. Thankfully, you would just complete a reasonable work on anti risk certain incident control. Any person who should also strengthen the chance of being fascinated by the risk of certain incident. A skilfully designed master of camwood condition. In Katharina Schroth, the vast majority of knowledgeable physiotherapy during the aggravator in the 1920s is an outstanding feature. In other areas of Europe, it is now used for extending and stabilizing the spine as the standard non surgical therapy for case together with mental imaging. Preliminary studies suggest that the method Schroth could reduce the progression about curvature, pain, and operation and increasing necessity for the capacity about pulse. Exercise activities, such as a scientific case exercise approach and motion therapy, may also contribute to alleviating pain, boosting the thorax capacity and reducing curvature, according to certain reports, although anecdotal data is used. The number of people who could in fact, it is unknown how long the consequences will last. Small studies in 2014 have shown that modified side plates represent a decreased primary curve angle over 7 months on average in yoga, as seen in x ray imaging, adolescents and adults of varying case rates. You took to two minutes on your weaker side. It was done by the participants. The foundation about national case can generate 11 yoga poses for beginners alone. Case is important in general to preserve strength of bone and muscle. This involves performing core exercises and suitable deformation exercises, because case makes among the back part tight and the other part stretches out. In particular, swimming is a good business. Corrective operation is mostly done in teenagers with severe cases of case but is more risky in adults and must only be considered if the benefits of severe pain and spinal curvature are greater than those of risk. The changes in rear appearance are often first noticed. Most people do not have a known cause and case of age when the development denoting curve starts. Certain condition is normally analyzed after the spinal line, hip and shoulders. On the off chance that specific zones are available, you may need to twist. For instance, one shoulders might be bigger or a back knock. X beam pictures are additionally helpful for estimating the bended edge, shape, heading, position. X beam examines are utilized to affirm the condition. Outputs, for example, attractive reverberation imaging and machine tomography sweeps could likewise in specific situations be proposed. The name of the segment bend is a Cobb edge. Certain condition treatment in kids relying upon your age and seriousness, your youngster will get certain condition. It frequently requires little investment to screen youthful kids on the grounds that their conditions change as they develop. Anyway it is difficult to cut the space within the inward organ except if the bend changes and an expert is checked completely. In times, it might a chance to be basic on aide those part to set those bend. Every so often at an adolescent individual will be underneath two a long time of age. Something you could do. An outside lash is a cast clinched alongside an advanced designed combo for those mortality table trunk. The solid may be regularly utilized what is greater could notwithstanding not a chance to be ousted, in any case will be modified dependably to advancement what is more revamping purposes. Good when your juvenile grows dependent upon your master could support a once more lash. To health situation, those bend might currently not a chance to be balanced alternately cured. It must make carefully set up with respect to your child own bring down back same time utilizing a wrist. Noteworthy plastic props need aid ordinarily made, yet versant backings would the point when over some time accessible. Regularly challenging will watch available day props for allowed dress. Wear a strap for 23 hours per day and remove it for bath and showers only. It is generally advisable. But during contacts and swimming, it ought to be taken away. For children with brace, regular exercise is essential. Your child own body should normally wear the bracelet. This means most children can stop wearing when they are at their sixteen, or seventeen. It is advised to perform corrective procedures if your child has a severe it and other treatments are unsatisfactory. You depend for the type of operation on your own child own age. Operation can be done with the insertion of growing rods for children under 8 to 9 years old. These rods allow continuous controlled backbone growth and partial correction of it. Each 4 up to 6 months following the surgery your child will have to return to his specialist to put inside the rods, to extend the rods to keep growing up. For several from claiming events yard magnets camwood be utilized during a wandering association should augment the shaft. Those utilization for steel bars for those spine slumping down for grownups also junior grownups distinguished with those spine development. During those side of the point when at will be communicated clinched alongside done, metalwork may be stockpiled constantly without issues. Accompanying fourteen days, the vast majority youngsters might similarly return should order what is more assume sports activities emulating a whole lot some time from claiming activity. Possibility perplexities physical traps nearing should fulfillment due to those actuality for spinal problem camwood make remarkable in any case sizeable issues camwood hint at each time left untreated. Complexities about spinal problem clinched alongside real instances from claiming spinal problem what is more air issues, your rib fenced in zone might be place under those lung what is more heart. Thus, the heart physical make up could barely siphon blood. Know over, it might conceivably aggravate lung or coronary heart issues a chance to be a turned spine alternately uncommon spine. Weight of the nerves vertebra domain bones, from time to time grown up spinal problem.

About the Author:

You can find a summary of the benefits you get when you consult a scoliosis specialist Long Island area at https://ift.tt/2SgW8dg today.

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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Police officers in East Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, shot and killed an unarmed, fleeing 17-year-old on Tuesday.

According to the Allegheny County Police Department, police initially responded to reports of a shooting around 8:20 pm on Tuesday, finding a 22-year-old man who had been shot but was taken to the hospital and survived. Police put out a call for a vehicle that was seen fleeing the scene, and officers stopped a car that they said matched the description. While they were detaining the driver of the car, two people jumped out. An officer opened fire, killing a 17-year-old.

The 17-year-old was Antwon Rose, a student at Woodland Hills School District, according to Shelly Bradbury and Andrew Goldstein at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

Allegheny County Police Superintendent Coleman McDonough said Rose was unarmed, although officers found two guns in the vehicle he fled from.

The 20-year-old driver of the vehicle was released after he was questioned by police. The third occupant of the car remains at large.

A bystander captured a video of the police shooting and posted it on Facebook. It shows two people running away from police cars, with their backs to the officers, as police open fire.

“Why are they shooting?” the person who recorded the video said. “All they did was run, and they’re shooting at them.”

Multiple law enforcement agencies are investigating the shooting. The officer who opened fire has been put on leave, McDonough said.

According to the Post-Gazette, “Pennsylvania law allows police officers to use deadly force to prevent someone from escaping arrest if that person has committed a forcible felony, possesses a deadly weapon or if the person has indicated he or she will endanger human life or inflict bodily injury if not arrested.”

The shooting has received national attention as police use of force, particularly against black Americans, continues drawing heightened scrutiny — due to vast racial disparities in police use of force.

Based on nationwide data collected by the Guardian, black Americans are more than twice as likely as their white counterparts to be killed by police when accounting for population. In 2016, police killed black Americans at a rate of 6.66 per 1 million people, compared to 2.9 per 1 million for white Americans.

Christina Animashaun and Javier Zarracina/Vox

There have also been several high-profile police killings since 2014 involving black suspects. In Baltimore, Freddie Gray died while in police custody — leading to protests and riots. In North Charleston, South Carolina, Michael Slager shot Walter Scott, who was fleeing and unarmed at the time. In Ferguson, Darren Wilson killed unarmed 18-year-old Michael Brown. In New York City, NYPD officer Daniel Pantaleo killed Eric Garner by putting the unarmed 43-year-old black man in a chokehold.

One possible explanation for the racial disparities: Police tend to patrol high-crime neighborhoods, which are disproportionately black. That means they’re going to be generally more likely to initiate a policing action, from traffic stops to more serious arrests, against a black person who lives in these areas. And all of these policing actions carry a chance, however small, to escalate into a violent confrontation.

That’s not to say that higher crime rates in black communities explain the entire racial disparity in police shootings. A 2015 study by researcher Cody Ross found, “There is no relationship between county-level racial bias in police shootings and crime rates (even race-specific crime rates), meaning that the racial bias observed in police shootings in this data set is not explainable as a response to local-level crime rates.” That suggests something else — such as, potentially, racial bias — is going on.

One reason to believe racial bias is a factor: Studies show that officers are quicker to shoot black suspects in video game simulations. Josh Correll, a University of Colorado Boulder psychology professor who conducted the research, said it’s possible the bias could lead to even more skewed outcomes in the field. “In the very situation in which [officers] most need their training,” he previously told me, “we have some reason to believe that their training will be most likely to fail them.”

Part of the solution to potential bias is better training that helps cops acknowledge and deal with their potential prejudices. But critics also argue that more accountability could help deter future brutality or excessive use of force, since it would make it clear that there are consequences to the misuse and abuse of police powers. Yet right now, lax legal standards make it difficult to legally punish individual police officers for use of force, even when it might be excessive.

Legally, what most matters in police shootings is whether police officers reasonably believed that their lives were in immediate danger, not whether the shooting victim actually posed a threat.

In the 1980s, a pair of Supreme Court decisions — Tennessee v. Garner and Graham v. Connor — set up a framework for determining when deadly force by cops is reasonable.

Constitutionally, “police officers are allowed to shoot under two circumstances,” David Klinger, a University of Missouri St. Louis professor who studies use of force, previously told Dara Lind for Vox. The first circumstance is “to protect their life or the life of another innocent party” — what departments call the “defense-of-life” standard. The second circumstance is to prevent a suspect from escaping, but only if the officer has probable cause to think the suspect poses a dangerous threat to others.

The logic behind the second circumstance, Klinger said, comes from a Supreme Court decision called Tennessee v. Garner. That case involved a pair of police officers who shot a 15-year-old boy as he fled from a burglary. (He’d stolen $10 and a purse from a house.) The court ruled that cops couldn’t shoot every felon who tried to escape. But, as Klinger said, “they basically say that the job of a cop is to protect people from violence, and if you’ve got a violent person who’s fleeing, you can shoot them to stop their flight.”

The key to both of the legal standards — defense of life and fleeing a violent felony — is that it doesn’t matter whether there is an actual threat when force is used. Instead, what matters is the officer’s “objectively reasonable” belief that there is a threat.

Jewel Samad/AFP via Getty Images

That standard comes from the other Supreme Court case that guides use-of-force decisions: Graham v. Connor. This was a civil lawsuit brought by a man who’d survived his encounter with police officers, but who’d been treated roughly, had his face shoved into the hood of a car, and broken his foot — all while he was suffering a diabetic attack.

The court didn’t rule on whether the officers’ treatment of him had been justified, but it did say that the officers couldn’t justify their conduct just based on whether their intentions were good. They had to demonstrate that their actions were “objectively reasonable,” given the circumstances and compared to what other police officers might do.

What’s “objectively reasonable” changes as the circumstances change. “One can’t just say, ‘Because I could use deadly force 10 seconds ago, that means I can use deadly force again now,’” Walter Katz, a California attorney who specializes in oversight of law enforcement agencies, previously said.

In general, officers are given a lot of legal latitude to use force without fear of punishment. The intention behind these legal standards is to give police officers leeway to make split-second decisions to protect themselves and bystanders. And although critics argue that these legal standards give law enforcement a license to kill innocent or unarmed people, police officers say they are essential to their safety.

For some critics, the question isn’t what’s legally justified but rather what’s preventable. “We have to get beyond what is legal and start focusing on what is preventable. Most are preventable,” Ronald Davis, a former police chief who previously headed the Justice Department’s Office of Community Oriented Policing Services, told the Washington Post. Police “need to stop chasing down suspects, hopping fences, and landing on top of someone with a gun,” he added. “When they do that, they have no choice but to shoot.”

Police are very rarely prosecuted for shootings — and not just because the law allows them wide latitude to use force on the job. Sometimes the investigations fall onto the same police department the officer is from, which creates major conflicts of interest. Other times the only available evidence comes from eyewitnesses, who may not be as trustworthy in the public eye as a police officer.

“There is a tendency to believe an officer over a civilian, in terms of credibility,” David Rudovsky, a civil rights lawyer who co-wrote Prosecuting Misconduct: Law and Litigation, previously told Amanda Taub for Vox. “And when an officer is on trial, reasonable doubt has a lot of bite. A prosecutor needs a very strong case before a jury will say that somebody who we generally trust to protect us has so seriously crossed the line as to be subject to a conviction.”

If police are charged, they’re very rarely convicted. The National Police Misconduct Reporting Project analyzed 3,238 criminal cases against police officers from April 2009 through December 2010. They found that only 33 percent were convicted, and only 36 percent of officers who were convicted ended up serving prison sentences. Both of those are about half the rate at which members of the public are convicted or incarcerated.

The statistics suggest that it would be a truly rare situation if the officers who shot and killed Rose were charged and convicted of a crime.

Original Source -> 17-year-old Antwon Rose was fleeing and unarmed when police in East Pittsburgh shot him

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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jimdsmith34 · 7 years

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Betches Love This College: University of Southern California

The land of beautiful people, beautiful weather, and a beautiful fucking campus, the University of Southern California is probs the most collectively beautiful school in the country. And if you dont believe that sweeping generalization, which you obvi should, trust the movies. USCs movie-like campus has been featured in , , (2, ugh), and was even Harvard in . What, like its hard?

In the heart of Los Angeles, its no surprise that USC is in a shit ton of movies and TV shows. Its also no surprise that USC is on the top of thousands of graduating seniors wish lists every year. A weirdly perfect mix of academics and partying, USC is the place that all the pretty, popular, and annoyingly smart kids from your high school wanted to go (or actually went if they could afford it).

The People

Greeks: Even though the USC administration has really fucked up with the Greek system in recent years, rushing a fraternity and joining a sorority are def the pinnacle moments of freshman year. And once you go Greek, you never go back (even if your fraternity is kicked off the row, looking at you SAE). After a record number of freshmen hospitalizations due to alcohol poisoning on the row this decade, the administration started freaking the fuck out and made the row dry. Right. Well, Los Angeles is in a fucking drought, President Nikias. Banning alcohol is not only inhumane, its fucking immoral for the environment.

USC is honestly too big of a school to claim that everyone goes Greek. But everyone you want to know is Greek, and every great party is Greek. So like, you decide.

GDIs: …but dont even get the God Damn Independents (GDIs) started on the assholes in the Greek system. Theres a super divisive shift between the non-Greeks and the Greeks, especially at the start of freshman year. Super eager freshmen girls obvi need to wear their American Apparel sorority tanks to class every day of syllabus week. Bros make it known that theyre in a fraternity with their hazing ritualsseriously, Sigma Chi? Not letting your pledges talk for the first week of classes? Fucking weird. And the geeds watch this all with amazed, nerdy, and judgmental looks. Which tbh, the judgment kind of makes sense, seeing as one fraternity manages to spend over $50,000 in one night on its Frost party every year. And that budget doesnt even count the money that its fraternity members spend on snow in the form of nose candy. So to GDIs, fraternity and sorority assholes are the worst. Got it.

Athletes: If youre an athlete at USC, youre probably from California, and youre probably the best of the best. And if you play water polo, volleyball or beach volleyball, youre probably going to win a national championship. Or maybe youll go to the Olympics one year, because USC has had more Olympians than any other school. So casual.

The athletes all hang out in the same area of campusthe John McKay center, a state-of-the-art athletic facility that is literally more like a med spa than a collegiate training facility. With a collective five percent body fat, these athletes all mingle and date and intimidate the rest of the student body.

The super fucking rich kids: Every school has rich kids, obvi. But at USC, you get the rich kids from Hollywoods elite and Silicon Valley. There is no shortage of Louis Vuitton-carrying, Range Rover-driving betches around campus. And many of these betches have private planes, too, which is like a super casual way to get to Vegas for a weekend. And since its only four hours away by car (30 minutes by jet), even the non-elite rich kids love going to Vegas and spending thousands on bottle service at a club watching Calvin Harris fantasize about Taylor Swift onstage.

Everyone else: USC is a super fucking diverse school. For a decade, it had more international students than any other collegerecently beat out by NYUand also boasts a 40 percent out-of-state rate. Its a private school with a rich alumni base, so scholarships and generous financial aid packages are a regular occurrence. But if youre paying full tuition, youre paying a lot of fucking money: roughly $70,000 in cost of attendance per year. So you better be ready to study alongside your partying, or your ass is going back to Santa Monica Community College.

Famous alumni: Even though they dont actually go to USC currently, theyre notable enough to make this list. Will Ferrell is infamous in USC folklore for flooding the basement of his fraternity at USC and making pledges row him around in a rowboat (and then yelling Mayday as he sent the pledges into the water). Sophia Bush went there. All of the Schwarzenneger kids have graduated from thereat least the legitimate ones. The guy who created the Star Wars saga, George Lucas, went there. So, yeah the alumni are kind of sick.

Where to live

Freshmen: New. North. Though the USC administration is again trying to ruin the lives of all USC students (something about academic integrity and climibing the rankings and other bullshit), the New/North dorms are still the place to be. Two dorms merged togetherNew and Northits basically a year-long party. And its completely common to wake up to a very angry email on Monday mornings from the RAs complaining about couches from the dorms being thrown out the windows, again. Dont ask. But just be prepared to pay extensive damages as an entire dorm, mostly because drunk frat boys come home and throw shit down the hallways.

Everyone else: Sophomores get merged into the upperclassmen category after freshman year. USC typically only has room for freshmen on campus, so everyone else moves off campus. Those who are Greek will likely move into their sorority and fraternity houses, and all the other fun people will move into the New Mansion, West 27th, or Gateway apartment buildings. Rent is high everywhere because its fucking Los Angeles, even if it is in the middle of south central.

What to do

Football gamedays are literally a weekly holiday at USC. Get ready to wake the fuck up to the fight song being blared through your sorority house as betches sneak mimosas into the supposed-to-be-dry house. Then, its a day full of beer pong, keg stands, and dancing on tables at frat houses as you prepare to get your heart broken by USC football. You can literally walk down Troustale Parkway (the center street on campus) chugging out of a plastic vodka bottle. No one cares or will give you a ticket.

The football team has a super proud tradition of success and national championships and Heisman winners and all of that fun stuff, but theyve kind of shit the bed recently after a certain ex-boyfriend of Kim KardashianReggie Bushgot caught illegally taking money. Whatever. It also has a super proud tradition of really fucking hot quarterbacksMark Sanchez, Matt Leinart, Matt Barkley, just to name a fewso that makes all games worth it.

The other six days of the week, youll never be bored at USC. I mean, youre in fucking Los Angeles. You can literally uber one mile to watch the Lakers play at Staples Center, or ride your bike to campus to watch James Franco get high and teach his class at the cinema school. Between classes, which are actually hard because its one of the best academic schools in the country, most students hang out at the campus center and spend $15 for a salad and a pizza from California Pizza Kitchen. Basically all students have bikes or longboards at USC, and most students see these bikes and longboards get stolen fairly regularly. Just a hazard of living in South Central Los Angeles. The campus is fenced in for a reason.

Where to drink

There are two options at USC: the row, and the 9-0. There is literally one bar on USCs campus, and the 901 Bar and Grill is that bar. Its a lovable dive. It smells like shit. Theres always a line out the door Thursday-Sunday. All drinks are $11. If you have too many Mind Erasers or AMFs, you will sleep through all of your classes the next day. As a freshman, you sneak in using your bigs ID. As a senior, you use your own ID and wear sweatpants because youre a #SWUG.

When the administration isnt ruining your party life on the row, you head to whatever mixer is being held on a Monday night at your favorite fraternity, and go drink on a Monday, because collegiates are functioning alcoholics. Duh.

Where to travel

Los Angeles is an international hub. And with the frequency of private planes around (were seriously not joking), you have every opportunity to travel. Lots of Trojans go abroad the second semester of junior year, basically anywhere in Europe.

Otherwise, the biggest travel weekend of the year is The Weekenderwhen USC football plays Cal-Berkeley or Stanford, and the entire school gets on a plane to go be arrogant and obnoxious football fans up in San Francisco.

In the spring, get your favorite wannabe-hippie outfit prepared months in advance and go to Coachella. Or if youre a country fan, go and throw on some cowboy boots, make out with a 30-year-old cowboy, and fantasize about Luke Bryan at Stagecoach.

Spring break

Cabo San fucking Lucas. Try not to lose all of your money at the Mango Deck or El Squid Roe. Youll spend your days collecting Cabo San Lucas headbands and posing for Instagrams and drinking way too much tequila, so its heaven.

Drawbacks

People in LA get a reputation for sucking, which is a completely earned reputation. The campus is in a sketchy area. People have gotten murdered and mugged in recent years. Parking sucks. Tuition is expensive.

But other than that, its the best fucking school in the world. Fight on, betches.

div.body_middle_part_right .bodypart:nth-child(n+2),a.prevBody{display:none;}

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/09/08/betches-love-this-college-university-of-southern-california/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/09/betches-love-this-college-university-of.html

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samanthasroberts · 7 years

Text

Betches Love This College: University of Southern California

The People

USC is honestly too big of a school to claim that everyone goes Greek. But everyone you want to know is Greek, and every great party is Greek. So like, you decide.

Where to live

What to do

Where to drink

Where to travel

Spring break

Drawbacks

But other than that, its the best fucking school in the world. Fight on, betches.

div.body_middle_part_right .bodypart:nth-child(n+2),a.prevBody{display:none;}

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/09/08/betches-love-this-college-university-of-southern-california/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/09/08/betches-love-this-college-university-of-southern-california/

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adambstingus · 7 years

Text

Betches Love This College: University of Southern California

The People

USC is honestly too big of a school to claim that everyone goes Greek. But everyone you want to know is Greek, and every great party is Greek. So like, you decide.

Where to live

What to do

Where to drink

Where to travel

Spring break

Drawbacks

But other than that, its the best fucking school in the world. Fight on, betches.

div.body_middle_part_right .bodypart:nth-child(n+2),a.prevBody{display:none;}

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/09/08/betches-love-this-college-university-of-southern-california/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/165103093982

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