#<- we need to bring back that term for any time we whine about fandom or have fandom 'discourse'

[aphel1on]

yet again reading a yi city fic tagged gaslighting wondering if maybe something interesting will happen this time and yet again it's literally just xue yang lying

[romewritingshop]

I’m a Dad

Fandom: Choices, Open Heart, AU

Relationship: Dr. Ethan Ramsey X F!MC (Name: Alyssa Brooks)

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, mentions of birth complications, Alan is okay no need to panic 😅, anxieties of fatherhood, slight injury (nothing gruesome).

Rating: 12+ Word Count Total: 3209

AN: This is a birthday commission for @tsrookie who wanted a fic of dad!Ethan. I hope this is what you wanted and enjoy. The song that inspired this was Michele Morrone’s Dad (Accoustic Version):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cDNO--sPgE

I wanted to portray the significance of Alan in Ethan and Alyssa’s lives. It was emotional writing this 🥺.

Rome’s Birthday Celebration Masterlist 2021

CHOICES MASTERLIST

Tagged: @eleanorbloom @juliafranquet @me-and-my-choices @drethanramslay @choicesficwriterscreations @queencarb @miss-smrxtiee @melaninnntae @they-callme-ami @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @drariellevalentine @nikki-2406 @caseyvalentineramsey @kiara-36 @choicesreal @sophxwithers @brightningstar @tsrookie @gryffindordaughterofathena @arnikki-2406 @mercury84choices ​@theinvisibledreamergirl @stygianflood @ethansramsey

A blissful silence settled in the room as Ethan tossed his house keys onto the kitchen countertop. Flicking the switches as the lights turned on in his house. A large suburban white painted house that he and Alyssa bought a few years ago. Ethan’s eyes wandered around the living room, taking in the quiet. Alyssa wasn’t home yet which gave Ethan the time to head to his study. Clambering up the stairs and going to the first door on his left, a spacious room with forest green walls. A metal case of shelves with wooden baskets filled with stationary, was diagonally placed in the corner to the door. Directly opposite the door was a mahogany table with a cushioned wheeled office chair.

To the left of the door, was a red and green small plastic table and bench. Crayons and pencils were scattered on the table and floor, there were sheets of coloured papers with indiscernible scribbles. The furrow in Ethan’s eyebrows relaxed as he slipped off his black cashmere jacket and hung it on a hook to the left of him. Crouching by the small kids table and glanced at the drawings, noting the curved shapes to be attempts at writing. Writing what exactly? He wasn’t too sure. 

Nathan and Savannah were the smartest kids he knew. Why wouldn’t they be though, since their parents were the acclaimed doctors of Bloom Edenbrook’s diagnostics team. Ethan put their drawings in a woven basket which had a label of ‘kids’, he held onto all the crayons and pencils and placed them in their respective labelled pots. Placing the pots in their woven basket and placing their basket on top of the shelf unit. Alyssa probably didn’t have time to tidy up their mess because they were spending the afternoon and evening with Alyssa’s friends.

Maybe now was a good time to get started on his project as he pulled out a basket and took out a few sheets of thick matte paper and an envelope. Bringing them over to his desk and seating himself, opening a drawer in his desk. He took out a few ink pens and placed the pens next to his paper, his eyes darted to the wooden picture frame of Alyssa and their three kids: Allison, Nathan and Savannah. He still couldn’t believe that he was theirs, and they were his. It was only yesterday, when he and Alyssa were in the reception, treating for a thoracotomy and now they had a house and kids.

Ethan knew what he had to do as soon as he brought his pen to the paper, the words flew right through him as he wrote. The memories of his kids flooding his brain with a warm familiar glow.

~~~~~~

“Out of the way!”

Ethan rushed down the stairs, shoving past nurses and doctors before slamming the corridor door open to the maternity ward. Sienna was hot on his heels as he growled and grimaced at people, his eyes went to the pager as a message from Naveen popped up. ‘4cm dilated’. Ethan was close as he weaved through a never ending maze of Edenbrook’s corridors. In the distance he spotted Naveen, his dad Alan, and his daughter Allison were looking into the window of one of the maternity rooms.

“Ethan! There you are!”

“Daddy!”

His crinkled grumpy face relaxed at the sight of Allison. Five years old with a knack for mischief and a carbon copy of himself. She had his eyes and ears but Alyssa’s nose, lips and hair. Alan was taking care of Allison while Ethan and his wife were working, however, Alyssa’s contraction pains strengthened and her constant lavatory needs indicated that she needed to be checked in. Naveen came up to stand beside Ethan; who took Allison into his arms.

��Naveen, how is she?”

“Well the contractions are hurting and I have a feeling the babies are coming now. Dr. Delarosa is in there with her. Are you ready Ethan?”

Ethan gave a nod as he turned to Allison, a calm gentle smile reserved for her.

“Time to get your new siblings. You okay to wait here with Uncle Naveen and Grandpa?”

“Yeah! Uncle Naveen is buying me chocolate!”

Ethan quirked a brow at his mentor, who in return stuck with a confident grin before Ethan placed Allison down. Naveen clasped his hand around her tiny hand and led her to the staff break room, whilst listening to her ramblings about her new siblings. Ethan took a deep breath as Alan stepped up to rest his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Ethan smiled and was about to step into the room, when something held him still. His buried nerves leaked through his wall as memories of Dolores seeped to his front. Alyssa was pregnant with twins, that alone carried several complications in terms of the positioning of the babies, possible post partum haemorrhage. On top of that she was one week late, twins born post due date carry risks to the mother and the babies.

A flash of baby Ethan in the NICU drained the warmth from his face and he felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe as he pressed a hand against the door ledge, bowing his head as Alan stood beside him. Alan could tell Ethan was panicking. His shoulders shook as Alan gently probed.

“Ethan?”

“What if something happens?”

“Boston’s famous doctor is worried about a twin birth? Ethan, you’ve done this before. You know what to do.”

“It’s different. Alyssa is in there. She’s the patient. What if I can’t make the right decision?”

“Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are a diagnostician. A famous one at that. You look at the possibilities before you make your decision. You have it in you son. Plus she’s a fighter. She won’t back down. But she needs you. Be brave and if you can’t be brave, be brave for her. She needs your support.”

His father’s words felt like a warm wash of life as he inhaled the air, exhaling his anxieties and giving a steady nod. Ethan smiled at his father before pushing open the door to step into the room, stepping into action to help make Alyssa’s labour as easy as possible.

~~~~~~

“Daddy! When is Twilight Sparkle coming?”

“In a bit. If you finish your lunch, then she’ll come.”

“Daddy! Will she bring a lot of presents for us?”

“An average amount, Nathan.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched over the several little kids munching on their mini pizza slices and tater tots. It was the twins’ birthday today and the two of them invited their whole class to celebrate, the sun was shining as the kids sat on picnic blankets. The Ramseys’ had a spacious garden which could hold for nearly twenty five kids and several adults. Bryce, Jackie and Elijah were keeping an eye on the kids as Ethan slipped away to the kitchen where Alyssa was sat on a breakfast stool with her foot in Sienna’s lap. Aurora was beside them as she carefully tapped a finger against the swollen skin near her ankle. Jenner paced on his paws with nervous energy as he whined at his mom, Alyssa.

“Alyssa has sprained her ankle … Ethan.”

The friends still had a difficult time addressing Ethan by his first name but he paid no heed to it as Alyssa tried to come off the stool, trying to brush off the pain.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure I’ll be fine as long as I don’t walk on it.”

Ethan sighed rather exasperatedly as he folded his arms at his wife. That motion alone made Alyssa meekly smile and remain in her seat. Aurora handed her a cool pack for Alyssa to use for her sprain. She knew that she needed to rest her ankle but the twins would be so upset.

“Fine. But how are we going to solve the entertainment issue?”

At that moment the front door opened and closed as Alan strode in with a confident excited gait. He had a white cardboard box in his hands as he hummed and placed the box on the table, unveiling it to reveal a My Little Pony cake with ‘Happy 4th Birthday! Nathan and Savannah’. Alan’s brows sagged at the sight of his daughter-in-law.

“What happened?”

“I … fell.”

Ethan resorted to pinching the bridge of his nose before explaining the story. The children were showing off dance moves and there was a little girl who was showing off her gymnastics ability. Alyssa thought she could show off her talent by demonstrating a cartwheel, unfortunately her cartwheel was aimed the wrong way and Alyssa landed awkwardly in a bush with her legs askew. Alan smiled at Alyssa as he realised that there was an issue of entertainment since Alyssa was planning to dress up as the kids’ favourite character, Twilight Sparkle.

“I guess that means Alyssa can’t be Twilight Sparkle.”

Sienna gave a nod and spoke up.

“Aurora, Jackie and I would do it but I don’t think there’s enough time for any of us to learn everything about My Little Pony. The kids are gonna see right through us.”

“It’s a conundrum.”

Everyone took a moment to think before Alan’s eyes twinkled with an idea.

“I have an idea. Sienna, start watching some My Little Pony, I’ll stall the kids. ‘Lyssa, where did you keep your guitar?”

Alyssa’s eyes twinkled as she informed Alan of the guitar, to which Aurora ran up to search for it. It seemed everyone knew what to do, everyone except for Ethan, who placed his hands on his hips, turning to his father.

“Would you mind clueing me into your plan?”

“A little singing will have the kids distracted while Aurora, Alyssa and Sienna get ready. The kids will love it!”

At that moment, Bryce popped his head through the glass garden doors, there’s a slight line of sweat near the crown of his neck as he nervously glances back.

“The kids are going rabid if Twilight Sparkle doesn’t come in the next five minutes.”

Aurora rushed back down and handed Alan a brown varnished acoustic guitar, a gift from Alyssa’s patient Remy. Alan hung the strap over his shoulder and strutted outside to where all the kids shrieked and yelled.

“Okay kids! Who’s gonna sing the My Little Pony theme song?”

Ethan went out and noticed all the kids sitting at their picnic blankets, bopping and singing while Alan strummed the tune of the My Little Pony theme song. Ethan and Rafael took the time to begin cleaning up the rubbish whilst Bryce, Elijah and Jackie kept an eye out for Sienna, Aurora and Alyssa. All the kids and the twins were enraptured, even Jenner was happily panting to the music. Alan was going through a list of songs going from the My Little Pony Theme Song, to the lime and coconut song and to  the rhinestone cowboy.Not long after, Alan got a thumbs up from Bryce and Jackie to which Alan smiled and announced.

“Now children! There is someone who’d like to wish two special children a Happy Birthday!”

Nathan and Savannah jumped up with excited shrieks as Alan strummed the music of the theme song and out came Twilight Sparkle. It was Sienna donning a purple sparkly dress, wings protruding from the back and a dark wig flowing off her shoulders. Her unicorn headband was fixed into the wig and her purple make-up shone in the sun as Sienna skipped towards the kids, tossing bounds of glitter.

Aurora and Jackie were helping Alyssa settle on a deck chair as the twins hugged and cried at the fact that Twilight Sparkle had come to their party. Ethan and Alyssa sent a thankful smile as Alan returned their smile, everyone’s faces warming at the twin’s excitement.

~~~~~~

Ethan used the back of his hand to wipe off the sweat on his brow as he pushed the front door of his apartment open. Baby Allison happily chewed on her yellow teether while bouncing in the baby sling, strapped across Ethan’s chest. Alyssa was working at the hospital after spending four months at home and it was Ethan’s turn to stay home with Allison. He was glad he opted for a loose linen shirt and khaki trousers as the Boston heat was slowly racking up. Ethan had gone out to buy some ingredients for their dinner: stir fried tofu and broccoli. 

Alyssa would need some good comfort food after going back to work and he knew that Chinese would delight her. He unclipped one arm strap, pressing a palm to hold up Allison before unclipping the other to carry his daughter to her high chair in the kitchen. Allison was teething so he handed her a teething ring to help Allison improve motor skills. His daughter smiled and babbled at the sight of her dad as Ethan pressed a kiss onto his daughter’s forehead.

Allison was a daddy’s girl since she would whine and cry with Alyssa, but when it came to Ethan, Allison babbled and laughed. Alyssa was sure that she would say ‘Dada’. Ethan grinned as Jenner padded into the kitchen, bringing himself up to stand on his hind legs beside Allison. The dog was protective and loving to Allison as she tried to swat at Jenner’s nose.

“Jenner, keep an eye on her.”

Jenner barked as Ethan began taking out utensils and the shopping to get started. Draining the water from the tofu and breaking up the broccoli into florets. Every so often, his eyes would wander to his little girl on the high chair. Ethan still couldn’t believe the fact that he was a father. A living breathing child was in his care, one he made with the woman he loved as his eyes glistened at the memories of her birth. Despite expecting for children to not be in the cards for him, life had a way of telling him that it was always the case.

As Ethan stared longingly at his daughter, Jenner could smell something faintly burning; turning his head to hear a loud crackle and pop. Jenner barked furiously which had Ethan snap out and realise the onions and garlic had burnt in the wok, the broccoli was charred beyond recognition as Ethan turned off the induction hob. The loud barks caused Allison to startle and little beads of tears streamed down her face.

His heart lurched as he immediately stalked to his daughter to take her in his arms and get her to settle down. It was the first time in a long time that Ethan burnt dinner as he exhaled at the time on his wrist watch. Alyssa would be home in an hour and it was too late to restart. He didn’t have enough ingredients and he couldn’t whip up something else in time for Alyssa to sink her teeth into.

At that moment his phone rang as Ethan reached into his pocket to rest the phone between his ear and shoulder, while bouncing a teary Allison in his lap.

“Ethan Ramsey.”

“Ethan.” The corner of Ethan’s lips curled upwards at the recognition of his father’s voice. “I’m just about ten minutes away from your home. Alyssa invited me to have dinner, do you need anything?”

Ethan glanced at the mess behind him, a low exhale left his lips.

“Can you please pick up some Chinese on your way here?”

It wasn’t long when Alan arrived with several bags of Chinese take out from Xing-Fu’s Restaurant. Ethan took the bags from Alan and set up the dining table while Alan took the time to talk and play with his granddaughter, Jenner wagged his tail rapidly as he watched Alan and Allison. Not long after the kitchen was clear and the dinner table was set, Alyssa had entered the apartment with a smile on her face.

She took a moment to freshen up before joining the Ramseys at the dinner table. Her eyes sparkled at the array of side dishes as she pecked Ethan’s cheek before digging rather ravenously into the food. All the tension from the day melted under the spicy heat of duck and the softness of lotus buns. Ethan and Alan share a knowing smile as they too get stuck into their meal, Allison smiles and babbles in her high chair next to Alyssa. Glad to have her mother with her.

~~~~~~

The memories faded as Ethan lifted his pen from the letter, a soft nostalgic smile brushed on his face as he pushed the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A faint sound of the front door opened as excited chirps and barking fluttered into his study. The kids, Jenner and Alyssa were home as Ethan smiles at the incoming thunder steps, spinning his office chair to the direction of the door. The twins come tumbling in and launch themselves into Ethan’s arms, not giving a chance for Ethan to pay attention to their chatter. Jenner is sitting at the entrance of the door, while Allison stands behind him with her hand scratching the top of his fur. 

“Nathan, Savannah! I cannot understand your rambling.”

“Yeah, they had a lot of pastries. Aunt Sienna made a lot of cakes and biscuits.”

Ethan shook his head with a teasing grin at the twins. The two of them hid their mouths as Nathan denied.

“No we didn’t. Ally did!”

“Liar, I saw you two take two slices of the chocolate fudge cake.”

“No! You’re dreaming Ally.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at his troublesome twins but pressed long kisses into their hair. Savannah leaned over his shoulder and noticed the pen and paper before pressing her two palms on Ethan’s face, forcing him to look directly at her as she asked.

“Are you drawing without us?”

Ethan shook his head as he explained.

“I’m making a gift for grandpa.”

“Are you gonna give it to him tomorrow?”

Before he could answer, Alyssa appeared at the door with her hands on her hips, dressed in a green cotton dress and brown knee high boots. Her mom voice was coming through as she moved her eyes between the troublesome twins.

“Nathan and Savannah. Time for bed. We’ve got to wake up early tomorrow if you want to spend the whole day with Grandpa.”

“Do we have to?”

Ethan stood up and held on to the twins as he smartly urged.

“Come on if you get dressed for bed, you can stay up late tomorrow.”

The twins gasped as they scrambled off Ethan’s arms and rushed to their bedroom to get into their pyjamas. A small smile curled up on Alyssa’s lips as she turned to the eldest Ramsey child.

“You too, Ally!”

“But Mom!”

“Come on.”

Ethan steps up to the doorway and sweetly kisses his wife as she cupped his cheek.

“You coming?”

“Just finishing up.”

Alyssa gave a nod and led her daughter away to her bedroom, Jenner obediently bounding behind them. Ethan returned to his desk to read over the last words he wrote.

Look at me now. I’m a dad.

Thank you for making me the man I am today.

Love,

Dr. Ethan J. Ramsey

[sugakookielix]

Calico: Chapter 3

Summary: It has been two weeks since Mika came to live with Yoongi, and it’s time for her to finally meet his friends

Pairing: CEO Yoongi x Calico hybrid OC. 

Mentioned Pairings: Hinted potential Bunny hybrid Jungkook x Calico OC (but not really, this fic is Yoongicentric only). Other implied pairings for the future. 

Rating: PG

Warnings: Extremely brief mention of mistreatment/abandonment, occasional swearing

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5.4k

Calico Masterlist

Credit for header goes to a friend. Original character used in the fic belongs to me. Do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other sites without my permission. If you find my work has been reposted, please let me know asap. 

AN: This update took forever, and I know that a lot of you were waiting for it. As an apology, I have decided to make this chapter longer than my others. For future updates, please let me know if you guys prefer the longer or shorter chapters. I also would like to note (Since some people have asked) that this series started off as a commission to a friend who then decided to hand over character rights and rights to finish the fic as she left the fandom. If you would like to commission a fic such as this one, the link to my commission info can be found in my masterlist. Now, before I continue rambling, hopefully you guys enjoy the update!

It had been just over a week now and Mika seemed to be adjusting perfectly. As promised, Yoongi had taken her shopping and let her grab anything she wanted to help her feel more at home. Not the easiest task, given she would grab anything he looked at or recommended but never anything by herself. Eventually, he had given in and stepped back so she would have no choice but to pick things on her own, replying “If that’s what you want,” whenever she showed him something. It concerned the male a bit that she was so dependent for everything, but he assumed it was a result of her previous ownership and hopefully she’d snap out of it over time. Not that he minded having her cling to him, but it would be extremely tricky to get anything done if Mika always asked his permission to do something as simple as watch TV. 

Another recurring issue was the obvious separation anxiety whenever Yoongi had to leave for work. Hoseok had kept his promise and came over every morning to keep an eye on her so Yoongi could leave, but it was clear the hybrid was already attached to him. Mika would whine and cling onto him until he gave her a pat on the head and promised that he would return home before dinner. Otherwise, she had to be pulled away from him physically which caused its own set of problems. Yoongi would never admit it, but it broke his heart a bit to have to leave her while she was still adjusting, but there wasn’t much else he could do. It wasn’t like he could just not show up to work for a week or two to spend time with her, and he wasn’t confident with bringing her to the office yet given how shy she was. All he could really do was promise he would return until he determined if it would be a good idea to start bringing her to work. Hell, he hadn’t even introduced her to his friends yet. 

Thankfully, it was Friday, and Yoongi could spend the weekend focused on his new hybrid instead of the new business plan he was working on. His normally organized desk was now cluttered with various documents and files, some of which he hadn’t been able to open yet. It was that time of year where the male found himself flooded with potential changes to lead the business into another successful term and it was honestly overwhelming. Partnership offers, marketing plans, managing finances, looking over reports for all of the departments; it was a lot to handle, and yet here he was forcing as much of it as he could into his shift so he didn’t have to take work home with him. Not when there was a young calico cat waiting at home that deserved his attention on his days off. Especially since weekends were the only time she was actually calm, knowing Yoongi didn’t have to go anywhere without her. Yoongi had about an hour left before he could head home, and he was determined to complete as much of this paperwork as possible, having already worked through his lunch break as well.  

A knock at his door pulled the male away from his thoughts, barely looking up from the paper in his hand as he groaned out a forced, “Come in.” 

“You’re still working on that?” Yoongi looked up to see none other than Kim Seokjin, dressed and proper as always. If people thought that Yoongi was always professional, they probably hadn’t seen his business manager. Jin always dressed to impress, with well-tailored suits that molded to his form, hair brushed back with not a stray in sight, and the subtle touches of makeup to hide any potential imperfections. It was a very stark contrast to the way the older male acted, and definitely a contrast with the way Yoongi looked at the moment. His jacket discarded on the back of his chair and a few strands of his hair falling out of place from the number of times he’s run his hand through them in the past few hours. Jin took one look at the younger male and sighed, pulling up a chair to the other side of Yoongi's desk. “You’ve been looking at these since this morning,” he said, skimming through some of the papers, “why don’t you take a break before you burn out?” 

“I want to get as much done as possible,” Yoongi replied, “it would be nice to not take work home with me again.” 

“Because of your new hybrid?” Yoongi only grunted in response, but it was all the confirmation that Jin needed. “When are we going to meet her by the way? It’s been over a week now and everyone's dying to get to know the new member of the family.” Yoongi groaned and set down the document he was holding, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. He knew the question was going to pop up sooner or later but now was not the time. 

“Don’t you have work you should be doing?” he asked. 

“Given it’s the end of the day and you have most of the work, not really. Besides Yoongichi, you look like you could use the distraction.” Yoongi groaned again, but he knew that Jin was right. He probably wasn’t going to finish this in an hour anyway so a break was probably what he needed. 

“I don’t know when you’re going to meet her,” he admitted, “she’s really shy right now and still getting used to her new home, crowding her with new faces is probably the last thing she needs.”

“Well she's going to meet us sooner or later,” Jin replied with a shrug, “what's the worst that could happen?” 

“A terrified calico cat and my house getting destroyed,” Yoongi said with a deadpan tone. Jin laughed a bit at the youngers' expression before shaking his head. 

“You say that as if we are barbarians, I’m sure everything will be fine,” he tried to assure, though his boss didn’t seem too convinced. 

“It’s not you I’m worried about, or even Taehyung, since I know you’ll be gentle, it’s the other hybrids I’m worried about. Jungkook is hyper and practically twice her size, Jimin is physically affectionate, and when Namjoon isn’t accidentally breaking everything he can be very intimidating. Does putting them in a room together with a very anxious kitten actually sound like a good idea to you?” Perhaps Yoongi was being overprotective, but he had seen first hand how scared Mika gets by the tiniest of sounds, so her being scared by other hybrids was inevitable. Still, Jin seemed dead set on convincing him that letting them meet her was a good idea. 

“Aish, you’re overreacting,” the older chided, “no ones going to pounce on her. She’ll have to meet us at some point, better sooner than later.” Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll think about it,” that seemed to be enough to please the older, as he quickly excused himself before leaving Yoongi's office. The blonde sighed and ran his hand through his hair before looking up at the clock, it seemed that their conversation took longer than he thought as it was about time to pack up. His eyes glanced at the scattered papers on his desk before sighing, organizing them into one pile and placing them in the top drawer of his desk, already dreading having to come back to all of that work on Monday. Still, he promised himself that he wouldn’t take work home and would enjoy his weekend, so that’s what he was going to do. With a tired sigh, he stood from his chair and stretched, feeling his back pop a bit from staying in one spot for too long. Flinging his jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his things, he quickly scanned his office to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything before stepping out, locking the door, and making his way down the hall. A few of his workers paused to bow and tell him good evening, but he only gave them a slight bow of acknowledgment in return. Yoongi wasn’t really in the mood for conversation right now, he just wanted to go home and rest. 

It was silent when he finally stepped through the door of his apartment, kicking his shoes off and calling out a soft, “I’m home.” Another few seconds of silence passed before Hoseok popped out from the kitchen. 

“I was getting hungry so decided to make dinner, hope you don’t mind!” he said with a soft smile. Yoongi smiled back and shook his head. 

“Not at all,” he walked over to his friend before pausing and looking around again, “where’s Mika?” 

“Taking a nap on the couch,” the younger replied, returning his attention to the stovetop, “she’s been out for a while though so she’ll probably wake up in a few minutes.” Yoongi hummed in acknowledgment and took a seat at the counter. He groaned softly as he rested his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. “Rough day?” Hoseok asked without looking back. 

“Just busy,” The older mumbled, hearing his friend hum in acknowledgment. Hoseok knew better than to pry on work matters, which Yoongi was grateful for. He didn’t want to talk about it, or at least the actual work part of it. The conversation with Jin replayed in his mind, and Yoongi questioned if he should bring the idea up to Hoseok. After all, he knew more about hybrids than any of them, so his advice could be useful. “I spoke with Jin-hyung today,” he said, easily grabbing the younger attention. 

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok replied, “what about?”

“Mika,” when he didn’t get a reply, Yoongi took that as a sign to continue, “he said everyone's getting pretty anxious to meet her and that I should introduce them soon.” Hoseok hummed softly in thought, turning off the stove and beginning to fill three plates so they could all eat together. 

“What did you tell them?” he asked after another moment. 

“I said I wasn’t sure,” Yoongi lifted his head to properly face the younger, “I mean, I know they have to meet her at some point but she’s so shy that I don’t really know if it’s a good idea.”

“I’m guessing that you are asking because you want my advice? I mean, Hyung does have a point that she will have to meet them eventually if you want her to stick around, and she seems to be adjusting well to living with you. I’d say that as long as you are right there with her, and she has a place to escape if she gets scared, then it should be fine.” He didn’t even have to look at Yoongi to know the older still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head as he walked over with two of the plates, having to make a second trip for the third. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi said softly, beginning to pick at some of the vegetables as Hoseok took a seat beside him. 

“Why don’t you just ask Mika what she thinks?” Hoseok asked, “explain what will happen to her and let her decide when she is comfortable enough to meet them. If you do it on her terms then it will probably have a better outcome.” Yoongi shrugged softly. 

“I guess,” as if on cue, he felt two small arms wrap around him from behind, a soft tuft of white and orange fur tickling his cheek as the young cat curled up against him. 

“You’re home!” Mika purred, nuzzling her head against Yoongi's neck. Said male chuckled and reached to scratch at her head for a moment. 

“Why hello sleepy head,” Yoongi teased, “have a nice nap?” Mika yawned softly and nodded, still half asleep. It was very obvious that she had just woken up; eyes partly closed, hair falling messily in her face, and her tail swaying lazily under the oversized sweater she was wearing. As soft and precious as always, it was a wonder Yoongi hadn’t completely melted in her presence yet. She stayed curled up against Yoongi for a bit longer before he reluctantly pulled away. He was slowly opening up to how physically affectionate she was, but it still made him feel awkward at times, especially when someone else was around. “Why don’t you sit down before dinner gets cold, I need my arms to eat after all.” Mika pouted a bit but nodded and quickly climbed into the chair next to him, not hesitating to dig into her food. Both males laughed at her before returning to their own food, the conversation between them forgotten. 

Hoseok left shortly after dinner, patting Yoongi on the shoulder and giving Mika a side hug before bidding them a good night. The pair migrated to the living room shortly after, Yoongi scrolling through the tv channels while Mika distracted herself with one of her toys. The soft jingle of a bell echoed through the room, coming from the soft ball that she was pawing at and pushing around the rug, letting her cat side start to take over. Occasionally, Yoongi would glance down at her and just watch silently, thinking about what Hoseok said. Would she want to meet the others? The more he thought about it, the more it couldn’t hurt to try his luck. “Hey Kitten,” he called softly, “come here for a moment.” Mika perked up and immediately made her way over to the couch, taking a seat beside him. “How would you feel about possibly making new friends?” 

“New friends?” Mika asked, cocking her head to the side and giving him a confused look. Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as he nodded. 

“I have a few close friends that would love to come and meet you. They own hybrids as well so you could have new playmates. They are a bit hyper though so I wanted to make sure you were ready before inviting them over,” he explained. Mikas' ears twitched slightly and she looked down for a moment. Yoongi frowned when he saw that, immediately thinking the worst. 

“What if they don’t like me?” not the response Yoongi was expecting, though he probably should have. 

“Of course they’ll like you,” he assured, “I’m sure once you get used to them they’ll love you.” Mika looked up at him to try and see if he was lying. He wasn’t, he was sure that they would like her, the issue was whether or not she would like them. After seeing that he was being honest, the hybrid softly nodded. 

“Okay,” she said softly, “when are they coming over?” Yoongi felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“I’ll talk to them tonight and see, probably sometime this weekend,” he was already pulling out his phone to text Jin, knowing he would pass the news onto Taehyung for him. Mika watched him for a moment before deciding that she wanted his attention again. A soft huff left the female as she slid closer to Yoongi, gently tugging at his arm and successfully getting his attention. 

“Cuddles?” she asked. Yoongi bit his lip to keep from smiling as he lifted his arm so she could snuggle up against him. Mika immediately curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist. The male could feel her purring against him after a few seconds, shaking his head as he let his arm fall around her. 

“You’re very clingy you know,” he mused. The response he got was her nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, mumbling something he couldn’t quite hear. “What was that? I can’t hear you.” He expected her to move and repeat herself, but she made no effort to do so. Her tail brushed against his hand as she relaxed, purring continued as her eyes fluttered shut. Yoongi realized that she was falling asleep and shook his head. If he was being honest, he envied the cat hybrid for being able to fall asleep when and wherever she wanted. He was lucky to get five hours of sleep on any given day with how hectic his schedule was. Yoongi quickly finished up his text conversation and set his phone down. After a brief debate on if he should stay or wake the sleeping hybrid, he carefully wrapped his arms around Mika and stood up. It was a bit of a struggle to lift her since he wasn’t the strongest, but she was thankfully light enough for him to carry to bed without much issue. Yoongi gently set the Calico down on the mattress and placed the blankets over top of her before going and getting ready for bed himself, making sure the doors were cracked a bit so Mika could wake him easily if she needed anything. 

After texting Taehyung and Jin, they all decided to come over for dinner the following evening. Hoseok had to work, but he said he would stop by for a bit if he could. Yoongi had spent the day cleaning so his place would be presentable for their guests while Mika ran around and did her own thing. He had also decided to just order takeout for everyone so he didn’t have to spend hours cooking for potentially eight people. Plus, he wanted to avoid going to the store at the moment and leaving Mika alone in the house. She still didn’t have a proper collar, only a standard black one that he doubted was comfortable given how often she picked at it. Yoongi felt bad and tried his best not to take her out in public too often until he could get her one that was of better quality. Since most higher quality collars were more expensive, many people just bought simple ones and only made their hybrid wear it in public. Money wasn’t an issue for Yoongi though, and he knew when the time was right that he would get Mika one that was special. 

The sound of knocking snapped Yoongi's attention to the door, apparently catching Mikas as well since she was clinging to him in an instant, hiding behind his slightly larger frame. He knew she was nervous, but hopefully, she would calm down once she saw them. “Relax,” he muttered, reaching behind himself to pat her head softly, “everything will be fine.” That didn’t seem to help much as the calico was still clinging to his arm when he opened the door, revealing Jin and Namjoon. 

“I know we’re a bit early, but I was too excited,” Jin said with a smile. Yoongi nodded and opened the door further to let them both in. 

“Figured as much,” he replied, closing the door and trying to pry the scared cat from his arm. If it was physically possible, Mika had curled up even more when she saw the new guests. Not that anyone could really blame her though, since there was now a large and intimidating wolf hybrid standing a few meters away from her. As sweet and as clumsy as Namjoon was, he could be very scary upon first glance. He knew it as well since he was actively trying to distance himself from the pair while Jin tried his best to get a look at the young girl. Yoongi had already explained how she might act to them so they would know how to better act around her. At least until she got comfortable with their presence. 

Jin bent down a bit so that he was eye level with Mika, waving and giving her a soft smile, “Hi, I’m Jin and this is Namjoon, it’s nice to finally meet you.” She stayed silent for a moment before Yoongi gently nudged her. 

“I’m Mika,” she whispered, so quietly that even Yoongi struggled to hear her. Jin couldn’t help but coo a bit at how adorable she was.

“Aren’t you precious, don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he assured. It was easy to notice now Mika's eyes darted to Namjoon for a moment before hesitantly nodding. Still, her grip on Yoongi never loosened and he was starting to worry that she would accidentally rip his sleeve. 

“Come on, let’s go sit down in the living room while we wait for everyone else,” he urged, already beginning to walk. He knew Mika would move with him and Jin and Namjoon would follow after so there was no point in waiting. It was another struggle to get Mika to let go so that he could sit down, but they eventually managed to get her to sit without trying to cling to him. Even if she was still curled up into a ball; her ears pressed against her head and her arms wrapped around her legs. Jin remained standing while Namjoon made himself comfortable in another chair. It was barely noticeable at first, but he was doing his best to remain calm so that he would be seen as approachable. With their advanced senses, hybrids could easily pick up scents that went unnoticed by their human companions. It was oftentimes how they picked up on certain emotions or detected threats. Namjoon was also still keeping his distance, wanting the cat hybrid to approach him first. This seemed to work as she relaxed after a few minutes, staring at the wolf curiously. Yoongi and Jin were so caught up in their own conversation that it shocked them when Mika finally spoke up. 

“What do wolves do for fun?” she asked, causing the two humans in the room to stop and stare at her. Namjoon thought over it for a moment before looking up at her. 

“Well, I can’t speak for all wolves, but I like to read in my free time. I also accompany Jin-hyung to work a lot so I’ll help him there when I can,” he said. 

“Namjoon is a pup at heart,” Jin cut in, “don’t let him fool you, he’s also very playful.”

“And clumsy,” Yoongi added. 

“Yah! It’s not like I try to break things, it just happens!” Namjoon whined. Yoongi rolled his eyes and chuckled a bit in response. Mika seemed to get bored with this conversation and decided to change the subject. 

“Does Jin work with Yoongi?” she asked. 

“I do,” the male in question replied, “he is my boss.” Mika looked up at him in awe when he said this. 

“Yoongi is really the boss?” the shocked tone in her voice caused the blonde to pout. 

“I told you I was the boss the day I met you,” he reminded, “did you not believe me?” Mika blinked up at him for a moment before shaking her head. Jin held a hand to his mouth as he tried not to laugh, Yoongi giving him an unamused expression. “Why exactly would I not be the boss?” he asked.

“Because normally bosses are mean and scary, and you’re too nice!” At this, both Jin and Namjoon burst out laughing, confusing Mika and annoying Yoongi. 

“Yoongi? Nice? That’s a first!” Jin teased, causing the other to roll his eyes. 

“Oh hush,” he groaned before turning back to his hybrid, “you know that not all bosses are mean right? Hobi is the boss at the shelter, and he isn’t mean.”

“But Hobi is fun and doesn’t wear suits to work every day,” Mika pointed out. This effectively confused Yoongi as he tried to process what exactly she was implying. 

“I’m guessing she doesn’t go out much?” Namjoon asked. 

“Not yet, no,” Yoongi confirmed, “Obviously I can only speak for the past two weeks, but we haven’t gone out much.” Both Jin and Namjoon nodded, knowing what he was implying and not wanting to bring up a potentially touchy subject. If Mika did realize, she probably didn’t understand properly as she spoke up again. 

“I was told hybrids weren’t supposed to go out much,” she said, referring to her previous owner, “the last time I went out we went to the park and then I ended up at the shelter.” Everyone froze at what she said, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, they didn’t have to worry as another loud knock echoed through the house, followed by another series of loud knocks. Yoongi sighed softly and excused himself as he went to answer the door. The second he opened the door, he was almost knocked over from the force of two hybrids pouncing onto him. 

“Hyung!” both males shouted, nuzzling against Yoongi who was still trying to regain his balance. 

“We missed you,” Jungkook said. 

“Yeah yeah, you literally saw me two days ago,” Yoongi muttered, “get off.” He pushed both males off of him as Taehyung stepped inside, giving his friend a huge smile. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be excited to see you!” Jimin argued. 

“Whatever,” Yoongi straightened out his sweater before closing the door, “come on, everyone else is waiting in the living room.” When they entered the room in question, everyone was in the same position they had been left in. Jin was busy laughing at something, likely another one of his awful jokes, Mika was looking at him confused, and Namjoon was trying not to laugh himself. At the sound of footsteps, both hybrids' ears twitched as they turned to the source of the sound. Namjoon waved at the group while Mika gave them all a shy smile. 

“Awe,” Taehyung cooed as he dropped to his knees in front of her, “aren’t you adorable? I’m TaeTae!” Mika flinched back a bit but nodded in acknowledgment. At least this time she didn’t immediately try to cower behind Yoongi. Well, that was until Jungkook and Jimin excitedly bound over to her, quickly jumping up on the couch. 

“Hi, I’m Jungkook!”

“Hi, I’m Jimin!” both hybrids spoke over each other, their energy immediately startling the smaller feline as she yelped and rolled off the couch. Within seconds, she had dashed past the group and back over to Yoongi, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his shoulder while muttering something about being too loud. Yoongi sighed heavily, ‘not again.’

“Yah!” Jin scolded, “we literally just got her to stop hiding and you had to come in and scare her again!” The two in question pouted a bit and lowered their heads, Jungkooks ears flopping down a bit. 

“Sorry Mika,” Taehyung apologized for them. 

“They’re just excited,” Namjoon explained calmly, “don’t worry, no one's going to hurt you.” Yoongi wrapped his arms around the girl softly before whispering to her. 

“They’re idiots, just ignore them and they’ll calm down eventually.” 

“We can still hear you!” Jungkook exclaimed, making the other roll his eyes. Still, the laugh he got from Mika was worth it. 

“Come on,” Yoongi encouraged, “we still have a few hours before dinner, why don’t we sit down and you can meet everyone properly.” He waited for confirmation from Mika before he pulled away enough to lead her back to the couch. The others would definitely tease him for being soft later, but he didn’t care. 

After a few hours, everyone calmed down enough and Mika actually felt comfortable being around the group. She was still a bit on edge and didn’t engage in conversation very much, but she did occasionally speak up or ask questions. Hoseok had decided to drop by as well which helped a lot, helping push Mika to interact more and not be shy. At one point, she had even allowed Taehyung to pet her, nuzzling into his hand a bit as he ran his fingers through her multicolored hair. They had all just finished dinner and were now winding down to watch a movie and relax before calling it a night. Yoongi, Jin, and Taehyung were tidying up in the kitchen, while the hybrids and Hoseok were playing in the living room. It was really just Jungkook and Jimin though since Mika was too shy to move and Namjoon knew better than to try and wrestle the younger boys. 

Mika was on the floor with one of her bells, tossing it around softly as the others did their own thing. Jungkook and Jimin were play fighting a little bit away, having already failed at trying to throw the bell with her. Hoseok was leaning on the back of the couch as he watched, about to say something when he heard his name being called from the kitchen. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, “try not to break anything while I am gone.” He heard a mutual hum of acknowledgment as he walked away, leaving the hybrids alone. Jungkook watched for a moment to make sure he was gone before making his way over to Mika with a smirk. Of course, she noticed, looking up at him with a questioning glance. 

“Can I see the bell?” he asked, causing the felines' expression to shift. 

“No,” Jungkook pouted a bit, trying to reach for the toy as Mika pulled it back. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s mine and I don’t want to give it to you.”

“That’s mean, I just want to see it.” Mika huffed and held her hand out to show off the bell. 

“There, now you see it,” she said with a smirk of her own. Jungkook glanced at her before chuckling. Moving faster than she could react, he snatched the item from her hand and darted back to Jimin on the other side of the room. Mika blinked in shock for a few moments before realizing what just happened, “Hey! That’s not fair!” 

“Not my fault you weren’t quick enough,” Jungkook teased, laughing a bit as Mika glared at him, “if you want it so badly, why don’t you come get it?” The catgirl hissed for a moment before crawling over and trying to grab the toy from Jungkook, who only held it higher in response. “Really Jungkook?” she was clearly unamused by whatever game the bunny was trying to play. 

“Jungkook-” Jimin tried to interject but the younger only shook his head at him. 

“I already told you, if you want it then take it,” he pushed, dangling the toy over Mikas' head. She tried to grab for it again, only for him to pull it away at the last second, causing her to groan. Her tail began to sway behind her as she backed away slightly, ears pressing back against her head. Jimin, who realized what was happening, quickly tried to interject and grab the bell back, only for Jungkook to push him away as well, glancing at him and mouthing ‘Trust me.’ Namjoon had also picked up on what was going on and began to get involved as well. 

“Jungkook…” before he could get his full warning out, Mika had pounced onto the bunny hybrid, successfully knocking him back. Jungkook gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, but regained himself before she could grab the bell out of his hands, tossing the item to the side as he flipped their position so he was the one pinning her down. The commotion immediately alerted the attention of those in the kitchen who immediately ran out. Yoongi and Taehyung panicked and immediately tried to run over and break the two up. They were stopped however by Hoseok holding his arm out in front of them. 

“The hell Hoseok?” Yoongi hissed, to which the younger shushed him. 

“Relax and watch,” Hoseok whispered back. Yoongi huffed but did as he was told, biting at his nail to calm himself down. Sure enough, Mika quickly regained herself and managed to push Jungkook off of her, dashing after the bell once she was free. The bunny was still quicker though and beat her to it, hitting the toy away so they were both chasing after it. After a minute, the sound of laughter filled the room as both hybrids wrestled and chased after the small object, Jimin getting involved shortly after. Both owners immediately relaxed when they noticed this, Hoseok smiling at them proudly. “See, they’re just playing! Nothing to be worried about.” Yoongi couldn’t help but smile at the sight in front of him, happy that they seemed to get along. 

“Looks like we’ll be over for playdates a lot more,” Taehyung whispered. 

Yoongi's smile widened as he nodded, “Looks like it.” 

Twitter: SugaKookieBias

AO3: SugaKookieBias

Tag List: None ATM. If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or message me

[gdsplay]

As a ot5 vip you do come off as very mean but I still follow your account becuz you are one of the active vips on here where I can get content even if it Seungri isn’t posted. I don’t agree with what you say a lot but I can say the least that I am not happy with ot5 vips behavior and the manipulation they hold on those who decides to not support Seungri. They don’t get to decide who is a real fan and who isn’t. I respect ot4 choice even if it saddens me. I just want bigbang back 4 or 5. I can respect their choice to as a group even if my heart will always beat for 5 members. I think that if ot5 vips could also respect ot4 and bigbang choice it wouldn’t be so harsh in the fandom. I know not all ot4 are rude. I just want the unity of both sides back. Both sides need to be mature and respect each other’s feelings without forcing agendas on each other and belittling one another

I’m aware that I have some ot5 followers even with my anti-ot5 posts or content I don’t care who follows, I don’t sit here and police who can and who can’t follow me. I’m not going to change that for anyone. It’s fortunate to see one take accountability for the fandoms behavior. I’ve never seen that side of the fandom ever admit or take responsibility relaxing how awful their behavior is. It’s hard to respect that fandom’s attitude and feelings when they constantly harass, bully, manipulate and force their agenda down your throat instead of just ‘respect’ (like you mentioned). They aren’t respected 99.9% of the time when they can’t keep quiet and accept that people aren’t going to be there anymore for Seungri wnd fight for him when it isn’t something morally right to fight for without ot5’s written threads preaching the same bullshit agenda which make ot4 irritated. Most don’t even care anymore about him and chose to move on with his departure from the group. That is what ot5 vips need to accept and do the same, move on, accept his departure and retirement. Come to reality that bigbang is not 5 people anymore. Quit policing and revoking fans ‘vip card’ because you can’t come to terms with this. None of you get to invalidate those feelings of vips who feel wronged and devastated by him. It’s not your call or say how someone should feel about it. Support seungri all ya want but quit forcing everyone and their mom to do the same. It’s disgusting to watch that side of the fandom bully fans away, it’s not something to be proud of. You’re not catching big bangs attention or approval. That’s just toxic Stan behavior. Maybe ot4 wouldn’t be so overwhelmed and ‘mean’ if they didn’t have to deal with the constant harassment. The batshit crazy ot5 vips is what brings out of nasty side of ot4.

If they want to act nasty then I’ll give it right back to them. They don’t like it when we give them a taste of their own medicine, I would assume they would change their attitudes and act how they’d like to be treated so then the fandom could be more civil. I’ve never came across any civil ot5 vip they’re all toxic and act the same. Change my mind.

(P.s there is no reason to defend Seungri as hard as his fans are willing to go. None of you listen or read the right material. Only a biased POV. You cannot listen to a biased view of this incident or else you will be fed the wrong information like seungri fans continue to do. You whine and cry to stay away from allkpop, koreaboo and soompi yet I’ve seen so many of you use all news resources when it benefits your agenda. They only use the threads that are made by his fans that leave out important information, actual charges, seungri admitting two years ago what he did and using people who were involved, worked with him and interacted with him that testified. I’ve seen them use JJY as proof that he’s ‘’innocent’’. It’s ridiculous how far of lengths they’ll go for this rat.

[megashadowdragon]

me  since book 1 of legend of korra when  ever people try to claim mako was a womanizer, gary stu ( which requires a misunderstanding of what a gary stu is nad  makos character   people have thrown that term around to any character they dont like ) , or creators pet , manipulator    ,  when that was never the case     ( he never was  mako is a human being who makes mistakes the narrative always acknowledged his flaws as things that needed to be worked on the idea that if a character makes mistakes and isnt specifically punished for them and good things happen to him afterwards   its rewarding him for his flaws is nonsense    the claim that he needed to suffer or have good things taken from him is bs  korra was just as responsible for the love triangle as mako and claim that mako ending the show single was karma is nonsense he shouldnt be punished for not being perfect and making mistakes ( which is why korrasami only became popular due to the hate for mako and a desire for lgbt rep not due to any actual chemistry or because it would make sense ( korrasami was thrown in at the last minute as a retcon and publicity stunt/political statement optimistic view : bryke genuinely thought they would be doing good  and helping people  they compromised the story  narrative by throwing it in at last minute  cynical  publicity stunt either way they tried to cover their asses by casting aspersions on critics

the narrative they made led to the idea korra would end the show single with possibly a hint to makorra getting back together I cant help but rolly my eyes when I think how certain fans would react to that there would be claims of queerbaiting when they queerbaited themselves nothing hinted at korrasami the only way you could see evidence is if you were wearing shipping goggles or ending up unhappy to be frank I would change  ) (  and this was the case ever since I watched b1 ( I was part of the fndm since the first episode came out)

“Censorship explains why we couldn’t get a kiss and an “I love you” in the finale or blatant romantic scenes, not the utter lack of Korra-Asami interaction as a whole. They had six (to six and a half) minutes of interaction in the last season, spread out over six interactions/conversations. They’ve had nearly no on-screen interaction since “Long Live the Queen,” actually. They had the 5 second “I can come to the South Pole” convo in “Korra Alone” (which Korra refused), the single letter, their interactions in “Reunions,” and then the tea scene in “Remembrances.” After that, they don’t speak again until the last two minutes of the finale. The episode after “Remembrances” is the Korra-Mako field trip to the Spirit Wilds and Zaheer’s prison and the culmination of Korra’s recovery arc. Where was Asami? She had two lines in the whole episode, and they were both to Varrick.”

the aspersions Bryan cast on the fandom for not accepting what amounted to a last-minute retcon have been functioning (whether intentionally or not) to shield the creators from any criticism for their own fault in the poor execution of their endgame ship, allowing them to take all of the credit for being “subversive” and none of the blame for breaking their existing narrative to do it.

fantastic-nonsense . tumblr . com/post/105933518980

fantastic-nonsense . tumblr . com/post/112100564400                         

fantastic-nonsense . tumblr . com/post/105933518980

it often feels that 

I never liked prince wu and the only reason  some people liked him  was because he bothered mako  if I could change prince wu I would follow what ikkinthekitsune said to have mako happy 

ikkinthekitsune . tumblr . com/post/147464055579/considering-you-understandably-have-some-issues

Biggest change to the initial setup?  No Prince Wu.  Instead of an obnoxious overgrown child of a Prince, our heir apparent is introverted, lacks the confidence to refuse just about anything, and is terrified of being in front of crowds.  He’s the (implied-to-be illegitimate) child of a distant relative of Hou-Ting and a Republic City citizen.  Oh, and he’s all of ten years old.  In other words, everything about him screams “Raiko chose this kid as a convenient puppet” (instead of offhandedly implying it once and forgetting about it as was done with Wu). All of the time Wu wastes on comic relief in After All These Years is used to explain the political situation: the prince is a figurehead meant to display the trappings of royalty and legitimize Raiko’s chosen advisors.  Kuvira’s supporters hate him not just because he’s royalty but also because they think he’s essentially giving the Earth Kingdom away to an imperialistic foreign power.  Mako’s there to protect him both because Raiko ordered him to and because he’s one of the few cops the prince is comfortable around; as such, Mako actually feels bad for the kid and wants to protect him. (This prince is legitimately terrified by the scary adults throwing pies at him and bursts into tears as soon as they’re out of harm’s way.  Mako comforts him and makes him feel a little better.) Korra Alone is close to perfect and stays pretty much as-is, albeit with Korra’s loss in the Earth Rumble ring being far less embarrassing – she gets some hits in, and the end makes it even clearer how distracted she was by Dark Avatar Korra. The Coronation follows up on the political changes.  Instead of being all excited about how awesome he thinks the ceremony is going to be, the prince is afraid – of being on stage (Mako assures him he’ll do fine), of being king (Raiko assures him that his advisers will do all the work), and of Kuvira (Raiko assures him that she’ll step down).  The prince thanks Kuvira and lets her speak the way Wu did in the show, except that it’s sort of implied that he’s looking for an excuse to not have to stay up at the podium for longer than necessary.  Kuvira, of course, uses the opportunity to take over… and specifically points to Raiko’s use of the prince to control the Earth Kingdom as a reason why she’s justified in doing so.  (The prince hides behind Mako when this happens.  =( )  Some of the time saved by not having Wu freak out about the loss of his throne is used to show us the meeting of the world leaders, where they talk about why they think Kuvira is dangerous (she’s very with-me-or-against-me) and what they can do to stop her (not much as long as she limits her ambitions to the Earth Kingdom).

The Republic City part of Reunion is way more tense because Team Avatar are looking for a terrified kidnapped child instead of an aggravating jerk.  (The prince still gets to ask Korra to go into the Avatar State because he wants to see her eyes glow, but it’s actually kind of endearing since he’s a little kid.)

and only people who wouldnt like it is mako haters who demonize him for being a human being who makes mistakes and twists him to be something he isnt  to point where they claim bs things like claiming he called asami a leech when no it was a figure of speech it was avatar equivalent to ripping off a bandaid.

or whining that he was a bit of a jerk at the start or not immediately nice ( when mako is someone who unlike bolin has an icy demeanor and is wary of bringing new people in to circle  but when you are in he will die for you he has been compared to zuko minus angst for a reason  he was a jerk with a heart of gold he isnt going to be immediately friendly with people  like bolin 

 ( I cant help but think of the people who would say zuko should have suffered at the end   )

[psycho-slytherin]

Bonus chapter: Truth or Dare

Thanks to @minprismpowermakeup for the idea~ <3

Context: This takes place around Strangers ch. 33, after y/n and Yoongi have begun filming Moon Over the Sea. This content is not relevant to the main Strangers plot. 

WC: 1.8k love it when a bonus chapter is longer than some actual content

|mlist|

A/N: Namjoon really wrecked me during the awards stages ok I’m not projecting I’m just projecting

“Okay, y/n, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you yawn, making yourself comfortable. You’re sleepy, it’s past two in the morning, and you don’t wanna get up.

“Anyone got a good one for the token ARMY?” Hoseok asks, looking around at the other members sprawled on various pieces of furniture and carpet. You stick your tongue out at Hoseok on hearing your title.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” Seokjin asks from below you, tipping a mostly-empty beer bottle at you.

“I already answered that, and no.” You swat the eldest member, who’s laying on the couch with his head in your lap. “Bitch, I just ended a relationship and webcomics continue to convince me that men are trash. Besides, I barely get to sleep– when am I gonna have time to catch feelings?”

“Blehhh, boring.”

“I can drink if y’all can’t think of anything,” you say, already reaching for the bottle to refill your wine glass. Hey, you were feeling classy tonight.

“No, wait, wait, I have one!” Jungkook leans forward eagerly. “Have you ever written... fanfiction?”

Ah, shit.

You press your lips together to keep a straight face. Lately it seems you’ve been using more of your acting skills when you spend time with the boys than you do for school and work combined. “Have I ever, at any point, written fanfiction for any fandom? Yes.”

“Was it…” Jungkook leans even closer, his long hair almost hitting you in the face. “BTS fanfiction?”

You smile, choosing your words carefully. “Unfortunately, Kookie dearest, I already answered my truth.”

“She’s avoiding the question!” Jungkook hollers, far too loudly for the time of night. “You guys know what that means~”

It’s as though all signs of sleepiness have vanished– every member sits up, and with Jin’s weight off, you realize your legs have fallen asleep. 

“C’mon, guys…” you’re met with seven pairs of eager eyes, focusing on your favorite. “Et tu, Yoongs?”

A corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns upward in that oh-so-familiar smirk. “What can I say– I’ve got a cat’s curiosity.”

“Don’t let Holly hear that,” you reply, tossing a pillow at him. He snatches it out of the air without moving from his curled-up position in his favorite armchair. You’re reminded again of how he’s so adorable when he looks that small.

“So?” Jimin asks eagerly. “Have you ever written fanfiction about us?”

You could lie. God knows it would be easy. But the far more fun option wouldn’t be lying… it would simply be not telling the truth.

“I would love to answer that, but unfortunately it’s not my turn anymore,” you reply airily, delighting in the boys’ groans. “So, Joon, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Namjoon replies, his eyes confident. He really could bring anyone to their knees with just a glance. As your first bias, Namjoon has always had a special effect on you.

“I dare you to let Kookie and Tae tickle you.”

“Wait, what?”

You check your watch. “For, say, one minute.”

Namjoon backs away nervously from the predatory advance of the maknaes, all signs of bravado gone. “C’mon… ah, y/n, this is too cruel…”

“Who was it that dared me to drink a shot of soy sauce?” You ask smugly. “And who dared me to catcall Jin?” Your plan is to distract the boys, and luckily you have plenty of material to work with. Namjoon especially always seems perfectly sadistic when assigning dares.

“As if you weren’t thinking that stuff anyways,” Seokjin says dismissively.

You roll your eyes, focusing on the leader’s imminent torture. “One minute, starting… now!”

At your signal, Taehyung and Jungkook leap like feral dogs upon Namjoon, who falls to the floor with a thump, laughing uncontrollably: “Ah! Guys! S-sto-ah!”

You sit back in satisfaction as the clock winds down, figuring you’ve suitably distracted your friends from their original prey. 

Your hopes are dashed soon enough. Namjoon gets back up, fire in his eyes. “Y/n.”

Dammit. “Yes, Namjoon?”

“Truth or dare?”

Well, what does he think? “Dare.” Obviously. You’d die before letting them read the stories that you, in your lust-addled fangirl’s mind, wrote so long ago. 

“I dare you to give Yoongi hyung a hickey.”

Wait, what? “Yo, Joon, that’s not cool–” Yoongi is quick to complain, but Namjoon silences him with a raised hand. Meanwhile you’re frozen to your seat, feeling as though all your blood has simultaneously rushed into your face and fled your body entirely. Sure, you guys have toed the line of what’s proper during these late-night games, and as the only woman you’ve tended to get the brunt of it, but to give Yoongi a hickey? To press your lips, your tongue, your teeth to his smooth skin?

Now that you think about it, you’re pretty sure you’ve written that into a fanfic at some point anyways.

“Dude. No.” You say, at last finding your voice. “C’mon, that’s ridiculous.” You spare a glance at Yoongi, who you can tell is trying to keep a straight face. Still his clenched jaw and rapid blinking give away his anxiety, and– no. You couldn’t do something like that to Yoongi, who so clearly would hate it.

Namjoon raises a brow, his expression void of mercy. “You could always choose truth.”

You laugh nervously. You didn’t anticipate this, and now… “Can I take a drink instead?”

The leader shakes his head. When he speaks, it’s as though his voice is made of steel. When did he become so intense? “Nope. Truth or dare. Pick one.”

You inhale deeply. Dammit, Yoongs, you owe me one. “Truth.”

Immediately all tension melts from Namjoon’s gaze, and he breaks into the dorky grin you’re so familiar with. “Yes! Quick, guys, before she changes her mind!”

Your eyes widen. “No, wait–”

Hoseok pounces. “Have you ever written BTS fanfiction, and if so, what was it about?”

Fucking hell. You’ll get Joon back for this. 

“Uh…” Should you lie? Every instinct is telling you to steer the boys as far from the truth as possible. Still, you’re buzzed, and it’s late, and–

“Yes. I have.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, his nose scrunched as he slaps the couch. “I knew it!” The others celebrate in similar fashions:

“Ten bucks says it’s a ship fic!”

“Reader insert, it has to be.”

“Have you guys even heard Emo Y/n? I bet it’s super sad.”

You snatch Jungkook’s drink out of his hand and take a swig. You’re starting to realize you’re gonna need something stronger than wine if you want to survive the night. “How do you guys even know those terms? Who’s been corrupting you with Tumblish?”

“Twitter,” Taehyung replies, shuffling over and draping himself over the back of the couch, his head resting on your shoulder. “ARMYs kept tagging us, they thought we never saw.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi staring at the ground, smiling softly, his fingers laced together. Huh.

In the meantime, the remaining members have continued with their buzzword arguments. You begin petting Tae’s soft hair absentmindedly while waiting for the others to calm down and hopefully forget this entire conversation by morning.

“It’s probably crack.”

“No, fluff!”

“Angst, I told you!”

Jimin suddenly pipes up, his voice sleepy and soft. “What if it’s… smut?”

A hush falls over the room, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t remember writing anything explicit, most romance scenes were mainly innocent, full of vague implications of other goings-on…

Wait. Your eyes widen. You did write that one scene, on a dare from Lisa… fuck. You rack your brain– what was it? You wrote it almost four years ago, you can hardly remember. It was about Namjoon, right? He was your bias around that time. 

“Y/n, would you ever write smut?”

“Ha, maybe if someone paid me!”

“Ooh! Is that a promise?”

It was all a joke, but you did end up posting it on your Tumblr at some point or another, classifying it as dumb and crackheaded. Regardless, that means it’s online. And that means…

They could find it.

“Y/n-ie?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your eyes and you jump, nearly colliding with him. “You zoned out for a bit~”

“S-Sorry.” You notice the boys are all still looking at you. “What?”

“Your truth. What was your fanfiction about?”

You sieze on the vague question. “Well, funny you should ask, I think I wrote one about Hobi here going to space, which was–”

“The hell? Did I die?” Hoseok whines. “Y/n, you traitor–”

“Wait, so you’ve written more than one?” Yoongi interrupts.

“I mean…” that’s safe to say, right? “Yes.”

Namjoon taps your shoulder. “Have you ever written smut?”

Jeez, what was with his confidence tonight? “I–”

“If you tell us the truth, we’ll make Joon hyung rap Expensive Girl,” Hoseok sings, swinging a shoe in his hand. Wait, is that your-

“Huh? Hold up, hold up, that wasn’t part of the deal!” Namjoon’s facade quickly fades in liu of genuine terror. 

Yoongi slowly rises for the first time that night, his grin nothing short of malicious. “You wanna play sadistic games? If Y/n completes her truth, you have to do that dare.”

“Y/n, I changed my mind, don’t tell us,” Namjoon begs, turning to you.

Oh. Oh, the power coursing through your veins. Either way, you win. You could keep your dark secret, or torture Namjoon just a little bit more. What a glorious choice to have.

“You know what?” You drain your wine glass, the alcohol lending you courage. Namjoon wanted to make you give Yoongi a hickey, he deserves this. And you were younger, a simple fangirl– besides, it’s not like they’re going to ask you to read it. “Yes. I did write a smut fic once. And you know what, Joon? It was about you.”

You giggle and sit back as the members do the “OHHHHH!” thing that boys never seem to grow out of. 

Instead of going red like you expected he would, a shit-eating grin spreads across Namjoon’s face. He seems more… well, pleased than anything. 

“What was it about?” he asks.

“Joon,” Yoongi warns, his voice a note deeper than usual. You shoot Yoongi a grateful smile– how does he know you so well? As for the fic, you genuinely don’t remember, but knowing it was smut, and knowing it was about Namjoon…

“I dunno, dude, probably some daddy kink shit.”

Namjoon cocks his head. “Daddy… kink?”

You jaw drops, and in your bordering-on-drunk state, you can’t help but blurt out: “You don’t know what a daddy kink is? I thought you had one!”

The leader scratches his head. “What?”

You can’t help but laugh, the drinks finally hitting you hard. “Oh my god. C’mon, gather round, my students.” You reach out, clasping Jimin’s and Jin’s shoulders. “let’s teach you guys about fanfiction.”

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 5/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,900 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: Beej is a little shit, but we knew that, yeah? He also has a wide knowledge of theatre.

Chapter 5 - In Which Things Go Awry Over Coffee

Lydia tapped impatiently on the glass container that held her still-brewing coffee.

She had thought that by getting a cheap French press it would bring nothing but benefits in the long run: delicious caffeine without leaving your house and waiting for some hipster barista to make it for you. Unfortunately, that just meant that she was now the hipster barista in her own home and had to make it herself, which took precious time away in the morning hours.

Sometimes, she would get lucky and Holidae would have already made it for her; a result that came from her roommate’s insomnia. Often, she would stay up all through the night, and into the next morning when Lydia would arrive for breakfast. Holidae would already be standing in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone as she sipped from her own cup.

Lucky might have been a selfish thought. More like benefiting off a friend’s unfortunate circumstances. Harsh, but Holidae never complained openly about it, so Lydia never worried about taking advantage.

The timer she had set went off loudly, and Lydia wandered over to the stove to shut it down. When she went back to the counter, her coffee was… gone.

Instead of flipping out at the sudden lack of an object that was once there and now isn’t, she calmly sat down at the kitchen table, taking a deep breath.

“If I don’t have a cup in my hands in the next 10 seconds, I’m calling a priest.” She announced to the seemingly empty space.

In a puff of green smoke her coffee appeared in her favored black mug, elegantly placed on a lime green coaster. Lydia picked up the cup, taking a sip with a relaxed sigh.

“Good morning, babes!” Beetlejuice appeared in the seat across from her, a newspaper in both hands. “Supposed to rain today.”

“Is that right? Damn… I was planning to shoot the cemetery later.” She tilted her head, trying to read the front page of the paper. “Why are you so… chipper?”

Beej put the paper down, “Because you’re home? Because I get to meet a new friend? Because rainy days bring out those fat worms in the garden and they are the best for snacking? Lots of reasons.”

Lydia stared deep into the dark liquid swirling around in the cup, “BJ, about Holli…”

The ghost tried to hide the chuckle he let out with a cough, remembering the previous night’s interactions with the breather. He was sure Lyds would get a kick out of the fact he had gotten Holidae to summon him without help from his bestest best friend. He was a very clever fiend.

“What about her?” He asked, going back to his paper nonchalantly.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t have you two meet last night.” She confessed, warming both hands around the cup. “I’m just nervous you two aren’t going to get along.”

Another suspicious cough, “Oh, don’t you worry, Lyds. From what you told me, I’m sure we’ll get along like the Sherman brothers.”

There was a long pause, “…Beej, they hated each other.”

“Really? But that sugar sweet song catalogue…” He peeked over the top of the paper incredulously, “Well, nevermind that. We’ll be the best pals, babes.”

Lydia sighed again, “You’re my best friend, Beej, but she’s my best non-ghost friend. What if I have pick sides in an argument? What if she freaks out and moves away forever? Its pressure I don’t want! That’s why I wanted to introduce you two on my terms.”

An unfamiliar sensation struck Beetlejuice deep in the pit of his stomach, “…yeah?”

“And… and Holidae isn’t always… balanced. Not in the psycho killer type way, but she can get stuck on this anxiety autopilot. It’s hard to get her out of her own head. It’s why she doesn’t sleep often.” Lydia continued, sipping her coffee quietly. “So I felt that if I steered the conversation between the three of us, it would keep everything neutral, you know?”

That sensation hit him harder this time, and he desperately tried to hide his face behind the paper, “…no, no I getcha’, babes. You were just being your usual, thoughtful self is all. No hard feelings. None. All good.”

Beetlejuice was infinitely glad he was hidden from view, lest Lydia see the bright yellow mess his hair had become; a clear sign he was nervous. He hadn’t stopped to consider Lydia might actually have a really good reason for keeping quiet about him, instead of just to prolong his torture. She was always thinking of other people – mostly him to be honest – and he had gone behind her back and completely botched her plans.

His stomach was doing flips, and he was sure he’d be sweating bullets right now if had the capacity.

Ah, guilt.

That was the feeling.

…it had been a while.

Not wanting Lydia to worry herself any more than she had, he tried to calm himself down, desperately willing his mood to change into something better. After a few moments, he vanished his paper out of existence, reaching over and patting Lydia on the head.

“Baaaaabes, don’t you worry! You just let me know when you need me, and I’ll come running. Or floating. Whichever I feel like. Anyway, what I’m saying is take your time and don’t get all antsy about stuff. I can behave… sometimes.” He smiled wide, hoping she couldn’t hear the tension in his voice.

Brushing his hand away, Lydia smoothed out her frizzed hair, “I appreciate it, Beej. As soon as she comes down, I’ll talk to her. Promise.”

“Hey, I’m easy.” He chuckled, vanishing into thin air, leaving his friend alone for the moment.

---

Beetlejuice reappeared in Holidae’s room, spotting the breather sprawled out on the bed and haphazardly tangled in her blankets. He noted she had changed clothes between now and when he left her; sporting what looked like men’s boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Not the slinky lingerie – or better yet commando – look he had secretly hoped for, but the shorts provided a good view of her well-rounded hips and thighs.

Tiptoeing over to the bed, he reached down and poked at her cheek lightly with his finger, “Hey, Holly Hobby, time to wake up. We need to talk.”

Absolutely no response came from the woman on the bed, only the continued rhythmic rising and falling of her chest. Undeterred, he scratched at her face with his claw, hoping the more abrasive touch would do the trick. Holidae inhaled deeply, swatting at her face and rolling over onto her stomach.

Not the response he wanted, although he was momentarily distracted by the fact her shorts were riding up against the swell of her ass. A strangled sort of noise worked its way out of his throat, little streaks of pink highlights sprouting throughout his hair. He told Lydia he could behave, but how could he when such an opportunity was staring him right in the face.

There was the nagging moral quandary to what he was about to do; and he did pause to consider the alternatives to his proposed action. Sure, he could just try and continue to wake her up nicely, but he knew his idea would a much faster – and profitable – venture.

Beetlejuice crackled his knuckles, limbering up as though he were gearing up for a boxing match. With a flourish, he brought the back of his hand down right on Holidae’s butt cheek; a sharp smack sounding out as his skin hit her flesh.

In an instant, Holidae was up and swinging wildly, managing to catch him in the jaw with a left hook. Of course, never having been in a real fist fight – watching plenty of action movies sure, but those didn’t count – she was unprepared for the jolt of pain running down her wrist with the impact. Clutching her hand to her chest, she fell back onto the bed, curling up like a ball bug.

“Son of a bitch-!” Holidae whined, nursing her hand, “What the absolute hell are you made of?”

Beej was working his jaw into place, not suspecting the sudden strength of the counterattack, “Dead guy stuff?”

“Fuck you!” She snapped, shaking out her hand to get some feeling back into it. “I knew that. Wish I didn’t, but I do. And now I will think about that forever.”

Between her hand popping loudly, and the stinging skin on her backside, Holidae was having a hell of a time trying to process being woken up so suddenly from her deep sleep. Beetlejuice took the opportunity to slide into bed next to her, pulling her up by her shoulders into a sitting position. She blinked at him owlishly; her hair flattened in odd places from sleep, and her mascara smudged under her eyes.

He threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her body against his and leaning in as though he were whispering a secret, “Listen, baby, when you come downstairs, you have to make sure Lydia has no idea we know each other.”

Holidae could smell that damp earth musk about him, her nose twitching with the scent, “Yeah, no, I’m going to tell her.”

Beetlejuice squeezed tighter, “Ah, see, here’s the part where I tell you that you’re going to keep your pretty mouth shut about it because I will make you keep it shut. Lydia is all stressed out about us getting along, and if she finds out that you and I are buddies, she will get angry. I don’t want angry Lydia. I want happy Lydia.”

She was about to object, but recalled an incident where she had seen angry Lydia firsthand. It was during an art show and a critic was being especially rude about one of the photos Lydia had been presenting as part of her collection. Needless to say, once she was done witnessing the small, doll-like Lydia completely tearing the man into pieces, Holidae resolved to never be on the receiving end of the other woman’s wrath.

Holidae could only imagine what she would have done to the ghost, and by extension, herself.

“If… if I agree, will you promise never to wake me up like that again?” she attempted to pry his hand off of her shoulder.

“Of course, Buddy Holly~ I will never wake you up like that again.” He grinned, inwardly excited that she hadn’t been more specific in her instructions.

He just loved loopholes.

Holidae side-eyed the ghost next to her, sticking out her hand for him to shake, “Deal.”

Beej took hold of her hand, giving it a good shake… before pulling her closer and planting a very sloppy kiss to her cheek, “You’re the best, you know that?”

Squealing in protest, Holidae shoved him away, “No no no, I don’t know where you’ve been!”

“Well-” He started, but he was interrupted.

“Rhetorical statement,” she pointed a finger at him threateningly, “If you want me to go along with your lie, go away. Now. Do the vanishing trick. I have to get dressed and stuff.”

Shrugging, BJ vanished into the air without a word. Holidae waited several minutes before getting up out of the bed, wanting to make sure she was alone before stripping out of her pajamas. Paranoid, she kept her chest covered as much as she possibly could, not trusting that he wasn’t lurking around somewhere trying to catch her off guard again.

Waiting until the last possible moment, she let the shirt drop to the floor, grabbing a bra and slipping it around her torso.

“I knew you had a big rack,” the gravely voice laughed behind her, but he was gone the moment she turned around.

Holidae angrily pulled her shirt over her head, mumbling in what she was quickly adopting as a new mantra, “We want happy Lydia… happy Lydia…”

[codenamesazanka]

I know this is a really vague thing to ask, but do you have any tips for writing Shigaraki? I know Echodrops made a whole meta about fanon Shigaraki vs canon Shigaraki but do you personally have anything in particular you'd want to mention yourself about the portrayal of Shigaraki in fanfics?

(Here’s the link to @echodrops‘s post! It’s really, really good, and helped me figure out Shigaraki a lot in the first place. thank you!)

oooh! Not at all a vague thing, this is a great question. I started all this meta because I wanted to figure out how to write Shigaraki as well. A word of caution tho, because this would be my personal interpretation of Shigaraki, though I’ll try to use as much manga examples as I can. As always, super long post. 

Note: images are edited to fit exact quotes to relevant and reasonable sized images, instead of a whole manga page

Here’s some hand man characteristics/traits that I think are overlooked:

Shigaraki Tomura, in his beliefs/values, has a tendency for all-or-nothing thinking, to be extreme in his actions. In all three of his incarnations - the oneshot Tenko, the draft Sazanka, and this current one - a core of the character is 1) finding something flawed/bad/had hurt him somehow 2) completely loathing it 3) vowing to destroy it. 

Tenko despised samurai and their warring, and wishes to rid the world of swords. Sazanka is on a quest to kill quirk-users with quirks he deems too dangerous for society. And Shigaraki has decided that the Heroes and justice system is a farce, and is out to destroy it. 

Kinda fitting for a guy with his quirk - he either doesn’t destroy something, or destroys it completely. The moment he makes his decision, it’s fast and permanent. 

For Shigaraki, murder is murder, destruction is destruction, violence is violence, no matter how you dress it up. That’s why he couldn’t see the difference between him and Stain. That’s why he can’t see that Bakugou, as aggressive and vicious as he is, still wants to be a good guy. 

Now this is my take, but I think his mindset is: Because All Might can’t save everyone, he’s a fake, he’s trash; because everyone will say they condemn murder yet go about their lives carefree even though they know logically someone is out there getting killed, morality and justice is an illusion; because justice is so fragile and flimsy, I will expose it and destroy it. 

Not in any goodwill or for a better society, mind you. He just hates it. 

He also has no illusions about himself or his actions, he knows he’s evil.

Shigaraki is a lot more sarcastic and sardonic than usually portrayed in fanon. He’s very rude and can be foul mouthed, but the real insult comes from his tone and behavior. He condescendingly calls Eraserhead cool. He calls Stain the ‘Great Senpai of scoundrels’. He points out to Overhaul how a wakagashira/underboss like him should be more polite. Just about half of everything he says is dripping with mockery, and he’s very breezy and irreverent. So a bit less ‘I hate you, fuck off’, and more cheek.

Adding to that, if I’m reading my Japanese right, Shigaraki can change how he addresses people depending on the person and situation. His default speech is rude, but he’ll talk somewhat (barely) politely-ish if needed; it’s just it’s very obvious he’s not taking it seriously. 

Related, I feel like Shigaraki says a lot of things he doesn’t really believe. He tries out concepts, half-heartedly, on a whim. There’s that infamous speech at USJ about Heroes and Villains both using violence - which does seem to have some semblance to the actual ‘two sides of the same coin’ that even Best Jeanist talks about. 

And here’s him considering Stain’s effects on heroes, with gusto, before ditching it.

I know it’s Smash!, but here’s him reciting some sort of pseudo education philosophy he picked up somewhere??? to Kurogiri to get out of exercise. 

He’s a total smartass 

Of course, this brings up the question, is he genuine in his speech to Bakugou, or to Toga and Twice? 

 Like Echodrop notes, he can be in a good mood. He can be (seem?) happy, he can smile, he will acknowledge when someone does a good job of something. 

Sure, it’s got a manic edge to it, it’s probably not coming from a place of good, fluffy, innocent feelings, but he can laugh, enjoy the moment, be psyched about something. 

I really like this scene because he actually giggles a bit. He squeezes Midoriya, and he really does seem excited for a chat. 

He’s quick to go back to being default cranky tho. Quick to enjoy, quick to get irked.  

Shigaraki is a weirdo and I love him.

 My boy is smart. Really, Shigaraki is smarter than he looks. In the Ultra Archive, his profile lists his intelligence as ‘A’, ranking him above most characters, including Midoriya. I get that Deku’s whole thing is being the strategizing main character, but Shigaraki’s just as analytical. Even the Smash! Comic points this out. 

His room is filled with books, so either he reads a lot or he hoards them to look smart. I think it’s the former. Well, it’s not mutually exclusive, I should know.

He thinks and reflects and questions. He was super pissed about Stain, but he realized Stain was right and tried to figure out why. He went on a walk to calm down and just ruminate. He sought out Midoriya just to get second opinion. Afterwards, he quickly sees the bigger picture and realizes the issue is systemic and he’s gotta attack the structure. Of course, kinda shaky on the specific details and it’s not endgame long term, but still impressive. 

There’s a lot of Villain!Deku fanfics - and I like them a lot! - that turns Deku into the criminal mastermind or makes him the brains behind Shigaraki’s operations. Which is fair, Deku could totally be one! And also a lot of fics where Shigaraki is dismissed, with everything he does being AFO’s machinations. Again, fair. But Canon Shigaraki is AFO’s successor and leads the League for a reason.

This also means, I think, that Shigaraki isn’t as clueless to the fact that All For One is manipulating him. This point is entirely debatable, though. All I have to back this is how Shigaraki wondered if he was lied to in the USJ.

Even tho he’s facepalm crusty boi neet, Shigaraki is still a very dangerous S-ranked villain. I feel like sometimes people forget this. 

 He’s not that childish. He can be immature, he’s still learning the ropes of being a supervillain, he’s got an irritable and sullen disposition, but he’s not a five-year-old. He’s also not completely unhinged. 

When things don’t go his way, his first response usually isn’t to shriek or whine or immediately snap. He’s got a clear head and a good sense of what he can and can’t do. Kurogiri is down, All Might escaped their grasp, but Nomu’s still active? Cool, we got this. It’s only when Nomu gets team-rocket-ed that he panics. Stain stabs him? Doesn’t start a fight right there and then, asks Master for some Nomu, is patient enough to wait until he decides he really can’t stand Stain, then finally gives the go ahead for a rampage. 

Shigaraki knew from the start he can’t handle All Might. That’s Nomu’s job. As much as he hates All Might, he doesn’t jump at the chance to kill the hero personally. He’s not ruled by impulse or easy distractions, not really. And he will back down if Kurogiri reasons with him - see accepting Stain as a party member, see letting Toga and Dabi live. And after he got his motivation, he’s been very restraint since. 

He doesn’t immediately destroy his things in anger - we only see him destroy only few items pre-mall talk. He decays binoculars, a photo of Deku, maybe a newspaper, all quiet and deliberate. Kurogiri’s bar is intact and clean, despite being the long-time hang out spot of the destructive Shigaraki Tomura. Would he decay a controller after losing a game? Maybe, but also just as likely maybe not. 

Shigaraki will complain and bitch and sulk and hold a grudge, tho, yeah. He will lose it after a series of stressors/things gone wrong. He can be moody, cruel and sadistic, bloodthirsty and mayhem-loving. But he’s got himself under control more often than not. 

Finally, video games: My biggest pet peeve about portrayal of Shigaraki in fanfics: He’s super obsessed with video games, to the point that he plays them all day long, and he can’t stop using video game slang for everything - or so a lot of the fandom believes. 

I’ve pointed out before that we’re more likely to see him reading the newspaper and we’ve never actually seen him use a console ever in manga or anime. True, he likens scenarios to games frequently, but not all the time - the USJ fight was when he did that the most, then in his other appearances only once or twice during the whole scene (Doesn’t want Stain as a ‘party member’, none at all when meeting Dabi or Toga and then at the mall, camp arc has him seeing himself playing a Sim instead of an RPG, calls All Might ‘last boss’ during the raid, then nothing for his next appearances). At least not out loud. As fun as it is to imagine him as a geeky gamer, and he is, but he does more than just that. 

I think Shigaraki uses video games and media to create mental scripts for himself to understand/interact with the world, but it serves as a skeleton. He fleshes it out, always adding to that mental model to create a more complex one. He calls his change of strategy as playing a Sim game, but it’s a good analogy that works for him, and we see how layered his plan is - dealing a blow to UA that works whether the Vanguard succeed or not, kidnapping Bakugou and Ragdoll, in order to bring about the media and public criticism of UA/heroes, and had it not been for the raid, something would’ve happen to Bakugou that would’ve demoralized everyone. 

He def is grounded in reality enough to know what he’s doing is more than just a game. 

And that’s all I got for now! There might be a part two. idk, but I hope this was helpful! 

[roman-writing]

two, across (2/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,678

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

The elevators are broken. All of them. Lysithea stands on the ground floor with Hilda, staring at the yellow tape suspended over each of the elevator doors. Her heart sinks in her chest, and her grip slackens on her coffee. 

"Can you believe this?" Hilda whines, punctuating her words with a stomp of her foot on the ground. "Do they expect us to clamber up Everest to get to our offices every day? What bullshit!"

"It's only seven floors." Even as Lysithea says it, she is furiously calculating how many steps that would entail.

How many steps were there per flight of stairs on average? Twenty-five? Thirty? She usually starts panting at around thirty, and has to take a break at forty. Edelgard always knew to take long walks around cities or parks with extra breaks. Lysithea didn’t know how many times she would have to stop while climbing seven whole flights of stairs.  

"Maybe we can work from some ground floor offices," Hilda muses, taking a contemplative sip of the coffee Lysithea had brought her that morning. "I could kick Leonie out of the gym office space, and we could work from there instead? It’ll smell, but it’ll just be for this week. Until they get the elevators up and running."

It's tempting. It really is. And Lysithea is ashamed of herself for seriously considering letting Hilda do just that. 

Eventually however, Lysithea sighs. "No. We should just suck it up, and walk up the stairs."

Hilda whines again, but she's already trudging towards the nearby door marked with the symbol for stairs. 

"This is so inconvenient!" Hilda groans, pushing the door open and holding it until Lysithea has joined her. "And, you know what? Leonie wouldn't even mind! I mean, yeah, okay. She would mind. But I could make a great sales pitch about how it's just turning every day into leg day for the next week. She might buy that!"

Hilda continues on in that vein, and Lysithea listens with only half an ear. The stairs extend ahead of her, looming like a snow-capped peak, except these are gilded in white linoleum. The chromed handrails gleam with the sweat of too many generations of hands passing over them. Lysithea is reluctant to touch them, but knows she will have to eventually. 

On the other hand, Hilda has already begun the climb. She is still talking, and has made it halfway up the first set of stairs before Lysithea can gather enough courage to even start. 

The first floor passes without much issue. Lysithea tries telling herself that it won't be so bad; she can do this. Hilda's constant chatter acts like a balm. Her presence is almost soothing, in and of itself. 

The second floor is where Lysithea's hubris realises its potential. Her breath has grown laboured. She reaches for the handrail. Hilda is ahead of her by a good distance, but they're still on the same set of stairs together at least. 

By the third floor, Lysithea feels an all too familiar twinge in her chest.

By the fourth floor, Hilda's voice fades into a murmur of white noise, like static. 

By the fifth floor, Lysithea drops her coffee. She doesn't mean to. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably, and the takeaway cup slips from her fingers. The coffee goes splattering all over her shoes and black stockings. The cup tumbles down the stairs until it rolls to a halt and dribbles dark foam. 

Hilda's voice stops, and an awful silence descends over the fifth floor staircase. Lysithea is panting. She is bent over her knees, and clutching the handrail like it's a buoy keeping her afloat. 

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah," Lysithea lies. She turns and sinks to the ground so that she is seated on the step she had just been standing on. She doesn't even notice that she's sitting in some of the coffee spill until it's too late, and by then she can't bring herself to care. 

Hilda's boots clack against the ground. She comes to stand behind Lysithea, and for a brief moment, Lysithea feels fear lance through her at the thought of what expression Hilda might be wearing. 

Finally, Hilda sits down beside her with a huff -- on the other side so as to not sit in the coffee. "Geesh," she says. "You listened to my moaning this whole time, when you legit were on the point of, like, dying behind me?"

Lysithea leans her head against the railing, relishing the cool press of metal against her forehead. "At this point, I'm used to listening to your moaning by now."

Hilda nudges their shoulders together to get Lysithea’s attention, and then wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "That's what she said."

With a groan, Lysithea shoves weakly at Hilda’s shoulder. "Shut the fuck up. You have the humour of a twelve year old boy."

In answer, Hilda wordlessly hands Lysithea her coffee cup, and then stands. She descends to the step just in front of Lysithea, and turns so that her back is facing her. Hilda pats herself on the shoulder. "Come on, then. Hop on and hold tight, spider-monkey."

Lysithea glares at Hilda’s back. "You did not just make a Twilight reference."

"I sure did. Now either hop on, or I'll leave you to crawl the last two floors by yourself. Up to you."

Lysithea purses her lips. She considers her options. Sighing, she clutches the coffee cup in one hand and wraps her other arm around Hilda's neck. She feels Hilda's hands slide under her knees as she crawls atop her back. When Hilda straightens, there’s a flex of muscle all along her back and shoulders. For all that however Lysithea is surprised at how soft she is. 

"If you tell anyone about this," Lysithea says, her voice dangerously low in Hilda's ear, "I'll kill you, and they will never find your body."

"How dare you threaten me with a good time."

Hilda jostles Lysithea a little to get her resting just so against her back, before turning around and marching up the stairs once more. As she does so, she steps around the spilled coffee so as to not get any on her designer boots. 

“I’ll need to give the janitorial staff a gift,” Lysithea mumbles against Hilda’s spine. 

“Cyril likes flowers. Little white ones that come in bouquets. Baby’s breath, or whatever they’re called. Which suits him, actually; he’s such a baby-faced guy.”

Lysithea lifts her head slightly to frown at the slope of Hilda’s cheek. “How on earth do you know that?”

Hilda flashes Lysithea a sly grin over her shoulder. “I make a point of being on excellent terms with janitorial staff wherever I work.” 

“Of course you do.”

The last two floors to their offices pass without incident. Apart from the fact that Lysithea can’t help but notice that Hilda smells nice. Really nice. So nice, Lysithea almost asks what perfume she wears, but keeps her mouth shut instead and demands to be put down the moment Hilda carries her up that last step. 

--

The elevators are down for the entire week. Everyday of that week, Hilda gives her a piggyback ride up the stairs. And everyday of that week, Hilda complains about the university’s health and safety policies.

“Seriously,” she says on Thursday for the fourth time, “you should complain to Judith about this. If you don’t, then I will.”

Lysithea huffs against Hilda’s shoulder blade. “I doubt the head of the biosciences department can make the university contractors work any faster.”

“No, but she can talk to Rhea on your behalf. Duh!"

"And what's the Dean supposed to do about it? Magically make the elevators work again?"

"Maybe! You don't know!" Hilda grouses, and she is excellent at grousing. “If nothing else, they should review their disability services. Or install a pulley system for you. Bucket and rope, that kind of thing.”

“Your thoughtfulness is as touching as ever,” Lysithea says dryly. 

“Or I could just -” Hilda pretends to drop her, loosening her grip beneath Lysithea’s knees.

With a yelp, Lysithea wraps her arms more tightly around Hilda’s neck. “No! I take it back! I take it back!” 

“That’s what I thought. Did Cyril like the flowers, by the way?”

They have resumed the climb, and Lysithea relaxes fractionally, safe in the knowledge that Hilda would not have actually abandoned her on the third floor stairwell. “He did. He still has them in a vase, I think.”

“Told you so!” Hilda says in that sing-song tone of hers.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?”

“You love it."

"I do not."

"And yet you continue to hang out with me. So, who's really at fault here, huh? Checkmate."

"That's -!" Lysithea splutters. "- completely illogical! How is it my fault that you tricked me into hanging out with you?”

“What do you mean ‘tricked you’?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh, we had a deal. That’s not tricking. Besides,” Hilda has to pause on the fifth floor landing to hike Lysithea a little further up her back, “You can’t steal a crossword in a communal newspaper. It’s literally for everyone to use.”

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can’t steal from a communal resource. That’s the definition of the Tragedy of the Commons.”

“So, you admit it? We’re friends?”

Lysithea snorts, and says sarcastically, “No, I prefer to let my nemesis carry me up flights of stairs every day.”

“Your nemesis sounds like a really cool gal. With amazing eyeliner. And impeccable taste in clothes.”

“And an ego the size of a planet,” Lysithea adds to the list.

Hilda ignores that comment. “You should totally let her give you a makeover.”

“Over my dead body.”

Hilda laughs, and the sound makes Lysithea’s stomach fizz like she’s had too much sparkling lemonade.  

It’s a good thing Edelgard and Hilda don’t know one another, Lysithea thinks. If Edelgard found out about this whole Almost-Fainting-on-the-University-Staircase (A.F.U.S.) debacle, she would be on the first flight over to scold Lysithea in person for being so careless. And Lysithea isn’t sure she could handle both Edelgard and Hilda in the same place at the same time. 

--

Edelgard’s monthly care package arrives in the office on the same day that Lysithea finally manages to arrange a meeting with her main supervisor. She enters Tomas' office, excited to finally get some guidance on all the hard work she's put into her thesis over the last few months, only to leave twenty minutes later with more questions than answers.

He is nothing like how he’d acted when she was still being courted by the university before this whole process began. Back then, Tomas had been charming, always with a kind smile and a twinkle in his eye. Now, he jabs his finger at her data charts and refuses to accept any answers she gives him regardless of how many different ways she explains the results. 

Lysithea is wandering listlessly back to her own office, cradling the latest drafted chapter of her thesis, when she sees Hilda striding towards her down the hallway.

"Hey! Lysithea!" Hilda holds up an enormous cardboard box that she’s carrying. "You got a package in the mail! And judging by the weight, your family sent you -” she lifts the box with both hands. “- a shipment of lead! It’s your lucky day."

"Oh," Lysithea feels her spirits stir somewhat at the sight of the package. "My friend sends me those every other month. It's probably full of food and new clothes."

At that, Hilda's eyes light up, the way they did when she figured out a crossword clue, or when they are walking down the street and she saw a pretty girl wearing an outfit she admired. “Well, I gotta see what’s in it now. Hang on -” her brow furrows slightly, and she looks down at the package. “A friend sends you gifts nearly every month?”

“Edelgard has known me since I was five. We’re basically siblings,” Lysithea says by way of explanation. 

The furrow in Hilda’s brow disappears. “Aww. That’s so cute!” 

Lysithea hums in wordless agreement. Normally, whenever Hilda called her ‘cute’ Lysithea would reprimand her, but she can’t be bothered today. She tries to slip past Hilda, and slope into her office for a much needed sulk, but Hilda steps in her way. 

“Bad meeting?” Hilda asks, and thankfully she has lowered her voice. 

The pages of the thesis chapter crinkle beneath Lysithea’s fingers. Even looking at all of Tomas’ notes scrawled across the first page makes her feel sick to her stomach. “He thinks the data is insufficient, and doesn’t correspond strongly enough with the overall thesis statement.”

Hilda frowns. “Then why didn’t he say anything at the time. You gathered it a year ago, yeah?”

“That’s what I said!” Lysithea bursts out, before ducking her head and lowering her voice to a surly mutter. “And Hanneman thinks the data set is fine, but whenever I point that out, Tomas just gets mad and reminds me that Hanneman isn’t my main supervisor.” 

“Hmm.”

For a moment that is Hilda’s only response. She shifts the box in her arms in order to reach up with one hand and lower her sunglasses from where they’re perched atop her head. Then, she nudges Lysithea towards the elevators with her shoulder. “C’mon. Forget Tomas. We’re going to lunch, and you’re going to open this great big box, and it’ll cheer you right up.”

“You’re only saying that because you want to know what’s in the box, aren’t you?” 

“I’m insulted you would even think that of me.” Hilda sniffs, then drums her fingers in a playful rhythm against the box in question. “It’s only part of the reason.”

“And what’s the other part?” Lysithea asks.

“I’m a woman of grace and mystery. You’ll just have to embrace that,” Hilda says as she lifts her leg to hit the button that calls the elevator with the toe of her boot. 

They go to lunch at a place down the road, because both of them are tired of the downstairs cafe, and if they have to order the same croissant sandwiches again one of them is going to scream. Hilda grabs a table outside in the hopes that they can enjoy the last good day of fall before the cold rainy season hits. The sun is watery, but Hilda drags the table a bit further from the shade, and Lysithea moves the chairs. 

They order, and their drinks come out. Hilda barely lets Lysithea take a sip before she places the package atop the table and all but bounces with anticipation in her seat.

"Looking at the two of us, nobody would guess that you're the childish one," Lysithea says. She grabs up a knife from the cutlery placed out for them, and starts to cut through the copious amounts of tape that Edelgard had used to wrap the box. 

"You say that, but I wish I looked as adorable as you." 

Lysithea pauses to glare at Hilda, but it sloughs off her like water from a duck's back. Lysithea continues cutting until she can finally prise the box open.

Predictably, Edelgard has stuffed the box full of more goodies than Lysithea could possibly consume or wear in half a year. Lysithea immediately goes for a smaller package of her favourite cookies, which have been padded with an assortment of clothes wrapped in expensive-looking tissue paper and bound in ribbon. 

She never recognised the labels of the clothing or accessories, but Lysithea always recognised the sweets. 

“Oh, wow,” Hilda breathes, as Lysithea peels back the wrapping of a biscuit elaborately painted with frosting. 

Closing her eyes, Lysithea sighs with pleasure as she takes that first bite. When she opens her eyes again, it’s to find Hilda watching her closely. "Do you want some? I thought you said I had too much of a sweet tooth for your tastes."

"Yeah, well, bring on the diabetes because those look amazing."

With a sigh, Lysithea holds out the biscuit she has already taken a bite of, but instead of taking it from her hand, Hilda leans over the table. She takes an extra big bite, so that when she leans back in her seat she triumphantly holds half of the biscuit in her mouth. Lysithea just rolls her eyes. If it were any other occasion, Lysithea would have given her a scolding, but even a glance into the box clearly shows that she won’t be running out of confectionaries any time soon. 

“Okay, what else you got, Lysithea’s friend?” Hilda asks the absent El, pulling the box towards her side of the table to sift through its contents. 

Lysithea finishes off the cookie, and is reaching for another when she stops. Hilda has gone stock still. Her mouth hangs slightly open. 

“What is it?” Lysithea asks.

Hilda does not immediately answer. She pulls off her sunglasses, and places them on the table, but her eyes never leave the box’s contents. She takes out one of the carefully lined pieces of clothing as though it’s made of gold dust and dreams. When she tugs the ribbon free, the gauzy paper falls open to reveal a black t-shirt splashed with bold red lettering. 

Hilda picks up the t-shirt to gaze at it in shock. There are dozens of other pieces of clothing similarly wrapped and stashed in the box. Lysithea doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. 

“Are you telling me,” Hilda says slowly, and her voice climbs with every word, “that this whole time, you had an uber rich childhood friend who sends you Valentino via air freight? Valentino?” 

“Yes?” Lysithea mumbles, wondering if this is some sort of trick question. “Is that a good brand, or something?”

She knows it’s a dumb question the moment it leaves her mouth. Hilda lowers the t-shirt just enough to stare at her over it. “Why don’t I ever see you wearing this stuff?!” 

“It’s -! It’s not really my style,” Lysithea says lamely.

“Not your -!” Hilda has to close her eyes and calm herself with a deep breath. Then, she starts folding everything back perfectly the way it was. “You’re paying for lunch. Consider it amends for your sins.”

“You can have the clothes, if you want?” Lysithea offers, picking up her soda. 

“You think I could fit into this? Look at these, and then look at your spaghetti arms.” For emphasis, Hilda lifts one of her own arms and pokes at the bulge of muscle at her shoulder. 

Lysithea is taking a sip from her drink, and makes an exasperated noise at the back of her throat. She puts the glass down. “You know I can’t go to the gym. I can barely walk five blocks without needing to sit down.”

“At least tell me what you do with all the clothes your mystery millionaire sends you.” 

Lysithea worries her lower lip between her teeth. Hilda gives her a look, and she admits with a wince, “I donate them to a shelter in town.” 

Hilda buries her face into the shirt she had just folded, and muffles a sound halfway between a scream and a sob in the fabric. 

Tentatively, Lysithea reaches across the table to pat the top of Hilda’s head. 

Hilda’s voice is muted through the shirt. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

Lysithea pats her head some more. “There, there.” 

They have to clear the table, because the waiter is descending upon them with his arms laden with plates. Hilda swipes one of Lysithea fries before Lysithea can even reach for the condiments. 

“Okay, here’s the deal -” Hilda starts, but winces. “Ow! Those are hot!” 

“I feel less than zero sympathy for you right now.” 

“Fair. But you’ll sing a different tune when you hear of my super cool new deal.” Hilda snags another fry, avoiding Lysithea’s hand swatting down at her wrist. “I’ll read your latest thesis draft and give you feedback and all that jazz, if you do the same for an article I’ve just finished. You can come over to my place this weekend, and we’ll trade. It’ll be fun.” 

Lysithea places the condiment bottle aside, and picks up her fork and knife. “Why is everything always a trade with you?”

“All relationships should be equal and fair.”

Such a frank answer gives Lysithea pause. 

And then Hilda continues, “You know. The division of labour in society. Eat the rich.”

Lysithea aims a flat stare at her. “You’re already eating my lunch and my care package.”

Hilda grabs another one of Lysithea’s fries, pops it into her mouth, and winks. 

--

On Saturday evening, Hilda flings open the door to her apartment the moment Lysithea knocks. Lysithea hadn’t known what was an appropriate gift for her hostess, or if her hostess even technically required a gift, or if bringing Hilda soda when she was sick constituted a suitable substitution. In the end, she had defaulted to the latter of the options, and is now being dragged into Hilda’s apartment, empty-handed. 

If Hilda notices, she doesn’t show it. She shuts the front door behind them, and gestures vaguely to the apartment. “Welcome to my lair or whatever.”

On Lysithea’s previous visit, the curtains had been drawn and the lights dimmed so she couldn’t see anything apart from the impression of shapes. And perhaps it would have been better if that had remained the case. 

"Wow." Lysithea looks around at the wreckage. "Your place sure is...even messier than your office."

"Organised chaos, my brother calls it."

"Your brother is very kind."

"I think so, too. You want cider? I bought cider." Even without Lysithea's answer, Hilda is heading towards the kitchen. 

"I don't really drink much," Lysithea admits, picking her way carefully across the floor after Hilda so she doesn’t step on anything. 

"Oh, that's alright. You don't have to. I have soda, too!"

Lysithea blinks in surprise at Hilda's response, which had been immediate. In most social situations, Lysithea's adversion to alcohol was met with passive aggressive disdain or wheedling for her to join in the revelry. Hilda on the other hand, just starts pulling out various two litre bottles of sparkling lemonade and ginger ales, and arranging them on the counter in a single file formation like soldiers on parade. 

"I've got Schweppes. I've got Bundaberg. I've got Sprite. I've got Canada Dry. I’ve got San Pellegrino. I’ve got Perrier. I’ve got this new L&P stuff that my brother had shipped in from Australia or something, which I’ve been dying to try. Pick your poison."

Approaching the counter, Lysithea eyes the various bottles. Hilda has also pulled out a cider for herself, and is rustling around in a drawer for a bottle opener. Hesitantly, Lysithea picks up the cider and turns the bottle over in her hands. The glass is cold and misty from its time spent in the fridge. She goes to the back label and runs her thumb over the 2.4% ABV lettering. 

She can't even recall the last time she had alcohol. No, wait. That’s a lie. It had been on her eighteenth birthday. She had been allowed a single glass of champagne. It had a fresh strawberry in it, fizzing away at the bottom of the glass, and had tasted like dry unsweetened soda. 

Lysithea held the bottle of cider out to Hilda, who had finally found the bottle opener in her messy drawer of various cutlery, cooking knives, and spatulas. "Actually, I've changed my mind. I'll have one of these."

Slowly, Hilda takes the cider, and prises the cap free. “You sure?” She tosses the cap onto the counter, where it rattles around before settling in place. "Seriously, it's not a problem. No pressure. We're not, like, going out or anything. It's just us here, so -"

"This is fine. Thanks." Lysithea takes the bottle back, but doesn't immediately take a drink. She hesitates, and re-thinks her actions. 

With a shrug, Hilda turns to the fridge to pull out another cider for herself. "Alright. Up to you."

Switching the cold bottle into her off hand, Lysithea tugs at the strap of her bag over her shoulder to a more comfortable angle so that it doesn't dig into her skin. "So, uh - where are we doing this? Here?"

She nods pointedly to the kitchen table, which is piled high with grocery bags, library books, articles, makeup, empty mason jars, full mason jars, beads, jewelry, craft items, wire in various metals such as gold and silver and copper. Lysithea wanders closer to the table, clutching her cider. 

"You," she tilts her head to one side, "make jewelry?"

"Yup. It’s a hobby of mine." Hilda joins her. She puts down her own open bottle of cider, and picks up what Lysithea had originally thought was a necklace. She presses it to Lysithea's chest. "This sweater clip would look good on you by the way. Especially with one of those grandma cardigans you like so much. You should take it."

Hilda shoves the sweater clip into Lysithea’s free hand before she can complain.

"They're not 'grandma cardigans.'" Lysithea grouses. "They're just my cardigans."

"And you look very cute in them. You'll look even cuter wearing this. If you don’t want to wear the sweater clip with the cardigan, you can just hook them into the tips of your collars. Very chic right now. Or - ooh!" Hilda dives into one of the grocery bags, pawing through its contents. "I have a brooch in here that would make you look like some sort of Edwardian porcelain doll."

Lysithea scrunches up her nose. "No, thank you."

"No, no! I meant it in a good way!"

"I'm sure you did. But my answer is the same."

Hilda whines, but eventually relents. "Fine. Keep the sweater clip though. And don’t you dare donate it to a shelter!"

For a moment, Lysithea considers denying that request. Instead, she runs the fine gold chain between her fingers. Two clips hang from each end of the chain, molded from gold into the shape of little decorative pinecones with ivy leaves. 

Hilda is right. They would look good with her cardigans. And she does like cardigans...

"Thanks." Lysithea puts the sweater clip into a compartment of her bag, so that she won't forget that it's there. "So, can we clear this table, or -?"

Suddenly, Hilda stands between Lysithea and the table as if guarding her firstborn child from an evil witch out for blood. "No way! Don't touch anything here."

Lysithea crosses her arms as well as she could for someone holding a glass bottle. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do? It’s not like I can make it worse than it already is!"

"It's perfect! I know exactly where everything is!"

"Oh, yeah?" Lysithea lifts her chin, and issues the challenge: "Find me a pair of scissors."

Immediately, Hilda reaches into a bag and pulls out a pair of gleaming sewing scissors. The nice kind. The kind that Lysithea's mother would have yelled at her for touching as a child.

Sticking out her lower lip, Lysithea mumbles, "Yeah, ok. Fine."

Hilda waggles the scissors at her. "You're extra cute when you pout."

"Call me cute again, and I'm dumping this cider over your head."

At that, Hilda makes a face, but says nothing. She simply sticks the scissors back into the bag and out of sight. 

"I think I saw a couch under all the rubble of your living room," Lysithea says. But as soon as she takes a step towards the living room, Hilda interrupts. 

“Okay, I know we’re still new to this friendship thing, but we need to make one thing clear. All of this?” Hilda gestures towards the apartment in general. “Just looks messy, alright? I have a system.” 

Now, that, finally was something Lysithea could understand. She had a Routine, after all. Capital 'R'. And it sounded like Hilda's system came with its own capital letter, too.

"Please don't tell me we have to sit on the ground for this." Lysithea looks down at the kitchen floor. While cluttered just like everything else in the apartment, at least the floor appears clean. Hilda obviously washed stuff, she just didn't tidy it. 

In answer, Hilda picks up her cider and tilts the bottle towards the kitchen exit. "This way.” 

Hilda leads her not towards the living room, but towards her bedroom. When Lysithea realises what is happening, she freezes. 

"Uh -" Lysithea says eloquently. 

Hilda stops in the doorway to her bedroom, and shoots a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Huh? What's wrong?"

Lysithea looks down at the cider in their hands, then at the bedroom beyond; she can’t meet Hilda’s gaze. She can feel her cheeks warming up, and knows her face must be going bright red. 

Hilda's eyes widen. "Oh! Oh! No, it’s -” She laughs, and Lysithea has never known Hilda to be anything but the epitome of confidence, but she sounds slightly nervous now. “It’s not like that. It totally could be like that, but it’s not like that. Tonight, there’s no funny business."

Even so, Lysithea squints at Hilda in suspicion. 

"I swear!" Hilda draws an 'X' over her chest with her free hand. "Cross my heart, and hope to die."

"I am starting to think you're actually two twelve year olds in a designer trench coat," Lysithea says. "How old are you, really?"

"Thirty this year."

Lysithea rocks back on her heels. "You're barely even thirty, and you were giving me shit for being twenty-four a few weeks ago?"

"There's a big difference between thirty and twenty-four. Six whole years difference, to be exact."

"Congratulations. You can count. Your brother must be so proud."

Hilda makes a rude gesture with her fingers, then walks further into her bedroom. "Don't even talk to me about it. The idea of turning thirty has seriously been playing havoc with my nerves. I'm going to be middle aged soon."

"Tragic," Lysithea drawls, following her inside.

"I'm being serious! I'm ancient! I could keel over at any second. You're going to have to put me into one of those old folk’s home, where they’ll dress me in scuffed kitten heels and outdated Chanel."

“I promise to polish your kitten heels for you when your crippling arthritis kicks in.” 

Hilda’s expression brightens. “Really?”

“No.”

“Tease.”

Hilda flops onto her bed. It's the only piece of furniture in the room that doesn't have mountains of stuff piled atop it. The chest of draws in the corner is almost entirely hidden beneath the sheer quantity of jewelry that Hilda owns. There's a work station that holds a laptop and a few charging cables, along with heaps of stray electronic devices that Lysithea can't even name. Lysithea would have guessed the table got some use, but for the fact that the chair in front of it is a sand-dune made of clean clothes that Hilda hasn't gotten around to putting away. 

The closet door is open, and shoes are spilling out in all directions. Innumerable jackets seem to be multiplying inside. More unopened shoe boxes teeter towards the ceiling. There's a narrow path between the shoes scattered along the floor that leads to the bathroom door, which is partially ajar. 

When Hilda jumps atop the bed, she bounces twice. She kicks her boots off and flings them in the vague direction of the closet, where they ricochet off the closet door. She places her bottle of cider onto the bedside table, and swaps it for a tablet that was charging there. She flicks the tablet on, and keys in the passcode.

When Lysithea still hasn't moved from her place in the doorway, Hilda glances up at her. "Well?" She grabs a pillow and makes a show of fluffing it up and propping it on the wall beside her, where she gestures to it as though to a throne. "Make yourself at home."

Slowly, Lysithea makes her way over to the bed. Where Hilda had jumped, Lysithea clambered. She nearly spilled her cider, and had to switch it between hands to keep from making a mess of the pink and white striped sheets, which are surprisingly soft. They smell like clean laundry and Hilda's perfume.

She shoves that thought aside brusquely. Clearing her throat, Lysithea slips her work bag from her shoulder and digs through it for her laptop. 

Something warm touches the hand holding her bottle, and Lysithea nearly jerks away before she realises that Hilda is taking the cider from her so that she can shuffle around in her bag without spilling anything. 

"Thanks," Lysithea mumbles, letting Hilda take the bottle for a second.

"Sure thing." Hilda hands the cider back the moment Lysithea has set up the computer on her lap. 

Between the two of them holding the bottle, the cider has begun to warm in their grasps. Lysithea takes a tentative first sip. It's sweet, pear-flavoured, and only has the mildest hint of alcohol. She takes another sip, and then balances it between her legs so that she can still type on her laptop.

“Alright, did you email me your article?”

“Already in your inbox since eleven this morning.” 

Hilda lounges back on her own pillow, sprawling over a good portion of the bed while she, presumably, opens Lysithea’s thesis on her tablet. She had summoned a tablet stylus from somewhere, and is jotting down notes directly onto the screen. 

Bracing herself with another swig of cider, Lysithea clicks on Hilda’s email, and gets to work. 

The silence only lasts for a few minutes, before Hilda’s tablet starts playing music, and she hums along. Lysithea purses her lips, but does not tell her to stop. The additional noise and lyrics means she has to read more slowly for full comprehension. Lysithea finishes her cider, and sets it on the bedside table beside Hilda’s now empty bottle. 

While they work, Hilda contorts herself into a number of poses on the bed. At one point she lies flat on her stomach, and swings her feet in the air. At another, she’s on her back with her head hanging off the edge, holding the tablet up and reading upsidedown. Later still, she sprawls on her side like she’s seated at some ancient Graecian banquet, her head propped on her hand, tapping along with her stylus to the rhythm of whatever pop song is playing.

Eventually, Hilda complains about wanting snacks, and bounces off the bed in search of something in the kitchen. 

She returns with a bag of potato chips, and the invitation, “C’mon. It’s been like two hours. It’s break time.”

Lysithea is still scrolling through Hilda’s article, arduously checking all of her references. “But -”

“No ‘buts’.” Hilda waves the now open bag of chips in Lysithea’s face so that she can’t see the screen properly without leaning far to one side. And even then, Hilda follows her head with the bag. “Relax. The article isn’t going anywhere. It’s not due to be published for, like, two more months.”

Lysithea closes the lid of her laptop and puts it aside. “I don’t know how you do it,” she says, reaching for a chip.

“Do what?” Hilda waits until Lysithea has taken a handful before turning the bag back towards her self. 

For a moment Lysithea can’t answer, because she’s chewing. Finally, she says, “You’ve got that -- that thing. You know. The -” Lysithea grasps at the air with one hand. “What’s that word? It’s Italian. Means you look careless but only because you practice looking careless.”

“Sprezzatura,” Hilda answers without hesitation. 

Lysithea snaps her fingers. “That’s it! Jesus, you’re good at that. No wonder you’re so good at crosswords.” 

Hilda pretends to primp and coquettishly twirl a strand of hair around her finger. “Thanks. I know.”

Lysithea snatches the bag of chips from Hilda’s hands. “Shut up. I wasn’t finished, so don’t look so smug.”

Hilda lets the bag go without any complaint, and says, "Go on, then. What other compliments do you want to render unto me?"

Lysithea sticks out her tongue at her. She knows it's childish, and under any other circumstances she would never have done so. But this is Hilda, and they're all alone. There's nobody else to judge. When it's just the two of them, Lysithea doesn't care if she looks childish -- Hilda would never think she was a child, regardless of her appearance.

"No more compliments,” Lysithea says. “And I could do with less of your strategic incompetence. It's incredibly annoying."

"You should try it sometime," says Hilda, reaching towards Lysithea’s lap to take a chip from the bag. She speaks while she chews, so that her words are punctuated with the crunch of crispy potato wafer. "It makes life so much easier when you don't have to worry about other people's expectations. Trust me."

Lysithea balks at the very thought. "No way! I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because!" she tries to think of a reason, but fails. "I just - I couldn't.”

Hilda goes for another chip. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I'm always worried about what people think when they look at me, because I've always been in the spotlight. I was taken out of the normal school system at the age of twelve and put into special programs. And even before that, it was a constant stream of performances. Whether it's with a musical instrument, or my education, or all the doctors -"

Lysithea’s eyes widen. She bites her tongue, when she realises exactly what she has said. Hilda has paused in her chewing, her mouth closed but her jaw almost comically jutting out to one side while she stares at Lysithea. 

“Th-That - What I mean is -” Lysithea stammers. She has to clear her throat, and then fixes Hilda with a hard look that doesn’t match the waver still present in her voice. “You didn’t hear anything.”

Hilda blinks. “Hear what? Anyway, I’m starving. Are you starving? Let’s get something more than this.” She takes back the bag of chips and rolls it closed, sticking a few fingers in her mouth to lick off the residual salt. With her other hand, she pulls out her phone. “How does pizza sound? There’s a place around the corner that doesn’t completely suck and can deliver in fifteen minutes.”

Already hunched back over her laptop, Lysithea answers with relief, “Pizza is fine. Nothing too spicy, please.” 

“Extra jalapeños. Got it.”

Lysithea can’t help but let out a small huff of laughter. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

--

Lysithea awakes to a sea of soft warmth. She blinks, bleary, and squints. Light streams through a window, washing the sheets a bright white. A tangle of pink hair peeks from beneath the sheets beside her, nestled into the neighboring pillow, and Lysithea freezes. 

Hilda. She is in Hilda’s bed. She had spent the night at Hilda’s.

She doesn’t need to look down at herself to know that she is still mostly clothed. Her shoes and sweater have been abandoned somewhere on the floor. She could vaguely remember getting rid of them sometime after they ordered a pizza but before they abandoned their work to watch a show on netflix. Not that they had paid the show much attention. Hilda had spoken through the whole thing, as if every scene were in desperate need of her constant narration.

After that, Lysithea only remembers the warm hum of the laptop between them, and the softness of the bedsheets, and Hilda’s voice lowering to a murmuring lull. She must have fallen asleep, and Hilda hadn’t been so cruel as to wake her and kick her out of the apartment at midnight.  

Empty bottles of soda and cider are scattered like a city skyline on the bedside table. Her laptop was long gone -- probably under the bed at this point. God only knows. The corner of Hilda's phone can be seen beneath her pillow, glinting in the light when Lysithea sits up in bed.

She needs to somehow make her way to the bathroom, but she is up against the wall, the floor at the foot of the bed is a wreckage of clothes, and Hilda is asleep blocking the only path to freedom. She decides to brave the mountain at the foot of the bed instead of crawling over an insensate Hilda. When she slips out from beneath the sheets and starts to edge further down the mattress however, Hilda rolls over, and Lysithea only narrowly escapes being clocked by a knee. 

Swearing under her breath, Lysithea manages to escape, and climbs down the slope of Hilda's clothes. She finds her bag at the foot of the bed, beside her laptop, and breathes a sigh of relief that it hadn't been consumed by the living organism that was Hilda's apartment. Grabbing the bag, Lysithea heads to the bathroom, and shuts the door behind her as quietly as she can. The lock is a one of those sliding bars that covers the gap between the door and the frame, and Lysithea slips it into place. 

The bathroom is, much to her surprise, clean. Apart from the copious amount of bottles and brushes and makeup and hair product and other cosmetic items that Lysithea did not know the names for, it's still clean. Towels hang from a heated rack along the wall, and the combined shower-tub gleams white. 

Unfortunately however there's very little space on the countertops. Lysithea silently debates what to do with her bag until she finally gives up and props it on the edge of the bathtub. She has to bend over to loot through it. She pulls out another smaller bag from within, a black hard-lined case with a red and white caduceus staff logo on the front. It’s only her emergency staff, the one she keeps just in case her day doesn’t go quite as planned. Like yesterday. And today. 

She unzips the case at the sink, but has to stop. Of all the products and bottles Hilda has accumulated, there's not a single empty glass, and she had not thought to bring some of the leftover soda from the bedroom. With a grimace, Lysithea flips the lid of the case up, and goes about part one of her morning routine.

The cavalcade of pills needs to be taken once every twenty-four hours. Most of the pill bottles sport warning labels about adverse effects when mixed with alcohol. She uncaps the first, and shakes a single pill into the centre of her palm. At most she can manage to swallow down two at a time, but it still seems to take an age. Especially since she has to keep moving the bag aside in order to run the tap and sip water from her cupped hands. 

By the end, the front of her shirt has water marks all down it, and she is wiping off her chin and hands upon one of the fluffy towels. The bottles of pills are all lined up on the small bit of ledge she had cleared upon the sink, and the larger case they usually were neatly divided into rests upon the floor. Lysithea puts the last cap back onto its corresponding bottle, twisting until she hears the child-lock mechanism catch. 

She catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her pale hair is a mess. She considers the odds that Hilda would mind her using one of the many brushes, before deciding to run her fingers through her hair instead. 

“It’s not weird,” Lysithea tells her reflection in the mirror as she tries to tame a particularly stubborn cowlick to no avail. “She’s a friend. Having friends and staying at their house is not weird. You used to sleep in El’s bed all the time.”

That much, at least, is true. And that was even at Edelgard’s enormous family mansion, where there were more rooms with beds than a hospital, let alone in Hilda’s one bedroom apartment where the couch was off limits due to an overabundance of electronics and tchotchkes. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knocking on the bathroom door. 

“Lysithea,” Hilda’s voice is a tired mumble through the door. “C’mon. I need to use the bathroom.”

Frantic, Lysithea swipes all of her pill bottles from the sink ledge and back into her main bag. She doesn’t bother to sort them carefully into their own little miniature case like she normally would, cramming everything into her bag and tugging at the zippers. 

Hilda's knocking intensifies. 

"I'm coming!" Lysithea calls. There's a pause, and then she adds, "If you say 'that's what she says' I will spray you with the shower head."

"You're no fun before you've had coffee in the morning."

Lysithea yanks open the door. Hilda is rubbing at one of her eyes. Somewhere during the night before they had fallen asleep, she had the sense of mind to wash her face and remove all her makeup. Without her usual dark eyeliner and eyeshadow, Hilda looks -- not plain, exactly. Vulnerable. As though she used cosmetics as armour. 

As she slips past her, Hilda says, "Coffee’s in the freezer. There's cereal for breakfast, if you want. Or leftover pizza. Just be sure to leave a slice for me."

"Yeah. Alright." 

The bathroom door shuts, and the lock clicks into place. Lysithea stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She really should eat something. The medication was supposed to be taken with food. She can stay for breakfast. It’s fine. It’s sensible.

Sleeping over at a colleague’s house, and sharing a bed, and quibbling over who gets the bathroom, and eating leftovers for breakfast together is not weird. 

It’s not weird. It’s worse.

It’s becoming part of the Routine. 

--

NOTES:

The pinecones on the sweater clip is a very oblique reference to Lysithea’s major Crest of Gloucester and the Thyrsus. In Graeco-Roman mythology, the Thyrsus is a staff with a pinecone at the end. 

also: tfw ur not-gf is too tiny to steal her designer clothes (TToTT)

[surflove808]

On Destiel and endgame hysteria

Sometimes I get fired up about some of the BS I see in this fandom and this is one of those moments.  This post will be a layercake of sentimentality, disappointment, anger and maybe a wee bit (a lot) of profanity.  So, you know. Back on my bullshit.

The show that we love, love to hate or hate to love, for better or worse, will see it's final curtain call at the S15 finale.  You don't need me to tell you how impactful it's been and how much it means to so many people for a variety of reasons that extend well beyond it's entertainment value.  All it takes is one scroll through social media to get a sampling of the reach of this little-show-that-could and by extension (and because of) it's cast, to see that it's beloved by so many.  And it deserves the praise, and the end deserves to be lamented - but like TFW has said over and over, and to paraphrase Frank Sinatra, they're doing it their way.  For that?  I'm happy.

The show has been described as a "juggernaut" and an "institution", and it is.  We all know the themes:  Finding *your* family, struggle, perseverance, dedication, making mistakes and not always learning from them (but trying), acceptance, the beauty in humanity even when all hope seems lost, redemption, and love... to name the big ones. Now about Love.  "Love" is not threatening to burn down houses if your ship isn't made canon.  "Acceptance" isn't threatening the cast, crew, producers and network with lawsuits if your ship isn't made endgame.  I saw a few posts like that today that had a very disappointing number of likes and reblogs and I'm kinda furious, to be honest.  You fucking twits.

As someone who enjoys the show, and respects the determination, sacrifice, hard work, creativity, and yes - Love -  that has been poured into this endeavor, I don't think I'm alone when I say -  JUST. STOP.  You whining, tantrum throwing, self-important, "wouldn't catch a social cue if it had a $100 bill attached to it and was tossed to you from 3 feet away", obnoxious, divisive children.  

Accept what the cast, the writers and Eric Freaking Kripke have told you?  No... can't do that.  Must hop from one lily pad of delusion to the next and have the gall to be self righteous about it.  And then pat yourselves on the back for being alternately clever, threatening and obtuse.  You're like the Donald Trumps of the SPN fandom.  You're not disliked because of your ship.  You're disliked because of your personalities.  Let that sink in.  No one is marginalizing you.  You chose to do this to yourselves AND your beloved ship via your words and actions.  You sunk your own battleship and now you’re pissed.  

I don't affiliate myself with any ship or the other factions of this fandom.... I don't get it.  I'm just a fan.  A fan of the story, the acting, the tragedy, the comedy, the characters and the character of the actors involved.  I don't know what a good "fan" is... don't care.  But I know what a bad one is.  A bad one thinks that they can take ownership of someone else's art just because they've "invested" in it. 

And I apply it to my own life in this way - Here I am doing my thing, putting my creativity out into the world... and what I create matters to me.  Every little bit.  I throw myself into the things I'm passionate about.  And not everyone is going to be thrilled with what I produce.  Some people will never see what I put out there, but word travels fast when you genuinely care about your craft.  I do what I do because it drives me, and always has.  And I do my best to stay true to MY story.  And the thought of someone trying to insert themselves into my story because they think they know my creations better than I do, makes me want to punch throats.  

And the thought of a group of people actually threatening me and the people I collaborate with because I'm not making their fantasy a reality??  Hey - get fucked sideways without lube, and throw some sand in there for extra discomfort.

I want you (and you know who you are) to have some accountability.  Please tell me in what scenario is your behavior warranted or appropriate.  Feel free to DM me.  I won't "out" you, and I'll never be abusive - I just need to know why.  (bullet pointing this because... reading comprehension)

1.  WHY is Destiel is the only representation you'll accept.  

2.  WHY do you think it's funny or "OK" to harass the creatives on this show constantly when you have absolutely no right to their story?  

3.  WHY do you think that pushing something so hard will get you what you want? 

4,   And lastly.... WHY is this so important to you? 

Can you possibly survive if Destiel isn't made canon?  Do you have other hobbies and interests that can fill your time?  Because some of ya'll are acting like this is the Be All End All of your existence and I'm here to tell you - it's really not.  If it DOES happen, it will be at the discretion of the showrunner and creatives, and I promise you it won’t be because they caved to the small, yet omnipresent faction of Destiehellers that have annoyed the ever-living fuck out of everyone attached to this show.  It’ll be on their terms.

The tantrum strategy stops working after age 4, usually....it just seems some of you are late getting the memo.  Thanks to your folks.  Well done.

Try to appreciate the show for what it is and always has been.  If your expectations are unreasonable and are buoyed by years of manips, misquotes and over-analyzation of brief "moments" between ANY characters, and you feel emotional enough about it to behave badly - it's time for a factory reset.  This show has never mislead you - you’ve bought into delusion and over-analysis and straight-up fiction pimped to you by fellow “fans” probably before you even watched your first episode.  It’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen.  And I’ve seen some shit. 

If you’re going to be angry... be angry at your friendly neighborhood Destiel dealer.  They chumped you to get more *buy* for their *supply*.  Them’s the facts.

That being said.... Can We Just Appreciate The Final Moments That This Amazing Cast And Crew Are Going To Give Us (and you know they will), And Let It The Fuck GO?  

You're welcome to block me (you probably should).  But before you do that, could you let this sink in a bit?  And if you see a fellow shipper being an entitled  douche - maybe hold yourself to a higher standard than they do themselves and don't perpetuate it/like/reblog it?  Because this behavior is well and truly a shitty way to treat the legacy of this groundbreaking show, and all those that are responsible for bringing it to life. 

In other words....Behave.  And have some goddamn dignity.

I’m not sure if I’m doing this right, but my response was so long.  Eh...whatever.  @jessiegail   I understand, and please allow me to elaborate. When I was scrolling through the Jensen tags (because the Dean and SPN tags have been overrun by a lot of people with zero respect for the character/show canon, so I stay away anymore.  That in and of itself should tell you something)... I was also sharing in the moment, and the news and wanted to see some SPN love and positivity. What I ran into almost immediately was, and I quote: "If they don't make destiel cannon (sic) for the series finale, I'll set their houses on fire. You've been warned." 87 people agreed with @moosewncstr on this sentiment.  Now... if it was one shitty person and people steered clear of any affiliation with them for threatening arson because they're completely off their fucking rocker.... that would be easy to ignore.  But 87 people??  That’s really, really bad. What I'm seeing and have been seeing, is a hive-mind mentality that doesn't care for acceptance. Doesn't care if it’s abusive. Doesn't care if someone gets their “feelings” hurt. And they absolutely Do Not Care if what they say incites the potential reality of violence, as long as they can force their ship down the throats of as many people as possible and Make It Canon.  

And by hive-mind, I mean - NO ONE in the Destiel camp seems to have the degree of autonomy (AKA:  Balls) required to rein in the bad apples in their bunch.  They either agree or stay silent.  So, because you can’t self-regulate, people like me with no concern or desire for your approval have to come in and tell you to knock your shit off.  You won’t.  But I feel better.  And maybe others will feel more comfortable to express their disapproval when shit like this rears its ugly head. Anyone who would think threats (just a joke...hahaha), are acceptable, and those who are in agreement can suck it. And i will not roll over and sing kumbaya with anyone who thinks this is ok. I'm generally careful with the headers and lead-in paragraphs to posts that are potentially inflammatory. A courtesy that is not extended by your brethren. You had ample warning that this post would not be kind to asshole shippers. I don’t think you are one of those people - but, if you’re defending this behavior, I can’t really empathize with you.  I also don’t want you to feel targeted.  This isn’t about YOU.  This is about endemic behavior that has become so toxic, it pretty much can’t be undone. As for paying anything forward, I do not owe people who act like this the time of day, much less a kind word. I have 2 choices:  I can stand by and pretend I don't see these things and block, block, block so that I can stay in my bubble. Or, I can take my own little stand on my own little blog and address genuinely disturbing behavior using language of my choice. What I will never do is threaten or abuse any individuals who question my logic. Downside is... you'll get a very long winded explanation. Go, be happy. Enjoy your ship. No one is telling you not to. I'm telling you right now, though - I can't and won't tolerate the bad apples. Best to block me if you're sensitive to the way I word my posts, but understand - I'm not promoting hate or abusive behavior - I'm fighting it. And I will continue to do so as long as I'm on this dumpster fire of a website, because I love this show and I believe all of the creative's, crew and fans deserve some fucking respect.

[alwaysspeakshermind]

Top 5 Anti-Varchie Arguments & Why They Make No Sense

#2: “Varchie’s too rushed/forced/there’s no development.”

[Note: this is one of the arguments that really grates my cheese, because the refuting evidence is so! Very! Obvious! that I don’t even know how anyone can bring themselves to actually use it. So be warned...this post is long. Also, it definitely jumps around a bit, because I was in a serious ‘Really, dude? Really?’ mood when I wrote it, and upon calmer reflection, I decided to remove a few overly sarcastic things I put down in the heat of the moment and add a couple of clarifications so it doesn’t sound like I’m trying to insult anything I’ve no intention of insulting.]

Varchie’s too rushed? Varchie’s too forced? Varchie has no development?

Yeah, no.

I’m trying to not lose all pretense of tact here, but this falls in the “anyone saying this must be too young to grasp the concept of abstract reasoning because people cannot possibly be this dumb” type of arguments.

Because again...no.

NOOOOOOOOOO.

Since the beginning of the series, Archie and Veronica have been Riverdale’s best-developed couple. (Yes, even better than Bughead, who, no shade whatsoever because this is by no means a post meant to disparage one of the other three pairings I’m 100% on board with in this show, didn’t even interact in the pilot), and anyone with more than an ounce of common sense can recognize that. Even if they hate it with every fiber of their being and wish it weren’t true—it’s true.

Development (particularly that of the onscreen relationship variety) does not fall in the category of artistic elements that lend themselves to subjective interpretation. It is a technical, structural element, meaning it is either there, or it’s not, and deliberately ignoring or refusing to acknowledge its existence does not render it null and void. Though they are the first of the canon couples to kiss onscreen, Varchie is also the only ship on the show that takes longer than two or three somewhat-romantic interactions to begin a relationship.

No, seriously. 

Give it a second and really think about it…

In six episodes, how many the-average-person-would-recognize-this-as-romantic times do Betty and Jughead interact before they kiss and begin a romantic relationship? [Note: and by “the average person,” I mean “would even your clueless dad who would probably rather be watching something else instantly recognize this as a Definite Romantic Moment™?”]

How many times in twelve episodes do Cheryl and Toni interact at all before romance is inarguably hinted at [in 2x14; 2x14 is where their half-second interactions become more than fanon and the average viewer learns what most of the rest of us already knew anyway]? 

How many times do Alice and FP interact at all in ten episodes (the point when people suddenly decided they had an entire romantic history and “needed to be put together”), and how many times do they interact after that before they begin whatever kind of relationship it is they have?

How many times do Kevin and Joaquin interact at all, period in one episode before beginning a romantic relationship? 

How many times do Kevin and Moose interact in thirteen episodes before beginning a romantic relationship? 

How many times in one and a half seasons do Kevin and Fangs interact at all, period before beginning a romantic relationship? 

How many times do Archie and Val interact at all, period in six episodes before beginning a romantic relationship? 

How many times in two and a half seasons do Archie and Josie interact at all, period before beginning a romantic relationship? 

How many times in two and a half seasons do Veronica and Reggie interact at all, period before beginning a romantic relationship and how many of those scenes also include Archie? 

(I’d also mention Josie and Reggie, but apparently I’m the only one who remembers that pairing. And also Josie and that summer fling “relationship,” but I’m kind of still trying to block that one from my mind because it really horrifies me that my girl kissed a dude who looks like he pours axle grease on his hair every morning, walks around wearing plaid shirts with cutoff sleeves like Larry the Cable Guy, but still has the nerve to whine publicly about her not wanting it to be anything more, so I won’t.)

But, etc., etc. You get the picture.

This is not, of course, to hurl accusations of “worthless!” at any of the above-mentioned ships or those who ship them; it’s just an example used to illustrate the following point:

If any or all of those pairings seem[ed] cute/promising/full of potential and/or not rushed or forced to you when none of them were so much as hinted at in the pilot (and the show goes for long periods of time without those characters even sharing screentime, let alone actual interactions or even glances), Varchie shouldn’t either. 

Especially in light of the fact that Varchie has a stronger romantic buildup in one episode than most teen couples get in three.

For instance:

Varchie Development In 1x01

Diner scene: Archie and Veronica meet at Pop’s and the romantic interest on both sides is made obvious from the beginning.

School Hall scene: Walking with Betty and Kevin, Veronica spots Archie, asks about him, and makes her interest in him explicitly known (“In that case, mind putting in a word?”) once Betty says “we’re just friends.”

Lunch scene: Veronica immediately addresses Archie regarding the song he’s playing, and Archie surreptitiously checks Veronica out  (it’s quick, but he does. If you don’t believe me, go back and watch Archie during that scene while keeping in mind where Veronica’s at.)

Invitation-to-the-dance scene: Veronica calls Archie over from practice in order to give Betty a prime opportunity to finally ask him out, and Archie pays more attention to Veronica during the conversation—jogging over right away, smiling at her, even agreeing to go to a dance he’s indifferent to because Veronica jokingly insists and agrees to come with him and Betty. Also, “Archiekins,” Veronica’s pet-name-of-choice (besides “Lover”) for Archie in the comics, makes it first appearance.

Dance scene: Veronica jokes about how Archie needs to drop the fine arts/sports question for a night so they can all have fun, Archie refers to her as Ronnie for the first time and tells her he’s trying. Veronica teasingly tells him to work faster, and Archie watches her leave with a look similar to the one he wore in the diner when they first met.

Seven Minutes In Heaven scene: As soon as Archie’s name is suggested, Veronica looks his way, and she visibly leans forward to watch the bottle make its selection. Although it does not “clearly [point] to the new girl” as Cheryl claims (the bottle actually lands in-between Betty and Veronica, meaning no one can say for sure who Archie’s going to kiss), Archie’s eyes immediately cut over to Veronica, and Veronica immediately looks at Archie.

Closet scene: There isn’t much doubt what’s going to happen as soon as the door shuts behind Archie and Veronica, because the sexual tension is palpable, and the entirety of their conversation is like a very awkward dance around the fact they are interested in each other. By the time they kiss it feels inevitable, and even the kiss itself is postponed until the end of the scene so that it acts as the exclamation point to the story arc.

 Once they exit and find Betty gone, the next eight to nine episodes consistently juxtapose Archie and Veronica’s new Friendship™ status with mildly flirtatious and subtly romantic moments that hearken back to the 1x01 makeout; by the time they become an official couple toward the end of Season 1, their relationship development is already slower and stronger than that of most of those previously-listed canon ships after three seasons. So, quite frankly, if you can’t recognize/acknowledge exactly how well-developed and non-rushed a relationship Varchie is, the problem is not the show/writers/the Varchie shippers.

The problem is YOU.

**IMPORTANT NOTE REGARDING SLOW-BURN DEVELOPMENT**

When it comes to fictional relationships, development is not the same thing as a preexisting history between characters. In all forms of fiction, everything important—whether it directly impacts/advances the plot or not—must take place on the screen, stage, or page. (The motto is show, not tell.) Character interactions are not excluded from this rule, particularly when it comes to film or television, where narration is an optional touch to be used sparingly, rather than the default mode of conveying information to the audience. While you can absolutely try to argue that “Barchie has the best development, not Varchie” on the grounds that the former has a long history of friendship, the reality is that at this point in the show, Barchie does not have enough onscreen interactions period, let alone romance-tinged interactions over the course of three seasons, to qualify them for a slow-burn status, let alone a good slow-burn status.

Now.

I’m not sure exactly why, but the concept of slow-burn has lately become so popular and so synonymous in fandom with “best development” and “superior quality” that the term gets thrown around until its original meaning is all but lost and everyone seems to think that if a certain potential pairing doesn’t happen right out of the gate, it automatically = EPIC! SLOW-BURN! ENDGAME!** while any pairing that does happen first automatically = boring. forced. predictable.

Which is…just…not…true.

[**Yet another side note: I LOATHE the word endgame. Always have, always will, and one day I will write the essay on the ever-swirling debate regarding Riverdale’s use of that word and why Veronica had to say it in-narrative for the pure and simple reason that people wouldn’t shut up about Kevin saying it that one time back in the pilot, and in math we call that an inverse operation, BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY.]

Fictional relationships are about character dynamics just as much (if not more) than they’re about story, so it really doesn’t matter if the relationship that winds up being the E-word relationship is expected/planned or unexpected/unplanned. Slow burns can be great, but they are not the only type or relationship with value. Furthermore, not every ship that doesn’t show immediate progress on the romantic front is a slow burn, and not every attempt to create a slow burn works.

In TV, there are epic slow-burns, there are mediocre attempts to create epic slow-burns, there are bad attempts to create epic slow-burns, and then there are blatantly terrible pairings that attempt to cloak their pulled-out-of-a-hat-for-drama-ness beneath the heading of “slow-burn.” (Come to think of it, maybe that’s why people are so confused about what actually constitutes a slow-burn???)

Using another Friends example, think the J/R pairing…did they have the potential to be a good slow-burn relationship? Yeah, sure. All the actors on that show had chemistry and everyone interacted enough to make everything narratively plausible. Were they a good slow-burn relationship? No, because they came from left field, happened so late in the game and, worst of all, had to follow a strong relationship with better romantic chemistry and multiple seasons of solid storylines behind it. There are some people who prefer them together, yes, but even everyone who does like them (at least everyone I’ve ever come across) fully admits that they would also have preferred that pairing occurred much earlier in the show, when not so much water had gone under the bridge.

[Or, if Friends isn’t your sitcom, think instead of the giant misstep in How I Met Your Mother’s finale, where 7-8 seasons of plot and character development were bent, clipped, and otherwise torpedoed to splice existing material onto the plan for an ending that was concocted back when the show’s creators expected to only get maybe 3 seasons. Could that ending have worked after 2-3 seasons? Yes! It could’ve even been great. But after all those seasons, and all that story/character/relationship development in directions that wound up being more compelling than the original plan, it just didn’t work. It wound up feeling like someone luring you on a fun-but-long car ride with the promise of dessert at the end, and then being like “Ta da! Here’s a fruit parfait! Eat up!” Because while plenty of people enjoy fruit parfaits and wouldn’t mind eating them for breakfast or a snack, no one really appreciates being served berries, yogurt, and granola when they were led to expect ice cream/cake/cookies/pie. When you expend a lot of time and effort building something up, you absolutely have to deliver. You can’t pull a switcheroo at the last minute and call it good, because all that does is beg the question if this was your plan all along, why did you waste so much time developing everything but this?]

When it comes to creating slow burn, there are no shortcuts. It’s a delicate and tricky road, because in addition to needing to make sense from an in-narrative and character aspect, it also requires careful, unflagging cultivation over an extended period of time. It can’t show up and disappear at random for the sake of plot convenience; it needs normal and consistent onscreen interaction (i.e., frequent everyday conversations with and without other characters present), readily-observable-by-audience romance-tinged interaction every 2-4 episodes (flirting, furtive or longing glances, touches that linger, special smiles, noticeably consistent too much attention paid to the other person’s dating or personal life, etc.), as well as an unwavering attraction/willingness to go there from both parties.

In other words, slow-burn is exactly what the name implies: a long, slow, process where each step depends on the one before it, and you can’t rush it, skip steps, or let it fade into the background for a couple seasons while you work on something else. It must be shown, not told, the connection must be inarguable from the beginning, and there must be so much sizzling sexual chemistry between characters that even interactions in platonic settings resemble mutual flirting rather than friendly banter. After one season, Barchie doesn’t have any of that. After two seasons, Barchie doesn’t have any of that. After three seasons, Barchie still doesn’t have that.

But you know who does have all of that? 

Varchie. 

In every. Single. Season. 

(You know who else does? Bughead, but that’s a different essay.)

S1 takes about thirteen episodes to bring everything that begins the second A&V see each other to fruition, and is peppered throughout with flirty interactions, wistful glances, etc., and every few episodes, they share a moment that unmistakably hints at romance/their continued interest in one another. 

In S2, even their breakup is handled along the lines of a slow-burn formula…they sit on opposite sides of the room and exchange glances at the beginning of the episode. Their “we’re still friends” moment is awkward and laced with obvious sexual tension where a direct reminder of the relationship they’re trying to forget is introduced (the watch), and Veronica’s instinctive grab for Archie’s hand makes everything worse. Their I Love You Too reunion beneath the fake mistletoe is built up to like a first kiss scene. 

In S3, in order to make other pairings seem remotely plausible, the narrative goes out of its way to separate Archie and Veronica and keep them from interacting, but still throws the two of them together every few episodes or so for a moment that underscores their connection and shows how even their best attempts at friendship are sabotaged by the very non-platonic feelings they have for each other.

They are not rushed. They are not underdeveloped. They are most certainly not “forced.”

Oh, and speaking of forced...

Some quick definitions of “forced,” because we seem to be very confused about this word in relation to fiction as well:

(1) Obtained or imposed by coercion or physical power.

(2) (of a plant) having its development or maturity artificially hastened.

(3) (of a gesture or expression) produced or maintained with effort; affected or unnatural.

Beyond the fact that definitions 2&3 clearly refer to plants and facial expressions and thus maybe shouldn’t be used as an argument against a fictional relationship in the first place, none of these apply to Varchie. Their relationship involved no coercion/exercise of physical power whether you look at it from a meta or in-narrative perspective. Neither development nor maturity was hastened; if anything, it was deliberately stalled to create conflict between three of the main characters and then grown on an episode-by-episode basis. It is effortlessly produced/maintained thanks to the actors’ dynamic (which is also the point where the affected/unnatural part collapses; KJ Apa and Camila Mendes work too well together to make their interactions seem anything but natural) and the ease with which the characters’ personalities mesh.

But, hey...you know what could be reasonably construed as “forced?” You know what does actually fit all three of those above definitions? The contortionist-level attempts it took to break Archie and Veronica up in order to pair them with characters they have had hardly any onscreen interactions with in three seasons. If you truly despise forced fictional relationships, then perhaps it would be better to focus more energy on decrying the plot gymnastics that were required in S3 to break up Varchie and bring Archie/Josie and Veronica/Reggie into existence. Because regardless of whether you like or dislike those last two pairings, they are, by positive rather than normative standards, extremely forced.

So, once again...Varchie: not rushed, not underdeveloped, not forced. 

And once again (I’m getting so tired of typing this, but hey, it will never not be applicable, so oh well): You’re perfectly free to be mad that Archie and Veronica  prevent your ship from happening, and/or get all the scenes you’d like your favorite pairing to get. But arguing that they have no development when they are objectively the best-developed and least-rushed pairing on Riverdale is just ridiculous. 

[butcanijustnot]

A Thousand and One Kisses (Shuri X F!Reader)

Author: Crystalline / @butcanijustnot

Fandom: Marvel - Black Panther

Tagging: @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

Summary: You and Shuri are useless lesbians. That’s it. That’s the whole plot. It stated off as a platonic piece but I’m far too gay for that so it turned into romantic fluff.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings:  The GAYEST of fluff-pieces here.

Also I don’t speak Xhosa so I used translating software for my fic. If it’s off please let me know so I can change/fix it. Thanks!

It was supposed to be a routine mission. So routine, in fact, that Okoye felt completely safe bringing you, a simple Dora Milaje trainee, along for the ride. This was a big move for you, as up until this point you had just been doing combat training and guarding the princess of Wakanda. Not that that was a problem, it had allowed you to get close to and eventually become friends with Shuri herself. Of course, your friendship with the princess started the same way all good ‘friendships’ should.

With a kiss.

You were training. God, weren’t you always? You were learning the Dora art of stone, or in layman’s terms, you were learning how to stand really still and not show any emotions no matter what happens around you. This role was important to you and to Wakanda, and you so badly wanted to succeed. So far you had worked through every trial so far, through Okoye’s mocking and Nakia pulling faces at you (the king-consort acting like a hyperactive five-year-old was perhaps one of the weirder experiences in your life but none-the-less you worked through it.) That’s when Shuri walked in, focused on something in her beads, and Okoye asked her a fateful question.

“Shuri, we are training a new recruit. Can you think of anything to break her?”

Shuri looked up at us and strolled over, you watching out of the corner of your eyes. She looked you up and down for a second, then smirked, walked right up to you and pecked you on the cheek. Whether shock or embarrassment, you broke completely, bursting out laughing and doubling over.

“Y/N!” Okoye said, startled.

“I’m sorry!” You chuckled, shaking your head and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I can do this.” You reassured her, getting back into position, but it didn’t last. Shuri kissed your cheek again and you fell apart, again.

“I can do this all day, ncinane Dora.” Shuri smirked, both a tease and a promise.

Over time it became somewhat of an unspoken tradition. You would be stationed in Shuri’s lab, because you were a trainee and Okoye was short of other things to do with you that were, well, safe, and when Shuri came in she would stride over to you, press a kiss to your cheek and continue what she was doing. This happened to matter what. She never forgot and company or lack there-of never stopped it. The first time she did it in front of her brother, you swear he almost astral projected out of his body right then and there.

“Shuri, that’s really not what the Dora are there for…” He tried to reason, but Shuri wasn’t having any of it. She placed her hands on her hips and playfully glared him down.

“She’s okay with it. Right, Y/N?” She said, gesturing at me. T’Challa looked at you with an expression of Oh Bast please help me, but what could you say, you didn’t really mind.

You nodded. “I’m fine with it. Really.”

Shuri pointed to you, then at her brother, who looked as if he was waiting for the gods above to swoop down and take him, then around the room whilst laughing like a hyena. “Ha! I told you! If you’re allowed to marry a wardog, then I’m allowed to kiss a Dora. It’s the rules.”

“Oh, this again! Come on!” The king whined, sounding uncharacteristically like a 17-year-old trying to get his parents permission to go out tonight.

Later that night you were guarding the lab alone. Everyone else had gone home but Shuri was still working, trying to improve yet another gadget once again. As a trainee Dora, you had to stay with the princess, protecting her at all times. The role was honorary, really, Shuri was more than capable of protecting herself, but it was still good insurance. Unfortunately, it meant you couldn’t retire until she did, and this woman was married to her work. Suddenly, she disappeared from the room for about ten minutes and came back with two bowls full of a rice curry. She moved some things and placed them down on the desk, then turned and beckoned you over. For a moment, you stayed glued to your spot.

“Come on, Okoye isn’t here, and I won’t tell, promise.” She said, taking a bite. You had to admit, it smelt amazing and you were hungry. You took a cautious step forward, expecting Okoye to jump out from behind a doorframe and yell ‘Ah ha! It was a test!’ but nothing happened.

You sat down across from the princess and took a bite. Somehow it tasted even better than it smelt. You groaned appreciatively, eat more and more like a pig. You didn’t remember your place or who you were in the presence of until a second later, and you rushed to stop before she giggled.

“Mood.” She said, smiling softly. You were confused but ultimately decided against questioning it.

There was a pause filled with silence. “So, tell me about yourself.” She finally said.

And you did. You told her everything, even things you’d never told anyone at all. You told her about being an orphan, about wanting to look after people, and about joining the royal guard to do just that. Shuri was easy to talk too, made things seem brighter, so you didn’t even notice how time flew by. She told you about life as a princess, about America and the rest of the world and everything she knew about. You enjoyed it a lot, but eventually her brother came to drag her kicking and screaming to bed. You were almost sad to be done with it.

Until Shuri did the same thing the next night. And the next. And the next.

You and Shuri got closer and closer over those late nights and everyday kisses. You found yourself feeling more and more for the princess. You wanted to spend all of your time with her, and though you were oblivious to it, she was falling for you too.

She had always been excited for you. Every award, every opportunity that came your way, all of it, until you told her about this mission. Sure, physically, she had smiled and told you she was happy for you, but you could tell she was hiding something under the surface. Sadness? At the time you were too happy to question it, but now…

Now you were hurt, and dreading telling her.

It was a simple mission, and you still managed to get shot. The words ran around in your head like a bad song. Sure, it was an arm wound and sure, you would almost certainly live and sure, nobody else had even noticed, too wrapped up in their own problems to pay any mind to you so really, how bad could it be but still, it hurt.

You didn’t even want anyone to know, bast knows what the consequences would be. This was the first time Okoye trusted you out in the field, what if she never lets you out of the palace again? What if she cuts you from the guard? This people were the only family you had, leaving them made you feel sick to your stomach and brought tears to your eyes. You were an idiot to get hurt, you knew that, and all you wanted right now was to leave and go to the lab. You wanted Shuri.

“We are about to arrive back at the palace. All injured Dora are to report to medical; the rest are requested by Okoye at the royal courtyard.” The pilot explained, monotoned. The plane jolted as we landed and almost immediately you were up. You covered the injury with a pile of clothing and bandages to hide it and followed the group off the plane.

You held your arm in close to your side, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t hurt that badly. You ushered the other warriors into the infirmary, but instead of following them down yourself, you turned when everyone else was gone and slipped away, making a beeline for the lab. Every fibre of your body screamed for you not too, this is crazy, but your pain-drunk mind was louder. Shuri, it screamed, you need to see Shuri.

The walk down to the lab was excruciating. Your arm stung and ached, no matter how much pressure you placed on it, but you smiled and tried to hide it as you walked past the two Dora stationed outside of the doors, silently hoping that they wouldn’t notice the blood dripping through your fingers and onto the floor.

You were glad to see that the lab was almost completely empty. It was quiet, with the exception of the bottom floor where, true to form, Shuri was bustling around, moving her projects between tables and tapping on holographic images on her beads. She was mumbling things to herself, and you wanted to call out to her and you wanted to call out to her and get her attention, but your voice was stuck in your throat, held captive by pain.

You descended the staircase, your head feeling lighter and lighter with every step. Shuri noticed you the moment you reached the bottom of the stairs and a huge smile broke onto her face.

“Y/N!” She squealed, dropping what she was doing and moving to hug you. She stopped about a metre away, and the smile fell off her face when she saw the blood pooling on your sleeve and your pained expression. “what happened?”

“I-” You try to respond, but at that moment your legs gave way underneath you and you fell. She ran forward, catching you but only just. You fell against her chest, and instinctively wrapped your arms around her, craving her warm embrace.

She moved to your side, helping you over to the sand table in the centre of the room. She lay you down slowly and carefully, her eyes scanning the wound with pursed lips.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” She huffed, stitching up the wound in a little under a minute and wrapping it up in half the time. Sher was upset, you could tell, but when you tried to talk to her, all that came out was a soft groan. She grimaced.

“People tell me ‘Don’t worry, Y/N’s an adult, she can look after herself’ but I still worry and of course I’m right! You stay cooped up with me too long, and then when you do go outside, you come back like this! How could you be so irresponsible!?!?” She rambled, yelling less at you and more at the empty space around us.

“I didn’t mean to get hurt…” You whispered, finally pushing out a coherent sentence whilst staring up at the ceiling. Your words were scratchy and thin, and you felt tears beginning to swell in your eyes once again.

She shook her head, and when she looked at you again her eyes had softened. “I know you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just...” She paused, swallowed and continued. “I really care about you, Y/N, I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.” She murmured, her eyes flicking between you, your arm and the floor. “I love you.” She whispered, as soft and quiet as a night-time breeze.

You’re not proud of it, but you completely froze. Shuri loves me. Shuri is in love with me. The princess of Wakanda is in love with me. I love her. I love Shuri. We love eachother. That’s amazing. Shit, what do I do? You noticed her staring at you and that was able to snap you out of it. Shit, shit! Words, I need to say words!

“I love you too.” You blurted out, trying to sit up to face her. She moved to grasp your shoulders and gently push you back down with a half-glare, half surprised expression.

“No, no, no. You’re hurt. Stay down, Entle.” She said, semi-forcefully. You stopped fighting, transfixed by her and her beautiful face and that damn smile that lit up the room. You couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to her lips.

Her lips felt and tasted better than you ever could have hoped. Sweet and soft and slightly chapped from where she had been chewing it in thought. You could have stayed there forever, drinking in her taste, but you pulled back after a second to look at her.

“Was that okay?” You asked, swallowing.

Her hand moved up from your shoulders to hold the sides of your face. “Get back here.” She whispered, pulling you in for another, longer kiss.

“Hey Shuri, have you seen- Oh.” Okoye nearly dropped her spear when she saw you two. slowly, her lips bent into a soft smile. “About damn time.”

[melyaliz]

Canary pt 6

Canary Masterlist  

Fandom: Marvel / MCU 

Pairing: Loki x Reader 

Notes: I’m back! It was an amazing time with my brothers but I am happy to be back to writing. Also a random question, This chapter is kind of short, do you guys want longer chapters? Or do you like easy to read chunks? 

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive​

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

-------------------------------------------------------

“So basically you are like a viral video”

“Yeah I’ve noticed, do you think they will turn it into a meme? Walking into work on a Monday like ‘wiz-bang’”

“If they do can I get your autograph?” 

“Only if I can get your first Tony Stark.” 

“Ohh the memes I could show you about me.”

“I’m pretty sure I have used most of them, to be honest.” 

--------

“So what’s up with you and rock of ages?” 

I couldn’t help but smile breaking my concentration on the humming “Very Funny” I was playing with weaving it in and out of stuff. 

“Never heard that one.”

“It’s a classic actually,” Tony said tapping his wrench against the metal table sending out a sounding ring. One you pulled up letting float around twisting it pulling it apart and bringing it back soft and light before letting it rain down around you both. 

“Do you have any other ones?” I asked 

“It’s more of an in the moment kind of thing.”

“Fair.” 

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

I bit my lip pulling his my question out and letting it swirl around us for a moment expanding it, deepening it. The problem was, I didn’t know. What was up with me and the God of Mychshift? 

Nothing good most likely. 

“DJ?” 

“You asked me to keep an eye on him.”

“I didn’t realize he was going to become your shadow.”

“A shadow is a big responsibility,” I said quoting Peter Pan turning the words a pitch higher and sideways making them sound like the boy himself. Funny, I had just been reading that book too, finding it in the shelves of the large library on at the base. Something about its green cover had drawn me to it and now I felt like its words were floating all around me like the sounds I controlled. 

Your little green shadow. Maybe if you caught him he would stop teasing me. Stop this maddening game he was playing. 

------------

Like most of the day, Loki was bored. While yes, this prison was much better than the one on Asgard it was a prison nonetheless. 

A prison filled with fools. 

And the king of fools sat on a stool looking at his Canary. 

Tony had been helping his Canary with her powers. That had been evident to Loki from the moment he had come off the ship to his new home. The young woman in question and the Ironman had some sort of agreement that kept them together for long hours in Tony’s workroom. 

Not that Loki was surprised, the master of sound was quite interesting. Besides her weird obsession with keeping her voice and laughter to herself, her powers seemed quite limitless. It was fascinating to him how she seemed to play with sound the way a painter plays with colors. Pulling them and pushing them around her mixing them and spreading them until they created something completely different. 

Something beautiful. 

He had known many an artist and this young woman had the spirit of one. 

Which seemed to confuse him more how she seemed to hide behind her powers. Normally those with a gift for the arts wanted nothing more than to show it off. To bring their vision of beauty to the world around them.

But not her.

No, she hide behind the bubble she had created. Hiding in the world that she had created. Keeping all those bits of art to herself. 

And if there was one thing Loki loved it was finding things that were hidden. 

Especially if the person didn’t want them to be found. 

So as he walked through the halls of this prison he looked for his little mistress of sound only to find her with the man of steel. 

A bright smile on her face as she leaned forward her mouth open slightly body shaking. Her hands were moving painting a picture of sound for the man in front of her who had his own smile on his face. 

Loki felt a twinge of anger clench his chest. 

Because he couldn't hear anything but he could see it. Written all over her face. 

Laughter. 

The way her hands moved playing with the noise around her. 

The way she could build a wall between him and her

And yet she let Tony inside. 

----------------

“Where’s your chirping little bird? Or is there trouble coming?” 

Tony and I looked up as the man we had just been talking about came walking into the room. The term “speak of the devil” came to mind as Loki sauntered over to us hands outstretched as if expecting applause. 

“Don’t get up, I know my presence is a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Tony said, however, his eyes never left me. I could feel it in the bones, hear it in his voice. A sound I didn’t dare play with. 

He knew.

He could see the way my stomach flipped slightly whenever Loki entered a room. The way it seemed harder and harder to keep a straight face. All these emotions I knew I shouldn’t have for a man like him.

 Keep the sounds at bay.

I kept telling myself it was because he was trying so hard to get them out of me.

Or was it because I was trying so hard that he kept coming back? 

The thought had never really crossed my mind until that moment. And it hit me like a ton of brings. How could I be so blind? It was so obvious. I looked up at Loki my eyes meeting his green ones with a steady gaze. He met my look curiously.

“Well speak up,”

“Is there something you want me to say?” 

“You just seemed too solemn for a moment, where did you go.”

“A magical place where Tony and I can finish a practice without you barging in.”

“Now that hurt” Loki whined sitting down next to me on the small stool I was sitting on. There was no room for him so I tried to scoot away only to have his long arm around my neck pulling me closer to him, “Maybe I could be of some assistance.” 

Tony watched us from his seat taking some M&M’s he had stashed in his tool kit. Taking a few more bites. The sound of his munching seemed to fill the room. 

“What would you need from me?” Loki whispered in my ear, his words soft and smooth like velvet. Rich and green with layers of warmth that I didn’t want.

It was already too hot in here. 

I pulled his “me” from his lips and pushed it back at him. The smooth word hard and balled up. Not too hard but enough to push him away so he was sprawling on the ground. Standing up I looked down at him as he met my gaze with a confused one of his own propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I already have all the help I need” the words flat and real. Unable to hold them back. The pounding of my heart beating in my ears seemed to be all I could hear and the thought of controlling any other sound seemed almost impossible.

“I’ve never seen her react like that,” Tony’s voice followed me as I stormed out, “I’ll give you that Tinkerbell.”

-GET TAGGED!- 

Tagging: @royslittleharper​​  @the-shadow-of-atlantis​​ @coffee-randomness​​ @daisyboobear​​ @nilthanious​​  @jason-redhood​ @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr @ocelysium @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep

Loki: @wayward-hell​

Canary: @baybay123455 @rizanendoza808 @dragonrosegardens @6-daughter-of-a-witch-6 @califorina-grown @2s0uls @oh-no-a-whovian 

[greyias]

OC Asks 3. How did you choose their name?

Also asked by @captainderyn​

Hahahahaha… okay, the short answer?: I’m an idiot. I didn’t realize I was going to love this game or this character as much as I did.

The long answer, well, I’ve alluded to it once or twice in the past, but I guess I should actually delve into it for real. But under a cut, because it’s probably going to get long.

I’m not sure if this should come with any kind of warning, but it’s kind of long and does delve into some personal stuff. So hopefully that doesn’t bother anyone!

Okay, so, when I first heard about this game in 2011, I had been out of fandom for several years, and had played a few MMOs here and there, but never really got into them for very long, mostly because I got bored very quickly with how repetitive they were. And then I read about this supposedly story and character-driven MMO, and I was intrigued. I was talking to my sister-in-law at the time about it, and ultimately realized I’d never be able to play because I didn’t have a PC capable of running it, and I was heavily into debt because of medical issues, to the point where I was having a difficult time affording my car payment, mortgage, and groceries.

So then Christmas rolls around, and my family has just about finished all of the presents when my brother and his wife go and bring in a special gift they’d been working on for several months: a frankensteined gaming PC that had one game installed on it, with several months of a subscription pre-paid: Star Wars the Old Republic

Needless to say, I was kind of bawling because no one had ever done something that nice to me before. And like? It’s kind of hard to describe what that previous year had been like without having a long, long side story but… it was difficult. It kind of sounds melodramatic to say it was hellish, but looking back on it? It kind of was. I was barely doing anything besides surviving, much less having fun. And here my sister-in-law had actually listened to a one-off conversation about how I was interested in this game but probably would never be able to play it, and like… took it upon herself to make that happen.

So of course the first thing I do is hook up my brand FrankenPC, load up the only game on it, and create a character! But it’s a MMO – and even though it’s billed on being story and character-based, I kind of don’t really believe it? Or at least don’t think my character is going to matter. So I do what I did with every other MMO, I used my online nickname to make a character (Greyias) so my friends can recognize me if they’re in-game, create a character that vaguely looks like me, and get to adventuring! 

The last name came when they rolled out legacies, and hey, I used “Highwind” for my short-lived Pirates of the Caribbean MMO toon. It’s also the last name for one of the main characters in my abandoned steampunk novel series, but that’s another story for another time.

(And then after about three days of learning the mechancis, re-roll said character on a different server, because OOPS! That wasn’t the server my brother and sister-in-law had started their guild on. She looked a little less like me this time. Probably should have changed the name, but I just wanted to see how the story turned out and eventually quest with my fam)

I realized my mistake around Coruscant when Kira joined up as a companion and I went “…uh oh.”

Because I’ve started to recognize I get a certain feeling when I like something, really like something to the point when I get… ideas. Story ideas. Character conversations and wondering “what if”. Of course, this is still in the open beta period, the game hasn’t even launched yet, there’s still long queues to log in and the grind is real, and I just want to see where this story is going and what Darth Angral is going to do, and why is this character so damn sincere and genuine and I don’t like characters that are the literal embodiment of sunshine, I like snarky snarksters and–oh. No I actually do like the Sunshine Jedi. A lot.

Now, a few of you may be like “I really don’t see what the problem is” – this is kind of an old school thing, and something that seems to have thankfully gotten a lot of pushback in the time since I had left fandom and the time since I rejoined it, and that is: The Dreaded Mary Sue

From about the time I had started writing fic when I was in my early teens and onwards it had been drilled into my head that Mary Sues were a bad thing. And self-inserts were worse. Especially if they were *gasp* FEMALE CHARACTERS. (We can’t have those girls having characters they identify with now, can we?) And like, those very relevant discussions aside, I was kind of… ashamed? That I had made a self-insert without realizing it? Despite the fact that like, the character that resulted from my playthrough was very much not me. Like, a significantly different person.

But I was starting to get story ideas and snatches of character bits, and like, I hadn’t written in so long, I hadn’t been inspired in so long. And honestly I just loved this little do-gooder goober, in all of her naive, happy-go-lucky glory. As well as her red-headed sidekick and this amazing dynamic that I had only really seen depicted between male characters previously. And so I promised myself if I got a story idea, I’d write it out and… just change Grey’s name to something else. So no one would know my secret crime, and I would be free, freeeee to scribble in the margins of canon.

It was a great plan, except, I had been playing with subtitles for the game on, so every time Grey would speak, her name would appear above it. And wouldn’t you know? I associated that name with that face, and well, I didn’t get that story idea yet, so it was. Fine I tell you. FINE.

I kept playing the game. In fact, I played the game a lot in the middle part of 2012, because wouldn’t you know? I had another round of medical issues that put me on short term disability and I actually had to retrain my body to sit in a chair for long periods of time (look, it’s a really long story, and this post is long enough as it is). So let’s just say… I got really attached to my little Sunshine Jedi who could go out and save the galaxy when I could barely walk a hundred feet.

And continued to play it off and on over the following years, until finally, finally the devs removed the grind wall in preparation for KotFE, and I was able to finish the Jedi Knight storyline and see where her story ended up. Then I played the next expansion on Makeb. Which was fun. Then I made the mistake that we all know I was eventually going to make: I played Shadow of Revan.

And met Theron fucking Shan. And my perfect little Jedi suddenly fell in love and oh crap. I’m escaping out of cutscenes to rewatch them. Like rewatching them an absurd amount of times. And as I’m going to sleep I’m like, getting entire bits of narration and brand new scenes and fic ideas in my head, and oh god. It finally happened. I try and resist the pull, but I play up through KotFE and I have no more story to stall any more. And the snippets just keep lulling me to sleep every night and… okay.

I probably need to rename this character now. Like, there’s an actual ability to do that in-game so I should get to it. Chop chop.

Nothing works. Nothing at all works. This should not be that hard, she can have any name, no one will know. Why can’t I think of a different name? I go to every single name site known to man, and none of them are her. Besides the fact, that’s her name, and I’m starting to feel kind of guilty for taking it away from her. Poor girl has been through so much in canon and now I’m taking away her name? What kind of monster am I? Okay, fine. I roll up a different Knight during the Dark vs Light event, gave that one an actual name that was not my online writer name just to see if I could trick my brain into writing about them.

Nope.

Maybe I’ll change my online name? “Let her keep the name Grey and I can just have a different name and…” – at this point I’m starting to realize I might be getting slightly neurotic over this whole thing.

Completely annoyed with myself for spending nearly a year trying to come up with a new name I’m starting to get desperate, thinking up ways to maybe just… write around it and not let people know her name until they maybe fall in love with her and hopefully just forget how it’s weird. That can work right? Okay, whatever at least I’m writing and it’s shutting these two up, and it’s all going good for several stories in and then suddenly I get to a scene that has more than one female character and I’m like “Shit… the jig is up.”

Meanwhile, I’ve started up a Dragon Age Origins playthrough, and like a dumbass, DO THE EXACT SAME THING with a female Cousland, and start whining to poor @for-the-flail on Twitter, on my fainting couch about how I can never write this character’s name because I named her after myself, and, bless her heart, she’s just like: “…um. Why?”

And I’m like “Because… we share a name… and that’s weird for people…?”

She goes “It’s not that weird. Why don’t you just write your stories? People will like them or not.”

And sheepishly, I realized she was right, and stopped being so diligent about hiding poor Grey’s name, and eventually, because you are all such lovely and encouraging people, eventually embraced it. (Come to think of it, I never did wind up writing about poor Cousland!Grey. Oops.)

So! That’s the long and ramble story of how she got her name and why it never changed despite my best efforts.

In summary: I’m an idiot 🤷‍♀️ but I think you guys love me anyway?

[straycatsacademia]

Coffee Vs. Creamer

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Ship: Chuuatsu

Chapters: 1/?

Summary: Nakahara Chuuya has been working at Mori's Cafe since he was 16. His ex-coworker, Dazai Osamu, now mentors Nakajima Atsushi at a rivaling coffee shop. When Atsushi starts to come into Mori's Cafe to get away from the chaos, Chuuya starts to feel things for Atsushi he didn't think he was capable of feeling.

Read it on Ao3

Chuuya had been working for Mori’s Cafe since he was 16. Despite the rude customers and the lack of tips, he enjoyed his job. Especially the hours. Since Mori’s cafe was one of two 24 hour coffee shops in this small town, Chuuya was able to work nights, when it was usually quiet. Except tonight.

“Hi Chuuuyaaaa!” He heard his ex-coworker yell. Chuuya groaned.

“Dazai, you left our shop to work at another cafe, why do you always come here to get your coffee?”

“It gets boring at nights,” Dazai whined. “What better way to spend my time than annoy you?”

Chuuya grit his teeth, but took his money and started making his coffee. “Don’t you have to, I don’t know, actually work?”

“Nah, we hired someone else to help me with the night shift so I’m able to come here when it’s slow!”

“Give that poor soul my condolences for working with you,” Chuuya replied.

Dazai stuck out his tongue and walked out of the shop. Chuuya leaned back against the counter sighing.

“He forgot his coat,” his coworker, Akutagawa, mentioned behind him.

Looking over, sure enough Dazai’s coat was on the counter.

“Ugh, lazy bastard will just call me until I bring it over. Watch the shop for me for a few, yeah?”

Akutagawa nodded and went back to wiping the tables as Chuuya grabbed the coat and started heading to the ADA cafe. Since they lived in a small town, Chuuya only had to walk a few blocks.

Once he walked into the cafe, instead of Dazai he was met with a silver-haired man with a bright smile.

“Hello, can I help you today?”

Chuuya blinked. This dude was way too happy to be working at a coffee shop at 3 a.m..

“You must be Dazai’s new coworker,” he mused. “I work at the coffee shop he just went to and he left his coat, I’m just returning it,” he said.

“Ah, gotcha! Thank you! If you didn’t bring it back Dazai probably would have made me get it,” he laughed.

That was when Chuuya noticed that the man’s name-tag read “Atsushi.”

“Yeah, probably, knowing his lazy ass. You seem pretty nice, how on earth did you get stuck with him?”

“Oh, I’m a college student! I take night classes so this schedule actually worked out perfect for me,” he explained.

At that moment Dazai walked in. “Ewww what is that hat-rack doing here?”

“Returning your jacket, dumbass!”

“Awww chibi is so mean to me~ I wish he was nice to me like Atsushi,” Dazai pouted.

“Atsushi is too nice to be putting up with you,” Chuuya responded.

“Thanks, Chuuya,” Atsushi laughed. “I’ll deal with him, thank you again for dropping off his jacket,” he added.

Chuuya nodded and then left the shop, glaring at Dazai.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Chuuya wasn’t really expecting to see Atsushi again, yet he was surprised when Atsushi walked into the shop a few days later.

“Is Dazai giving you too much trouble? I’ll beat him up for you,” Chuuya threatened.

Atsushi laughed. “No, but he’s working tonight with Kunikida and I needed to get some work done. I figured this would be a lot more peaceful than listening to Kunikida yell at Dazai to not be a lazy ass,” he added.

Chuuya chuckled and got him his drink. Atsushi sat down at a table and started working on his homework.

“Who is that?” Akutagawa asked him.

“He’s the new guy working with Dazai. Poor thing,” Chuuya answered.

Akutagawa snorted. “Anyone who works with Dazai willingly must be an idiot,” he muttered, before going back into the kitchen to do his own thing.

Chuuya rolls his eyes before heading back to the counter. He plays on his phone a while before looking up at Atsushi again, only to see he was frowning and sticking out his tongue in concentration.

Chuuya laughed. “Struggling?”

Atsushi jumped at hearing Chuuya’s voice. He smiled. “Was I making faces while studying again? Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

Chuuya waved off his apology. “What are you studying anyway?”

“My degree is in Social Work, but that’s only if I pass this psychology class,” Atsushi groaned.

Chuuya whistled. “That’s a selfless job. Good for you, though. What makes you think you can’t pass this class?”

“It’s so much memorization, my brain can’t process it all!”

Chuuya looked around the coffee shop, Atsushi was the only customer.

“How about I help you?”

Atsushi gaped at him. “N-No I can’t ask you to do that! I don’t want to distract you from your work!”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “See any other customers in here I need to assist?”

Atsushi looked around, then back at his book.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know me, why do you want to help me?”

Chuuya shrugged. “You’re a nice guy. Well, you’ve been nice to me, and I assume you’re nice to everyone else if you can deal with Dazai,” he answered.

Atsushi stared at him for a few seconds, and then nodded

“Thank you!” He told Chuuya, handing him his note cards.

Chuuya spent the rest of the night quizzing Atsushi, and laughing whenever he asked Atsushi to associate things with certain terms.

“What makes you think of Freud?”

Atsushi scrunched his face. “Um ... cocaine?”

Chuuya snorted. “Well, I guess if it helps you remember,” he said. Then he smirked, leaning towards Atsushi. “Do you do drugs, Atsushi?”

“Wha - No! Why would you think that?!”

“You willingly worked with Dazai, that seems like only someone on cocaine would do,” Chuuya joked.

Atsushi stuck his tongue out at him. “Didn’t Dazai used to work here?”

Chuuya groaned, leaning back into his chair dramatically. “Yes, and it was the worst! He always called me his stupid dog!”

This time, it was Atsushi’s turn to laugh. “Does that mean… you were Dazai’s bitch?”

He laughed again when Chuuya threw his note cards at him.

No more customers walked in that night, and when Atsushi mentioned it was time for him to leave, Chuuya was almost sad.

“Thanks again, for helping me. Let me know if I can ever repay you!”

Chuuya smiled. “No problem. Tell me what you get on your test!” He called out as Atsushi walked out of the shop.

“Well, you two seemed to be having fun,” Akutagawa smirked beside him.

For some reason, Chuuya felt the need to defend himself.

“He needed the help and there was nothing else to do!” He argued pathetically.

Akutagawa rolled his eyes. “Sure. Next time though, flirt at his coffee shop. I almost puked,” he gagged dramatically, and Chuuya threw an empty coffee cup at him.

Yet despite Akutagawa’s teasing, he couldn’t help but look back at the door and wonder when he would see Atsushi again.

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 55

Paring: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

John didn’t expect to find you pressed against Sherlock’s chest when he came down to get something to eat, in fact, he rather expected to find you still drawing in the same position he’d left you. It caused some mixed emotions in him. In a way, he was relieved that Sherlock had somehow managed to pull you from that so you could get some rest but at the same time, it made his skin crawl. His baby sister snuggling with his unusual flatmate seemed so… wrong. You roused and rolled off of Sherlock and to the floor with a loud thump, bringing your hands up to rub your face as you stared at the ceiling for a bit before John gently coaxed, “Are you alright, (F/n)?” “No,” came your simple, honest reply and John came to look down at you as you stated, “He didn’t deserve to die, John… especially not like that.” “Everyone dies, (F/n).” Sherlock hummed flatly, having been drawn out of his thoughts when your warmth left his body. 

“Sherlock!” John hissed, watching you roll to your side to curl up in a ball with a soft whimper of sadness before setting in to scold Sherlock as he sank to the floor to pull you to him. You let him, snuggling into his neck as you grumbled, “Leave him be, Johnny, he’s right, but it doesn’t mean the living hurt any less.”

Sherlock looked over just as you buried your face into John’s jumper, your shoulders shaking as you finally broke down and quietly wept on him, “H-He was my f-f-friend, John. He knew h-he was going to d-die… if-if I h-had gone to seeee him when he a-asked- If I-I hadn’t put it offff- I c-could have h-h-helped.” Your brother wrapped his arms around you as tightly as he could, stroking the back of your hair with one hand, “No you couldn’t have. He was already in too deep, (F/n). You would have only gotten yourself into trouble… The kind I can’t bail you out of.” A deep frown settled on Sherlock’s face as your quiet sniffles turned to full-blown sobs, his chest feeling so tight it was like he couldn’t breathe, but he was relieved, glad even, that John was handling it. His mind referred him back to Mycroft’s tome of ‘caring is not an advantage’ as he witnessed just what caring reduced you to. If you were this broken up by the death of an old friend you hadn’t seen in years, then you’d be more than incapacitated if you lost say, John… or perhaps even him. He briefly wondered how he would react if anything happened to you or your brother… for even if he was unwilling to admit it, he was certainly attached to you both. 

His Watsons. 

He shoved the dreadful thought from his mind, assuring himself that nothing would change should something unfortunate happen… not that he would ever allow something to happen. He supposed that was the true problem. How far would he go to keep both of you safe? When he looked over at you again, you’d quieted considerably with John’s nose tucked in your hair as you let out small hiccups. Sherlock could tell John disliked it as much as he did when you cried, the man looking pained as he rubbed your back softly. You carefully separated yourself from your brother, pausing to give him a kiss on the cheek as you whispered, “Thank you, John,” before moving back to your seat at the table to wind your fingers around a pencil. You needed to think, to remember, it was the only way you could move on and for you, the only way to do that was to sketch. You spent the next three days in almost complete silence, borrowing more of John’s clothes and spending hours on end drawing in a chair by the window in something similar to Sherlock’s post-case sulking but without the whining or condescending statements. John knew this was your way of dealing with loss and was just glad that he’d managed to avoid you going through one of your destructive fits or locking yourself away. He also noticed that you seemed to have forgiven Sherlock since you weren’t completely ignoring him and he on occasion made you tea or pulled your hand into his to relieve the tension. Neither of them pushed you to talk or move, giving you time to process everything and come to terms with it. Something you greatly appreciated. Other than your silent presence, things in 221B pretty much went back to normal- John worked a handful of shifts at the clinic in between updating his blog and Sherlock busied himself with an experiment that involved removing the corneas from human eyeballs and shining different colored and wattage of lights through them. John thought it was odd and a little disgusting but was numb to it and you observed it with a kind of quiet curiosity, no doubt putting what you saw down in your sketchbook. On the fourth day, John got up to find you sitting on the couch, dressed in your own clothes, staring at your mobile phone on the coffee table with your hands intertwined over your mouth in nervous thought. You looked up for a second, offering a distracted, “Morning, Johnny,” before going back to staring at your phone and he raised an eyebrow at you, “Feeling better, Squeak?” “I guess so, yeah,” you huffed before scooping up the phone and quickly dialing a number, drumming your fingers on your leg as you waited for someone to pick up. John moved to the kitchen but could hear you take a deep breath before offering a solemn, “Bonjour, Madame Ares. C’est (F/n). Je crains de mauvaises nouvelles.” He could only assume that what came after was a brief explanation of what had happened and you offering condolences before giving them Lestrade’s number and ending the call with a soft, “Je suis désolé pour votre perte. Au revoir.” You were just setting down your phone when John sank down on the couch next to you and offered you a much-needed cup of tea, “You alright?” Taking the tea, you let out a huff of air, staring at the space in front of you for a moment before looking over at him to nod, “Yeah. I think I am. Thanks, Johnny.” 

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed your temple before getting up to sit at the table with the paper and his laptop, “Have you seen the camera? I wanted to upload some of the photos we took on the last case.” You joined him at the table, stealing a section of the newspaper as you hummed, “I haven’t but Sherlock destroyed the memory chip the day before last so I think you’ll have to do without.” John groaned, wondering how exactly his flatmate had managed that, and for the first time in a few days you chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair before getting up to retrieve your sketchbook as you offered, “If it means that much to you, I can scan in some of my sketches and you can use those.” You opened your sketchbook to the pages from the case he was referring to and handed it to him as he raised an eyebrow, “You’d let me?” “Why not?” you shrugged indifferently, taking your empty cup back to the kitchen while John looked over the pages, calling, “These are even better than the photos. I’d love to use them.” Appearing to lean on the kitchen doorframe, you looked over your section of the newspaper as you stated, “I’ll scan them and email them to you before I leave for work.” “You’re going back to work?” “Have to pay my rent somehow,” you sighed, returning the newspaper to the table before giving your brother quick side hug, “Speaking of which, I have to go get ready… I’ll give a yell when I leave.” He gave you a small grin and handed your sketchbook back, “Alright, Squeak. Have a good day and thank you for the sketches.” Sherlock still wasn’t up by the time you had to leave and John was happily adding your sketches to his blog so you called out a quick farewell and slipped out the door. Annie wasn’t there when you got to the café, which was how you’d expected it since she was dealing with her own grief over Timmy and you’d offered to watch over the place while she took a day. What you didn’t expect was a small red envelope to be sitting in the cubby you normally stashed your stuff in. Scooping it up to run your fingers over the stiff crimson paper, you opened it and pulled out a crisp white card with swirling black lettering on it that simply read, “I. O. U. –M” You shrugged, stowing it away in your bag as you assumed it was from Mycroft referring to the favor he’d done you of getting you out of trouble, and went about your day at work. By the end of the day, you’d forgotten all about the mysterious little card, leaving it tucked away in the front of your sketchbook, and didn’t think about it again for a long time.

Tags <3:

@team-free-sherlock @multifandom-ramblings @madshelily @severusminerva @yes-but-theyre-my-dorks @smitemewiththysherlock @not-fandom-addicted @unknownwonder @deducingdevil @aviien @mrsfrankensteinsworld @lolamurphy @bakerstreethound @musical-doll-x @protectteamfreewill @delightful-pirate @lilcutekittykat @broke-and-overwhelmed @adri1ii @turtle-at-the-disco @fanfictionsilove @chasedbyhowlingwolves @thorkyrie-rights