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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

The sky of the sky (of the tree called life)

Pairing: Suga x reader

AO3 Link Here:

Summary: She doesn’t take much notice of him at first, not when he’s one of thirty nine faces that greet her with varying degrees of interest when their teacher introduces her to the class.But then he hits her in the face with his friendship and she starts to get to know him - through the smallest things, in the littlest ways.

Author’s Notes: This is the first fic I wrote and initially posted as a lone (AO3 link (was still getting the hang of Tumblr lol). Lifted the title from ‘I carry your heart’ by E.E. Cummings. Anyways - this is my humble attempt at a fic, my love letter to one Sugawara Koushi.

Ume doesn’t take much notice of him at first, not when he’s one of thirty nine faces that greet her with varying degrees of interest when their teacher introduces her to the class. She doesn’t take much notice of anyone really, not when her mind is consumed with thoughts of college prep and exams and chores, so he remains a stranger, even after weeks of sitting next to him in class.

Still, he greets her every morning with a pleasant ‘Ohayo’, and doesn’t take offense when she merely responds with a small smile. He offers up his notes without comment when she asks to check her English notes against his, and even occasionally slips her a banana from the stash he always seems to be carting around. His grades are decent and his homework is always submitted on time so he’s popular with their teachers, even though he seems to spend most of his break time sketching what looks like volleyball plays or buried in heated discussions with Sawamura.

Overall, he seems like a nice boy - if a little obsessed with volleyball.

She looks at her lunch box in dismay. There should be food in it, rice and tamago and fish that she most definitely packed last night, but her lunch box sits on her desk, clean and empty. She groans, glancing at the clock. Five minutes after the lunch bell. She ponders on whether to wait until dinner or be jostled to death by a thousand teenagers, but then her stomach growls, loud enough for Yuna-san in the front row to turn and stare at her, so she supposes there isn’t much of a choice.

As she approaches the canteen, she can hear the usual bustle and sound of too many students trying to feed themselves in too small a space - but then she hears a shrill shout - ‘cream buns for sale’, and the immediate cacophony of excited shouts that follow makes her think that her chances of getting food in the next half hour plummet to precisely zero.

Her assessment is right, but that doesn’t stop her mouth from dropping in horror as the canteen practically descends into a warzone, her schoolmates collectively losing their minds. The girls’ tennis team looks like they’re leading a charge through the left, but they’re being resisted by the concert band. The volleyball boys’ team seems like they’re causing plenty of chaos down the centre. Sawamura-san, engaged in a vigorous shoving match with the basketball captain, and Azumane-san - the large, quiet boy she shares home economics class with, cowering while trying to swim through the crowd with a feral looking boy perched on his back.

She apologises silently to her stomach and turns to head back to class.

‘Imai-san!’ Sugawara waves at her from the back of the crowd. ‘I’ll help you get some buns! What do you want!’

‘Oh – two buns, any flavour?” she calls back, a little dazed. He answers with a cheerful thumbs up.

She watches bemusedly as he expertly weaves his way through the crowd to Azumane-san, gesturing wildly to the little boy on her back, before combining forces with a bald boy to shove Azumane-san bodily through the crowd to the front of the queue. The boys grab armfuls of buns each, elbowing the displeased soccer team in the face.

Sugawara spins around, and there’s a glint in his eye that she can recognise from far away (courtesy of being an older sister to two troublesome younger brothers), but her legs don’t move despite her mind hollering at her danger, danger, Imai Ume, even as he raises his arm to toss the buns to her.

One bun lands neatly in her hands. The other smacks her right between her eyes.

She yelps, hands clapping over her face, checking to ensure her glasses are still in one piece. A curry bun may be relatively light and fluffy, but it still hurts when used as a flying projectile.

She hears footsteps clatter towards her. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry - please don’t cry!” Sugawara says, his voice high pitched in worry, hovering next to her awkwardly. “Daichi will never let me get over it if I make a girl cry.’

She snorts despite the sting between her eyes. “It’s fine, Sugawara-san. Thank you for helping get some food’.

‘Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the nurse’s office just in case!’ he fusses, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other nervously, ‘I’m such an idiot, I can’t believe I missed that toss, I should just resign from the volleyball team already - ‘

‘Eh eh eh? Suga - what’s this talk about resigning from volleyball!’ The small, feral boy from earlier leaps onto Sugawara’s back.

‘How can you resign? This is the year we’re making it to Nationals!’ the bald boy rounds up the rear, yelling at Sugawara indignantly.

‘I missed a toss at my classmate, I’m no longer qualified to be a setter.’ Sugawara wails, unfazed by the weight of his two juniors on his back. ‘I should just die now’

‘YOU THINK YOU’RE ASAHI NOW EH, DRAMA QUEEN!’

She takes advantage of their chaos to slip back to class. They don’t get a chance to speak to each other again for the rest of the day, kept busy with classes on calculus and chemistry for the rest of the afternoon. But the next morning he crows a loud ‘Ohayo’ at her, and she smiles at him, wider than she did before.

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

Spring passes into summer surprisingly quickly, and Ume slowly, but surely, gets used to hearing the song of the cicadas in evenings instead of the rumble of cars in the streets, to the uphill bike commute she takes to ferry both herself and Yuji to school and kindergarten respectively.

Becoming accustomed to something doesn’t mean liking it though. She remembers her mother saying that things would be easier when they move to Karasuno from the city. That living with family in a close knit community like Karasuno means more hands on deck to keep their family afloat. For the most part, Ume supposes her mother’s right. Her grandparents are sweet and try their best to help out, if a little too old to chase Yuji around the house or fetch him up and down the mountain to preschool every day. Their neighbours always offer them too much food, and their grandchildren provide Yuji with enough entertainment most evenings for Ume to catch up with schoolwork and revision.

But sometimes, after she’s corralled an unruly Yuji to bed, and shooed a sullen Keiji to sleep, and she herself can’t fall asleep because the cicadas are too damn loud, Ume wonders if her mother uprooted them to Karasuno so she could run away from the fact that she’s stuck raising three children alone, disappearing off on such long business trips that Yuji doesn’t even ask her anymore if their mama’s coming home.

Thankfully, Yuji, with the short memory of a six year old, finds living in the countryside a joy. He joins the neighbour’s children in catching cicadas, and when she tells him that it’s cruel to catch animals for sport – even ones as annoying as cicadas, he laughs and promises that he always lets them go.

Keiji, though, remains quiet and withdrawn, hiding in the bedroom whenever he’s home from school. She tries chatting with him at the dinner table but her efforts are usually met with the surly silence of a thirteen year old. So she doesn’t push him too much, too fast - she already asks too much of him as it is, sharing most of the chores and supervising Yuji so they don’t become a burden to their grandparents.

So it’s a surprise when Keiji asks if they can head to the park for a picnic on a clear summer’s day, but she agrees immediately, swallowing her shock, making sure to pack onigiri and fruit and strapping Yuji to her bike. It’s strange when Keiji drags them all over the park looking for the perfect picnic spot. It’s even stranger when he decides that the playground, full of shrieking children, should be the appropriate spot for a picnic. But there’s a tree for shade and it’s convenient enough for her to watch Yuji while he runs loose in the playground, so she holds her tongue and spreads their picnic mat on the floor.

‘Can I get us some ice cream?’ Keiji asks.

She’s about to tell him to wait til he has proper food in his stomach before moving on to dessert, but catches sight of Keiji staring at the ice cream stand intently, hands in pockets, cheeks flushed pink. She follows his gaze. The ice cream stall looks fairly old, run by an oba-chan and a young girl with short hair and a cheerful smile. Oh.

‘Why don’t you go get an ice cream for yourself? Yuji and I can get some later’, Ume replies, busying herself with the picnic basket to hide her smile.

She settles on the mat, back against the tree, setting her textbook on her lap. The summer air is crisp and cool, and the sunlight shining through the leaves dances on her skin.

‘Hey Imai!’ Suga stops to greet her, hand raised in a friendly wave.

‘Hello!’ she waves back. ‘No volleyball practice today?’

‘No - we have a mandated break on Saturday afternoons’, he walks over to her. ‘Despite what my unruly kouhai think, overtraining causes injuries. Besides, we need time for summer homework’.

She nods, noticing the stack of books under his arm, and before her brain processes her sudden impulse fully, she asks ‘Do you want to join me? We can share the mat’.

He blinks at her, and she cringes internally, expecting him to politely decline. He may chatter at her absentmindedly about his team, and she may share her notes with him when she notices he’s distracted, but it’s not as if they’re friends outside of school. To her surprise though, he agrees easily, kicking off his shoes to join her on the mat. They sit together in silence, absorbed in their respective work. The sun is warm but the breeze is cool and crisp, so it’s comfortable and altogether pleasant.

‘Onee-chan’, Keiji calls, running back over. He raises an eyebrow when he notices Suga and drops into a slight bow before turning to his sister. ‘Can I have my onigiri? I want to pass it to my friend.’

She opens her mouth to nag him to make sure that he has lunch, but promptly shuts it. Instead, she tosses him two onigiris - hers, and his. ‘Make sure you eat, Keiji’, she calls, and he’s off, running with the wind.

‘Hey, Imai, I packed too much food. Share some of it with me?’ Suga offers mildly. She’s about to say no, thank you politely, but her stomach growls - traitor, and he just chuckles at her, snapping his lunchbox open and pressing half his sandwich into her hands. She thanks him, taking a bite and has to stop herself from moaning in delight because it’s full of egg mayo and chicken katsu and it’s so, so good.

‘It’s delicious, right?’ he says, grinning around a mouthful of his half of the sandwich. ‘You can’t study on an empty stomach, that’s against the law’.

She laughs at that and splits her stash of strawberries and watermelon with him.

Later, she shocks herself again when she tells him as he’s about to leave that she’ll probably be at the park again next Saturday - and he’s welcome to join her if he pleases. She wonders if he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, but he shoots her another smile and agrees.

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

She packs two extra onigiris next Saturday, and the Saturday after that. She also starts including peaches from her grandparents’ farm because she learns that he has a weakness for them.

Keiji ignores Suga for the most part, leaving for the ice cream stand as soon as they arrive in the park. Yuji, on the other hand, soon learns he can get Suga to do whatever he wants if he pouts long enough. Suga, for his part, does not help, often buying the little boy far too much mochi and ice cream.

‘Stop it Yuji.’ Ume says wearily. ‘Suga needs to study and you’re distracting him’.

‘But he’s the only one I know who can push me hard enough on the swings’, Yuji whines, scruffing his shoes into the ground.

‘It’s fine, I’ll take it as my break’, Suga says, smiling kindly down at the little boy. ‘Shall we see how high you can fly, Yuji-chan?’

She watches, shaking her head as Yuji cheers, dragging Suga off in the direction of the playground.

‘You seem good with kids’, she remarks when he returns - thankfully after a short while since Yuji, with the typical attention span of a six year old, is quickly distracted by the other kids playing a game of tag.

‘You think so?’ Sugawara responds, turning back to his books. ‘That’s good to know. I’m planning on going to college to train to be a teacher.’

The image of him dressed in a rumpled shirt and tie greeting his class with a cheerful ‘Ohayo’ every morning flashes in her mind. She imagines him smiling wide and indulgent at his student’s pranks, listening patiently to his students’ questions and problems, diligently pouring over his students’ assignments late into the night.

For some reason, her heart clenches. She doesn't know why.

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

‘Tohoku Medical school?’, he asks, eyeing the flyer sticking out of her bag.

‘Mm.’ she mumbles, distracted by the peach juice running down her hands. Then she realises what he’s just said and wrinkles her nose. ‘The entrance exam is hard though. Not a lot of people pass.’

‘Ugh, stop that, your grades are so good- negativity begone!’ He nudges her teasingly with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him in response.

‘Why, though?’ he asks, before quickly adding. ‘If you don’t mind saying’.

She’s about to rattle off her prepared answer of heeding the noble calling of saving lives and making a difference one person at a time, but for some reason, she doesn’t.

Instead, she jerkily answers - ‘My dad was a doctor’.

She can feel him raise his eyebrows at her use of past tense (and not present tense) and suddenly the peach in her hand doesn’t seem as appetising as it was before.

‘Cancer’, she finds herself saying. ‘Last year’. She looks down at her feet, refusing to see what she expects will be pity in his gaze.

But he doesn’t say anything. He leans his shoulder against hers, and they stay that way for a while.

She doesn’t protest this time when he comes back from the ice cream stall with far too much ice cream, and the tightness in her chest dissipates as she watches him let Yuji flit between his chocolate and vanilla cones like a honeybee, even though she knows she’s going to have a hard time putting the little boy to bed tonight.

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

'I like Suga-san very much.' Yuji declares later as she tucks him into bed.

'So do I', Ume says. So do I’.

The call of the cicadas don’t seem as loud, and she falls asleep easily that night.

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

‘You should be studying’, she reminds him, playfully rapping on his knuckles with her pen.

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, looking up from his sketches on volleyball plays. ‘A couple more minutes and I’ll get back to work’.

She shakes her head indulgently at him. ‘You spend far too much time on volleyball as it is’.

‘I suppose I do’, he hums, busy drawing indecipherable pictures in what she’s termed his volleyball notebook.

She’s suddenly reminded of Yamada and Takashi, the two basketball idiots in her class, goading Suga about ‘being a loser for losing his starting position to a first year’. Sawamura usually erupts in anger when he hears them as he’s wont to do whenever he encounters the basketball club, but Suga, for his part, only responds with a serene smile.

‘Is it worth it?’ she asks, before she can stop herself. ‘Sorry’ she says frantically, as her brain catches up with her mouth. ‘That was rude of me’.

He breathes a rueful laugh through his nose. ‘It’s fine, I’m not offended’. But he stops his scribbling, and his mouth slants downward in a way that Ume doesn’t quite like.

‘It’s worth it’, he then says, voice quiet but full of conviction. ‘It’s worth it to play with my team. I want us to keep getting stronger, I want us to keep playing together, and I want us to go to Nationals and win’. He gazes into the distance and smiles, bittersweet. ‘And everything else doesn’t matter’.

It’s her turn to lean into him with her shoulder.

‘I’ll bring Yuji to watch you at the finals’, she says. ‘And we’ll watch you at Nationals on our TV’.

He laughs and she smiles, wide and bold and bright.

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

Sugawara spends their lunch breaks talking about his team’s latest exploits all the time. She laughs when he tells her about the hijinks that the team constantly gets up to, from setting fire to the Vice Principal’s very obvious toupee, to an all out prank war with the basketball team featuring copious amounts of dead fish and paint bombs. She particularly enjoys Suga’s impression of Nishinoya’s ‘rolling thunder’ war cry, and rather suspects the whole team is intent on driving Sawamura into an early grave.

Despite having a tendency to smile indulgently at his team’s penchant for chaos and hellfire, it’s clear that Suga cares deeply for each and every one of his teammates. He broods about Tsukkishima’s lack of ambition and desire to bond with the team, Yamaguichi’s lack of confidence, Kageyama’s and Hinata’s inability to communicate like regular human beings. Even when he jokes about Ennoshita’s latest attempt to evade Sawamura’s talks about ‘passing on the captainship’, she can sense the undercurrent of worry and concern.

Perhaps that’s why she volunteers to give tutoring Tanaka and Nishinoya a go, after he explains that they’ll end up missing the Tokyo Training Camp that Takeda-sensei went through so much trouble to arrange. She also tells herself that the reason she’s doing it is because Second year Math is covered in the university entrance exams - and absolutely not because Suga practically lights up with relief when she waves his thanks away.

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

Tanaka and Nishinoya remind her of Yuji and even Keiji (well, before), rowdy and loud and full of boyish mischief. They fall out of their chairs when they notice Kiyoko-san walk by the classroom deep in conversation with some boy, and she has to rap them on their knuckles with a pen to get them to focus on solving question number two - please and thank you - before they settle back down.

Still, they’re surprisingly attentive and almost respectful even when she’s trying to impress upon them the dryer points of Math, so it’s easy to become fond of them. They get through vectors after she likens the trajectory of vectors to the movement of a volleyball. Statistics were a struggle, but fortunately, volleyball statistics save the day. Calculus seems to be the biggest hurdle, but she’s hopeful they’ll get it, once she finds a way to relate it to volleyball or better yet, convince them that differentiation and integration are very, very manly pursuits.

That said, it doesn’t help that the basketballers in her class seem to have a deep rooted grudge against the volleyball team - though from Suga’s stories, the animosity is probably mutual. Yamada in particular seems to take special pleasure in taunting the two boys.

‘Eh, Baldy! Y’all lose another game yet? I saw you guys crying the other day after school’.

‘They’d probably win more games if chibi-chan here grew a few inches’, Takashi, his fellow basketballer sniggers.

‘Ignore them’, she tells the two growling boys firmly. ‘You don’t need to get kicked out of your team for starting a fight with these guys’.

‘Awww… are you two kouhai hiding behind your female senpai? ’ Yamadai jeers, leering at them. ‘What losers, just like your Suga-senpai. Heard he got turfed out of his starting position by a first year’.

At that, Tanaka and Nishinoya practically levitate out of their seats as one, snarling ‘Huh?!!! You fucking -’

‘Bit rich of you to pick on them, eh Yamada?’ Ume interrupts. ‘I heard Ono-senpai say last week that if you fail your tests one more time, you’re going to get kicked out of the basketball team. Who’s the loser now?’

‘Bitch!’ Yamada growls, hands slapping his desk.

‘Maybe you’d have a better shot at passing your exams if you spent your time studying instead of disturbing others - who unlike you are actually working hard,’ she adds, smiling at him sweetly.

Thankfully, Takashi has some sense of self-preservation and drags Yamada kicking and screaming out of the door. Tanaka and Noya swivel their heads towards her, twin expressions of shock on their faces.

‘Holy shit, that was so manly?!’

‘Imai-senpai, you’re almost as cool as Kiyoko-senpai!’

‘Yeah - almost as good as the time she ignored us when we asked her to marry us.’

‘No - better, but not as good as the time she slapped me’

‘Thank you’, she responds dryly. ‘Can we get back to differentiation, please?

‘Yes, Imai-senpai!’ They snap into a salute.

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

‘I hear from Tanaka and Noya that you’re very manly’. His eyes twinkle at her.

‘Psh’, she says airily. ‘They exaggerate’.

But she laughs when he slips her half his sandwich as thanks.

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

Noya and Tanaka pass their exams (by some miracle, thank god), and they graduate from her tutoring sessions.

She passes her exams too, tops her cohort even.

Her classmates start to take more notice of her, requesting for copies of her notes and tutoring sessions on topics they don’t really grasp. It's not really that much of a problem to just have an extra set of notes for her classmates to copy (she learnt her lesson when Takashi spills juice all over her precious biology notes - an accident, of course), and extra tutoring sessions are a good way for her to revise what she previously learnt - so she doesn’t really mind.

Of course she knows they think they're picking her brains and hard work, but it's not as if she minds. They're reasonably polite when they approach her, and she can pretend she doesn’t hear them gossip about her behind her back (that her parents are rich enough to send her to not one, but two cram schools, that they must know the principal who leaked the exam topics to her somehow).

Still, she can’t help but feel a spike of irritation when Yamada manages to corner her alone in class one day after school.

‘Oi, Ikai. Can you give me a copy of your math notes? I hear they're pretty good.'

She blinks innocently at him. ‘My notes cover whatever sensei taught in class if you were listening’. Which he probably wasn't, considering he seems to spend most of his time tossing spitballs or bouncing a basketball obnoxiously against the wall.

‘Tch.’ He leans towards her. ‘Come on, don’t be a stingy bitch. Just lend them to me for a bit.’

She narrows her eyes at the audacity of this bugger. 'No.' she says simply.

'Eh?' Yamada glares down at her.

'Did a basketball hit you too hard in the head yesterday? I said no.' She turns her back on him, packing her school bag, keeping her sharpest pencil in her hand, just in case.

He takes a step closer towards her, both hands heavy on her desk. 'But you share your notes with everyone else!’

‘Well, yes - but that’s because they're tolerably polite when they ask, and unlike you, they actually get my name right.’

He slaps her table hard with his hands. ‘Stop being a bitch, just give me your notes already'.

She should just give him what he's asking for or placate him with the promise that she'll give him a copy tomorrow - but she suddenly feels so sick and tired of giving more and more of herself - to her mother, her brothers, her classmates, and now this rude asshole - and she's so done, goddamnit.

'No.' She snaps, lifting her chin defiantly at him. 'What are you going to do about it?'

He snarls, grabbing hold of her wrist. 'Stubborn bitch, just give me the notes already!'

'Let go, pig!', she shouts, trying to wrench her wrist away, mind whirring to calculate the force and speed needed to shove her pencil into his face. His grip tightens, and he digs his nails into the thin skin of her wrist.

He smirks down at her. She tries not to flinch.

'Hey, Imai. Got worried about you when you didn’t turn up at the library.' Suga calls out, loud and clear from the door. Ume exhales a breath she didn’t even know she was holding as he walks deliberately towards them.

‘Yamada-san. I always knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know you stooped so low you’d bully a girl’.

Yamada takes a half step back, but does not release her hand. 'Piss off, Suga. It’s none of your business'.

‘Perhaps’, he responds, humming diffidently. ‘But I thought I should remind you that if you get just one more strike on your disciplinary record, you’re off the basketball team’. His mouth stretches into a semi feral smile. ‘For good.’

Yamada coils back, looking as if he’d like nothing better than to strike Suga in the face, but then, seemingly thinking the better of it, he drops Ume’s wrist and smirks again. ‘We were just having a friendly discussion, eh Imai?’

‘Remind your thick skull to keep it that way.’ Suga says, meeting Yamada’s glare with an even gaze of his own.

Yamada looks away. 'Tch. I can't be bothered with you dumbasses', he sneers, stalking out of the class.

‘Are you ok?’ Suga asks her immediately, glancing at her once over, stopping short when he spots the red welts ringed around her wrist. ‘Did he do that to you?’ he asks, voice dangerous.

‘I’m fine.’ She follows his gaze and yanks her sleeve down, hiding the marks from view. ‘It’s nothing.’

He opens his mouth, about to insist that it is very much not fine, but she cut him off quickly. ‘Really! It’s my fault he got annoyed with me. He wanted a copy of my notes and I was very rude and didn’t want to give them to him,’ she laughs awkwardly. ‘Besides, it’s a good thing you stepped in when you did, or I’d have gotten into more trouble - because I was about to stab him with my pencil’.

Suga’s mouth drops open. ‘With your what?’

She unfurls her palm to show him her pencil, pink and sharp but altogether unconvincing.

He bursts into cackles, wheezing. ‘Maybe Tanaka should’ve taken his time to get me. I would’ve liked to see you try to fight Yamada with that’.

She snorts. ‘I’m just glad Tanaka showed some self-restraint and didn’t jump Yamada himself.’

‘Well, I’m pretty sure that’s because Ennoshita was there to stop him.’ Suga says wryly. He drops his gaze back to her wrist. ‘But seriously, if I’d known he hurt you, I’d have jumped him too’.

She looks at him sharply. ‘Suga… If any one of you get suspended, you can’t play in the Inter High Preliminaries.’

‘Not if we don’t get caught for it’. He gives her a zen smile as she splutters in shock. ‘Anyway, don’t you usually leave school to pick Yuji-chan up by now?’

‘Oh no, Yuji’s probably waiting for me!’ She cries out in alarm, dashing across the classroom.

At the doorway, she comes to a pause and turns around. ‘Suga!’

‘Mm?’ He tilts his head at her.

She smiles shyly. ‘Thanks’.

He smiles back.

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

She ends up preparing a copy of her notes for Yamada anyway. He’s stubborn and stupid, and she figures that Suga’s interference, while welcome in the moment, is only likely to spur him on to pester her again. But when she walked into class the next morning, Yamada is nowhere to be found.

‘Did you hear Yamada-kun got caught with the vice principal’s burnt wig in his locker?’ she hears Yuna whisper to Mizuki before the bell rings.

‘Oh no! Is he in a lot of trouble?’ Mizuki gasps.

‘I don’t know, but I heard from Takashi that he’s been suspended from the basketball team indefinitely!’

‘No! Don’t they have a game next week?’

Ume looks over her shoulder at Suga, sitting with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

‘I may have mentioned to Noya what happened with Yamada-san. Tanaka, of course, was very happy to help out’, he says simply when she corners him after school.

Yamada does return to class eventually, but he refuses to even look in her direction for the next month. She figures she’d much rather not press for answers she suspects she wouldn’t like. Instead, she spends the night cutting out twelve crow charms from black felt with the help of a very eager Yuji, hand stitching each member’s number in white thread and leaving them in Suga’s bag for him to find.

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

She sneaks Yuji with her when the school buses students in for Karasuno’s match with Shiratorizawa.

They all watch with tears in their eyes when the final whistle blows and the boys win.

‘Congratulations, Suga’, she tells him the next day and adds. ‘I think Yuji’s found a new way to fly’.

He grins at her, his eyes burning proud and bright.

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

Fall fades into winter. The days start looping, one after another.

Wake up. Get Yuji to kindergarten. School. Homework. Pick Yuji up. Make dinner. Pack leftovers for lunch. Do laundry. Revision. Tuck Yuji into bed. More Revision. Sleep.

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

She curses when the cock crows every morning, and falls asleep before her head hits the pillow every night, so she wonders how he manages to survive with practices lasting daily into the night. Or maybe he doesn’t, she thinks to herself, watching the shadows beneath his eyes grow, grey and dark.

‘Is it worth it?’ she asks. (Do you ever regret it, she implies.)

‘Yes.’ he says. (At least I hope I don’t, he sighs.)

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She notices immediately when his seat is empty. Sawamura tells her it’s to be expected, Suga always catches a cold in winter.

‘I don’t mind helping to bring his homework to him’, she volunteers. ‘You’re going to be staying late in school for practice anyway’. She avoids Sawamura’s knowing look as she writes Suga’s address down, his homework tucked safely into her bag.

His mother beams, surprised and delighted when she appears at their door. She’s promptly shooed upstairs, and Yuji is lured into the kitchen with promises of mochi and ice cream. She knocks on the open door. He’s crouched on the bed, watching a replay of Karasuno’s finals match against Shiratorizawa.

‘Hey. I brought your homework.’ She frowns, noting the paleness of his face despite the redness of his cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be resting?’

‘I’m watching the match to fall asleep!’ he says defensively.

‘The match is at least two hours long! If you’re well enough to watch the match, you’re well enough to do your homework’.

‘Give me a break’. He groans, sneezing into the crook of his elbow. ‘I’m dying here’.

‘I’m pretty sure you can’t die from a common cold’ she says dryly.

‘Says the one who wants to be a doctor’, he playfully responds.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t argue with me. Get some rest. You don’t have much time before you head off to Tokyo for Nationals, and the Center Shinken* is just after that’.

His smile drops, and he suddenly looks troubled. ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

(For chasing too many dreams?)

She blinks, confused by his change in mood. She glances at the Miyagi University of Education pamphlet pinned to his wall - only one in three applicants get in. She furrows her brow, thinking about him spending every lunch break, every afternoon and night in their rundown school gym, even as everyone else is spending their days buried in schoolwork and revision.

But then she hears the echo of his words - It’s worth it. I want to play with my team, the cries from the huddle of boys, the memory of him holding a trophy under bright lights and her face softens.

‘Where’s all this self-doubt coming from?’ she says lightly. ‘You already achieved your dream of going to Nationals with your team. Now all you have to do is pass one exam.’

‘As if it’s so easy!’

‘Well, it’d be easier if you rest up so you can get back to work faster!’

‘Ugh, spoilsport’, he pouts at her.

‘Onee-chan’, Yuji pipes up, poking his head into the bedroom. 'Obaa-san said it's time for Suga-san to eat his medicine and take a nap.'

‘Hello, Yuji-chan!’ Suga waves at Yuji, who gives him a gap toothed grin in response.

‘You should tuck him in and tell him a bedtime story’. Yuji tells his sister seriously. She chokes and thinks she should have taken the chance to dump him under a bridge when he was a baby.

Suga laughs so hard he wheezes. 'I won't mind a bedtime story' he chokes out.

Both boys turn to look at her expectantly. 'Fine.' she says, relenting. 'I’ll tell you a bedtime story if you promise you'll try your best to go to sleep'.

They grin and settle down, Yuji on his sister’s lap, Suga laying against his nest of pillows.

She begins telling them a story she’s told Yuji many, many times these past months - about a kind-hearted Prince in a kingdom troubled by a yearly winter plague, who set out to find the cure for this illness, flowers that bloom on the highest of mountains in the deepest, darkest winter days. A Prince who tries to scale the mountain to find the cure, year after year, but is thwarted by blizzards and avalanches and snow monsters.

A small smile grows on his lips as she describes the Prince’s companions - the stalwart captain of his guards, the burly woodcutter with a heart of glass, and he stifles a laugh when she recounts how the Prince manages to trick his frosty hearted little brother to join them along the way. His breath evens out when she reaches the end of her tale, when the Prince and his companions scale the mountain and look down on a field of flowers, green and gold.

'And they lived happily ever after?' Suga murmurs, half asleep.

'And they lived happily ever after' Ume agrees.

She pulls his blanket up under his chin as he slips into sleep, hesitating as warmth furls and unfurls in her chest, before brushing her hand tenderly against his cheek.

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

Third years are released from school for self-study.

She works alone at home. The winter days grow long and dark and hard.

(Her heart clenches. It starts to ache.)

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

They graduate on a spring day, a shower of pink and white petals blessing their way. He catches up to her in the hallway after the graduation ceremony, hand at her sleeve.

‘Congrats on Tohoku’, he tells her, bright eyed. ‘I knew you could do it’.

‘Congrats on MUE’, she responds with a laugh. ‘See - you weren’t crazy after all’.

‘I suppose I’ll be seeing you around Sendai City? Your campus isn’t too far from mine.’

She opens her mouth to tell him not to be silly - Sendai City is nothing like Karasuno town, a million people within its bounds, and the probability of them meeting randomly on the streets is very, very small, but her throat suddenly becomes dry.

‘Suga’ she begins, balling her hands into fists.

‘Mm?’ he beams at her, brighter than the sun, and it’s all she can do to not to look away.

‘Thank you’, she says quietly. ‘For bringing some light into my life’.

‘I should be thanking you’, he replies earnestly. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me this past year. I don’t think I’d have passed my exams without you’.

“No, Suga,’ she says. ‘I mean - I like you’.

‘Oh.’ he breathes. ‘Oh’.

‘I like you’, she repeats, her voice growing stronger. ‘Because you were kind to me when there was no reason to. You bought bread for me, even if you ended up throwing it in my face. You stole and burnt a wig for me, just to put Yamada in his place. You spent your summer days buying Yuji too much ice cream, swinging him so high he thought he could touch the sky.’

‘I like you, Suga,’ she says finally. ‘Not just as a friend - but as a girl likes a boy.’

He stares at her, eyes wide. A few beats of silence pass.

‘I’m sorry’. He grimaces. ‘I don’t know what to say’.

‘It’s fine’, she finds herself saying. ‘It’s ok’.

(Her heart clenches. She wills it not to break.)

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

Ume does not look back. Her bag is packed, and she leaves for Sendai City that week.

Her apartment is small, but she shares it with a few other girls. At night, she re-acquaints herself with the sound of cars rumbling on the street. The song of the cicadas haunts her in her sleep.

(Her heart clenches. She does not break.)

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

Suga prides himself on being relatively observant and good with things like subtlety and tact and feelings - things that volleyball obsessed idiots like Daichi wouldn’t even notice if it hit him in the face.

He observes people and notices things, the way Kiyoko isn’t as indifferent to Tanaka as she seems, the way Yamaguchi’s serve suddenly improves when Yachi shouts ‘Gambatte’, the way Yui’s vocabulary immediately regresses whenever she’s talking to Daichi - though to be fair, he’s certain the only person in their level to not know about Yui’s crush on Daichi himself, so maybe that doesn’t count.

(‘I like you, Suga,’ he hears her say. ‘Not just as a friend - but as a girl likes a boy.’)

But then his brain short circuits and stutters to a stop, and it’s all he can do to watch dumbly as Ume turns on her heel and walks off, head high, back straight, he wonders if he’s not much better than the rest of them after all.

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

‘Imai Ume said she likes me’. He finds himself telling Daichi, as they walk home from school, pork buns in hand, for the very last time.

Daichi grunts something unintelligible through a mouthful of pork bun.

‘Use your words, Daichi’. Suga can’t help but snark. Daichi grumbles and swallows.

‘Yes. I knew that already’. Daichi says simply. He starts on his second pork bun.

‘What?’ Suga retorts. ‘What do you mean you know? How did you know?’

This time, Daichi chews and swallows before he responds. ‘It was obvious to me.’ He turns to look at Suga squarely. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

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

(‘I’m Sugawara Koushi! But everyone just calls me Suga’. // ‘Imai Ume. It’s nice to meet you.’)

To be honest, he didn't think much of her at first when she joined their class. She had a habit of keeping to herself, never lingering in class before or after lessons, eating lunch alone at her desk, nose buried in a book, but he was brought up with good manners - so he kept greeting her every morning until her small nods turn into quiet smiles.

Of course, he just had to embarrass himself by hitting her in the face with a curry bun (Noya and Tanaka will never let him live it down), but in hindsight that probably kickstarted their friendship. And he’s very grateful for it. She's always passing him copies of her notes for lessons he’s missed or summaries of exam topics she thinks might come in useful, all painstakingly handwritten and colour coded - and even gives him the go-ahead to share it with Daichi. She volunteers to tutor Noya and Tanaka, and he’s sure that it’s in no small part due to her effort that they pass and get to attend training camp.

Yet he’s never considered her more than a friend. Right?

Right?

If he analyses the case of how he feels about one Imai Ume carefully, sifting through the puzzle pieces one at a time, he realises that he's not quite right.

There are little things that come to mind. Like his heart skipping a beat when he hears her laugh for the first time. The flush of his cheeks when he finds out she actually brought Yuji to watch their games. The rush of pride and joy when she tells him ‘I think he’s found a new way to fly’.

And maybe there are bigger things. Like the burst of blind panic in his chest when he hears Tanaka shout for him. The burning urge to break Yamada’s jaw and wipe that smirk off his ugly face when he sees red marks marring her skin. The cold satisfaction in his chest when he (and half the volleyball team) strike that bastard exactly where it hurts.

He remembers the sunshine dancing on her skin, the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his. The touch of her hand ghosting against his cheek. The faint memory of a fairytale about a Prince who gave his all and finds everything he set out to seek.

('And they lived happily ever after?' he asks // 'And they lived happily ever after' she agrees.)

The puzzle pieces fit. It finally clicks.

‘Shit,’ he swears, dialing Daichi’s number.

‘It’s midnight’, Daichi mumbles, voice rough with sleep. ‘What could you possibly want from me?’

‘I like Ume’, Suga says - and just saying it feels right. ‘I like her, Daichi’.

He hears an almighty yawn - and then he can almost see Daichi smile.

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

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

What is he going to do about it?

Get hold of one Imai Ume and tell her that his mouth moved faster than his brain (and heart), of course.

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

But what can he do about it?

Not very much, as it turns out.

For starters, he realises they’ve never exchanged numbers. He never felt the need to, they were classmates, no, seatmates, so she was always there, like the sun and stars in the sky.

He tries to find where she lives by asking around but soon meets a dead end. Karasuno Town isn’t large by any measure, the main shopping street fanning out into a smattering of small rural neighbourhoods. But he knows for a fact that Ume stays with her maternal grandparents, and she’s never once mentioned their surname, so he’s left with little to go on.

‘At least I know she’s moving to Sendai City’, he mopes to Daichi over a steaming bowl of ramen.

Daichi, probably tired of the number of times he’s heard him repeat this, just slurps his noodles noisily.

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

He and Daichi rent a flat from a little old lady who pats their chests and pinches their cheeks. It’s halfway between their schools, five minutes from the convenience store, and the rent is pretty cheap.

They soon settle into the rhythm of university life. They cycle to school in the mornings for lectures, struggle with tutorials, and fight over chores. Their social life isn’t too shabby either - they both make plenty of friends and even join volleyball teams.

Still, Suga can’t help feeling like something’s missing. ‘Someone, not something, you dolt’, his inner voice tells him, sounding suspiciously like Daichi.

He starts seeing the ghost of her everywhere.

He stares when he sees the slant of her shoulders in his classmate in the front seat. He crashes into Daichi when he thinks he hears the birdsong of her laughter float down the street. He picks up a habit of doing a double take at almost every girl he meets.

‘Stop it’, Daichi tells him crossly. ‘People are going to think you’re some kind of freak or pervert.’

He tries, he really does. But then months pass, and he starts to think that maybe Sendai City, with its million residents and a million more trees, might have hidden her out of his reach.

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

Summer arrives, and he returns home to Karasuno. He and Daichi and Asahi find themselves back in the school gym often, and he finds himself being dragged into practice match after practice match with his unruly kouhai. It’s a good way to spend his holidays, but he can’t help thinking if there isn’t a route he hasn’t explored yet.

‘No, Sugawara-kun, I can’t give you the contact details of our alumni, even if they’re your old classmates’, Takada-sensei says indignantly. ‘And don’t even think about breaking into the staff room at night!’

Eh. At least that was worth a try.

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

Tashiro senpai means well, he really does. But Daichi lets it slip that he’s been moping over some girl (‘For months!’, he roars), so on a Friday night, Suga finds himself thrust head first into a party at Tashiro’s apartment, surrounded by way too many people and not enough food. Daichi’s chatting with Yui (Go, Yui!), and he doesn’t know anyone else, so he doesn’t say no when Tashiro pushes cans of beer and cups of cheap spirits into his hands.

He’s a few months short of being able to legally drink, and it’s the first time he’s drinking outside his family home - but well, what Daichi doesn’t know won’t kill him. Soon though, the living room feels far too warm and the music is far too loud, so he figures he may as well seek fresh air and whatever refuge he can get on the cramped balcony beyond the kitchen.

He leans his forehead against the bannister. Gah. His head hurts. His stomach churns.

A raindrop splatters on to the back of his neck, then another, and soon he can hear the gentle patter of rain against the roof. He rights himself with a groan, and begins to head back inside. As he slides the glass door open, he turns and sees the silhouette of a girl emerge into the balcony, two apartments down, clearing her clothes from the laundry rack.

He stops. He can almost hear Daichi roaring at him at the back of his mind, but Suga can’t help but stare and think ‘there’s something awfully familiar about that girl’, but then - hasn’t he thought that about almost every girl he’s bumped into these past few months?

She takes a step forward and her face is lit by cheap fluorescent lights. He can see her clearly now, recognises the tilt of her chin, the curve of her cheeks and - by god, it’s her. His legs move and he lurches to the edge of the balcony, shouting her name like a loon.

Their eyes meet.

She yelps. And promptly drops her laundry basket, scrambling back inside.

He dashes back into Tashiro’s living room and trips into the corridor, ignoring Daichi’s shouts as he slams his fists into her front door. Her door remains stubbornly closed, and he keeps yelling, keeps beating her door. He can hear Daichi follow him, and he’s certain he’s going to get a bollocking tomorrow morning, but he doesn’t care, he’s finally found her in the midst of a million people and a million more trees and nothing else really matters.

The door swings open, and Imai Ume stands in the doorway looking livid. ‘My roommate is this close to calling the police,’ she hisses.

Daichi yanks him back with his shirt and snaps into a low bow. ‘Sorry for the trouble caused’, he says, and adds - that sly dog, ‘He may have drank a bit too much Umeshu’.

‘For God’s sake, Sawamura’, he faintly hears her squawk. ‘Can’t you take care of him a little better? He looks like absolute shit’.

Suga stares at her glassy-eyed. All he wants to do is to take her hand and tell her all the things he’s dreamt of saying these past few months (starting with I’m sorry I was an idiot- and ending with I missed you) - but his mind is suddenly foggy and his ears are ringing and his stomach keeps bloody churning and he suspects his body might have just given up on him completely.

‘I told you’, he manages to say. ‘I told you we’d see each other again’.

He pukes at her feet and promptly passes out.

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

When he wakes up, the sun is high in the sky, and he knows because he’s pretty sure it’s trying to stab him between the eyes. He flops over to his side.

What happened last night?

He cracks an eye open. He’s pretty sure he isn’t wearing his own pyjamas. The sweatshirt he has on is a touch too snug, the pants a touch too short - so definitely not Daichi’s either. He can’t be in Tashiro-senpai’s room either, because one, he’s pretty certain floral bedsheets aren’t his thing, and two, if he squints, he can see a pile of medical textbooks in the corner that definitely does not belong to him.

He groans, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, groping bleary eyed for his phone.

- You have 7 messages! -

[Daichi, 12.48am]: You are a very lucky man [Daichi, 12.48am]: Imai didn’t call the police on you [Daichi, 12.49am]: I had to clean up your puke [Daichi, 12.49am]: Wanted to lug you home but you’re heavier than you look [Daichi, 12.49am]: So she said to leave you and walk Michimiya home [Daichi, 12.50am]: Figure you’ll thank me anyway [Daichi, 12.51am]: Stay safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

‘You have got to be kidding me’, he moans. Fuck. His head still hurts.

Ume pokes her head into the room. ‘Oh, you’re awake. Feeling better?’

He snaps his head up and immediately regrets it. ‘Ow’, he whines, dropping his head in his hands.

‘I guess not’, she says. ‘Here’, she pokes him in the side. ‘Spare toothbrush. Wash up, and I’ll get breakfast ready so you can eat some meds’. She tugs him to his feet and pushes him into the bathroom.

This isn’t how he imagined meeting Ume again would be like. Getting piss drunk, puking at her door, and passing out in her bed? He’d take getting arrested over this any day, he thinks, moping to himself. Not to mention Daichi's probably going to kill him when he gets back. He shudders, then winces as he splashes cold water into his face.

Ume waves him into the kitchen. ‘Sit’, she says, and so he does. She sets a bowl of rice and fish and miso soup in front of him. ‘Eat’ she says, sliding a bottle of aspirin and a cup of hot tea at him. His stomach still hurts, but he's not about to let her effort go to waste.

‘Ittakimasu’, he says, putting his hands together, inclining his head slightly. Ume nods and sits across him, sipping her tea.

‘Thank you’, he says contritely. 'I'm sorry for the trouble I caused last night'.

‘It’s no problem. I managed to convince my roommates you were just a drunk ex-classmate, not some rapist or serial killer so they let you in', she hums, amused.

He groans. ‘I’m so sorry’.

'It's fine', she says, waving him away. 'I think Sawamura was a lot more mad than my roommates, since he had to clear your mess and then wrangle you into clean clothes’.

‘Well I think Daichi got to walk Michimiya home last night, so I don’t think he’ll be too mad’, he says drolly. She laughs at that, turning to clear the dishes into the sink.

‘Hey, Imai’. He takes a gulp of his tea, his throat suddenly dry.

‘Mm?’

‘'I - I missed you - you know, as a friend', he stammers at his hands. 'And I’d like to see you again. Maybe we could catch up over dinner sometime this weekend?'

She stills for a few seconds. 'I don't think it’d be a good idea to do that', she finally says.

His heart clenches. He wonders if he’s too late - if the distance that Sendai city with its million people and a million more trees has put between them is too great, if she no longer remembers their shared smiles and golden summer days. But then he sees the stack of blankets tucked into the corner of the couch, sees the food she must have woken up early to make, and wonders how his past self could have been so blind.

‘Imai’, he says. She keeps her eyes resolutely on the dish sponge in her hands. He exhales, and tells himself that it’s his turn to be brave. He takes a step towards her.

‘Ume’, he repeats, taking her hands into his. ‘Look at me’.

‘Stop it Suga! My hands are soapy’, she cries.

‘Nevermind that’, he says stubbornly. ‘Listen - I’m an idiot - and a coward. I meant it when I said I missed you, but I didn’t mean it as a friend’.

‘Wha-’, she begins to say but he cuts her off.

‘I like you, Imai Ume’, he breathes, bringing her hands close to his face. ‘I really like you - as a boy likes a girl. I want to keep holding your hands. I want to see you again - see you everyday, if you’ll let me'.

Her eyes widen, then she blinks slowly - once, twice, thrice.

‘Do you mean it?’ she asks, her eyes meeting his, and he’s struck by the thought that the stars in her eyes are so bright they can light up the night sky.

‘Why would I lie?’ he answers. ‘I’ve been looking over my shoulder every day for the past six months, hoping desperately to see you again.’

‘Oh', she breathes. ‘Oh’.

She gives him a look so full of affection and warmth - like sunlight breaking through the rain - that he knows he was right to be brave, knows that the past six months of searching and dreaming and longing hadn’t been a waste.

‘So… I take it you want to see me again?’ he asks cheekily.

‘Maybe’, she says, but her voice is teasing and she leans on to her toes to press her lips gently against his cheek.

‘I - I take that as a yes?’ he stutters and hates himself for flushing a bright pink, but refuses to release her hands.

‘Let me wash my hands first. Then - yes’, and she laughs, wide and bold and bright.

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

Coda

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

He opens the door and smiles at what has become a very familiar sight these past few weeks - Ume fast asleep at the kitchen table next to a half empty pot of tea, head pillowed against her textbooks. Usually, he’d just scoop her up and put her to bed, but they’ve not had much time together this week, what with him running all over the prefecture with his fledgling team for practice matches, and she with work and exams, so he decides to be a little selfish.

‘Ume’, he calls, shaking her shoulder gently. ‘Dearest. Wake Up.’

‘Mmph. Five more minutes. Go away.’ She mumbles, pushing his hand away.

‘Ume. Ummmeee,’ He drags out her name, finding extra syllables where there were previously none until she stirs, grumbling incoherently and he has to stifle a laugh when she swipes her hand across her mouth.

‘Oh! It’s you. Welcome home’, she folds herself upright, rubbing her eyes slowly. ‘Where’s Yuji? How was the match?’

‘Of course it’s me – who else would it be?’ he chuckles. ‘I dropped Yuji off at Kei-kun’s place for a sleepover with the team, they promised not to stay up all night eating junk and watching crappy movies but I don’t believe them. The match was great - we won! Yuji-chan did really well, he earned quite a few points and saved a few balls. You would’ve been proud of him. I know I was.’

‘That’s good, I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it tomorrow when he’s back.’ She nods towards the fridge. ‘I made mapo tofu for dinner – not too spicy though, your stomach will thank me after that long bus ride back.’

He hums a thanks, sliding the plate into the microwave, narrating a play by play of their match today, stopping only when he hears a loud yawn.

‘Go to bed, Ume’, he frowns at the lines of exhaustion on her face. ‘I shouldn’t be keeping you up, you have a morning shift tomorrow.’

‘Mm – I will, later. Was waiting for you. Mm’ not that tired,’ she protests, but then yawns again so widely he’s pretty sure he hears her jaw crack.

‘Bedtime, sleepyhead’, he says teasingly, lifting her into his chest.

It’s a testament to how tired she is when she doesn’t try to swat at him as she usually does, choosing instead to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. His breath hitches, and he wants nothing more than to hold her close and hide in bed preferably forever, but reminds himself that they’re adults now (with awful things like jobs and responsibilities and worse, bills to pay), so he settles her onto their bed, tucking the pillow beneath her head, the sheets under her chin.

‘Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll catch up properly on the weekend’, he whispers, pressing a kiss into her dark hair.

‘Mmph, love you’, she mumbles, half asleep.

‘Love you too’, he shuts the door with a click, a soft smile on his face.

He’s mentioned off-hand to her before that they’re lucky to be this happy.

‘It’s not all luck’, he remembers her replying. ‘Happiness isn’t easy to come by. It’s a choice. It takes effort and hard work to earn that choice, and you need to take the time to build it up, brick by brick, piece by piece.’

He used to wonder what she meant by that - but six years in, and he thinks he finally understands what she means.

She’s meticulous in the way she makes him happy - the way she catalogues his quirks and deals patiently with his follies. How she knows to always leave food in the fridge for him after work so he won’t get cranky. How she tries her best to stay up and listen to him complain about his frustrations with pushy parents or irresponsible kids, how she tries to watch every one of his (and Yuji’s) games should time permit. He can see it even in the way she smiles indulgently when she sends him off with Daichi and Tanaka for izakaya and drinks.

For his part - he wonders if he does enough. He wakes up early most mornings to hitch a ride with her to work so they get a chance to chat about their day. He buys flowers from the florist down the street for her every week, and slips sandwiches and post-it notes in her work bag when he knows she’s had a long shift. He holds her close when she collapses on the couch, boneless and exhausted from a hard day.

He thinks about the life they share - weeknights spent sitting together, him sketching lesson plans and volleyball plays and she reading up for exams and work cases, weekends spent in grocery stores and parks and volleyball games. Six years together - they’re happy, and they show it in the quietest of ways.

They’re driving back to Karasuno this weekend - ostensibly to celebrate Keiji’s birthday and meet a couple of friends. But he’s conspired with Keiji and Yuji so he can sneak her away to the park for a picnic under the tree where they share memories of long, quiet talks and golden summer days. He’s hidden her ring in a picnic box full of homemade onigiri and sandwiches, strawberries and peaches.

He plans to go down on one knee and ask if she’d like to continue working on being happy with him forever.

He hopes she’ll say yes.

(She does.)

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyu x reader #sugawara #sugawara fic #sugawara headcanon #sugamama #haikyuu fluff #karasuno #haikyuu fic #sugawara x reader #suga

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im-the-punk-who · 3 years

Note

Can you please tell me how fandom works on discord? I know so much of fandom has moved over there but I just can't wrap my brain around using it the same way you would like tumblr or even old school forums.

Absolutely! So, discord is not the same as tumblr. Discord is more like, oh, an advanced version of AOL group chat or a livejournal chat forum. Maybe a semi-private message board is more accurate?

The difference in how fandoms use tumblr vs discord has a lot to do with how interaction happens on both.

With tumblr, a lot of the interactions I feel can be very performative. Everything is out there for everyone to see - aside from blocking there really isn't a way to stop people from viewing and replying to your content, which leads to the possibility of a LOT of bad faith takes. And with tags, people who aren't even following you will see your content and are free to do - well - whatever the heck they want with it.

This hampers actual connection and understanding, which I feel is so crucial to actually having productive conversations around difficult and painful topics.Often on tumblr, you'll interact with another blogger once or twice, then never again. Even with mutuals, I tend to only like and reblog a certain type of post, and most of how we communicate is by yelling at each other in 'one and done' situations like tags.

However on discord it's a lot more like having a communal group of friends. Most servers have rules that need to be followed, and all servers require you to join before you can post or read the discussions. Some even have member gates and such that further require checkpoints before people can post or see certain channels. (See, 18+ nsfw barriers, or, my server has a member gate where people need to confirm they've read the rules and channel descriptions before they gain access to everything except the welcome channels.)

So, there's a checkpoint that people have to pass - they can't just randomly stumblr(this was a typo of stumble but i'm keeping it) onto your blog and start a fight.

Ultimately discord is more a communication tool than a blogging platform. It was originally created for gamers to have an off-game place to chat, and has remained largely functional in that way even as fandom has started migrating to it.

For example, here's a screenshot of some of the channels in my RNM server.

Each of these channels is focused on a specific type of discussion, which makes it SUPER easy for people to curate their own content. If you don't like, say, a certain ship or topic, you can mute that channel and avoid discussion of it. Similarly, if you really like yelling about thirst traps(see: me), you can set notifications to get all messages in that channel as a notification.

And, because these servers tend to be fairly small in comparison to tumblr followings (the largest discord server I'm a part of has 300 people where as my blog follower count is in the thousands) there is a much better chance you've been interacting with these people more than just when you disagree or want to call someone out. Which makes for a better understanding of where someone might be coming from.

This also removes the performative aspect of tumblr, where you are not interacting with something for clout, but because you genuinely have something to say on the discussion.

*And* community guidelines offer recourse if someone is being a dickbag. Whereas on tumblr, if someone is being an asshat to you, your only recourse is really to block them, and it doesn't hold them accountable for anything. On discord, that person can be muted, kicked, or banned from the server if the mods deem their behavior disruptive enough.

Basically, tumblr and discord serve different functions, and I think discord is a good semi-evolution for some things that ended up on tumblr and shouldn't have when things like Livejournal became un popular. (Things like, in depth discussions of politics, fandom activism, and such). Tumblr isn't really meant to be a discussion platform, imo, because of the aforementioned performativeness.

And, discord isn't really meant to be a wide-reaching blogging platform, because of the community walls. For me, tumblr is about yelling at the sky in the middle of an intersection, discord is about ranting 'round the knitting circle while my friends nod sagely or throw a tea cozy at my head, if that makes sense. xD

#discord #tumblr #hope that helps! sure it doesnt! xD #anyway i HIGHLY recommend peopel join a few fandom discord servers because theyre actually a LOT of fun and the only way i've remained acti #active in the black sails fandom in particular xD #milo answers

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Silver Mist - part 2/3 - ao3 or tumblr pt 1

warning: adult content, read the ao3 tags

From then on, Nie Huaisang made a habit of going to his brother’s room every evening to unbraid his hair, which his brother permitted with more outward grumbling than actual resistance. It helped that Nie Mingjue had very obviously missed Nie Huaisang just as much – well, maybe not as much – as Nie Huaisang had missed him in return; he was happy, now that the war was over, to find reasons to spend more time together.

“Would da-ge like me to come by in the morning, too?” Nie Huaisang asked one evening. “I could do your hair then, too – better and prettier than you ever do!”

“Do you think you even can wake up that early?” Nie Mingjue asked, grunting as Nie Huaisang worked his hand up and down his cock. His da-ge’s hands were bound behind his back to keep him from interfering – Nie Huaisang had introduced that just a few days back, another small modification, and his brother had acceded to it beautifully, all those Nie sect lessons about self-control and fearsome tempers working wonders to dupe his mind into seeing it as a reasonable precaution rather than purely an instrument for Nie Huaisang’s pleasure. “I get up every morning to train, don’t forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Nie Huaisang said, mentally resigning himself to a few irritating days or even weeks of getting up early to cross the hallway to his brother’s room. In time, of course, he would suggest that it would be easier for him to simply stay overnight, and the morning braids could be turned into morning delight – patience, Huaisang, he scolded himself, have patience.

It was difficult, though. His brother was so good to him.

He waited until Nie Mingjue was just on the edge of coming, then hummed that very particular stanza – his brother cried out, pleasure flooding through him, and sank into the quiet all at once, the post-orgasm languor seamlessly merging with the artificial relaxation of Nie Huaisang’s spell. It was important in these early days to reinforce the trance state as much as possible, to make it seem welcoming and relaxing, to associate it with good feelings. After all, if he were going to start playing more dangerous games, he would need to be able to pull his da-ge back into that state quickly and cleanly, to avoid any disruption to his brother’s mental state.

Any lasting disruption, anyway.

“You’ve been doing so good, da-ge,” he said encouragingly, petting his brother’s hair. His brother’s eyes were so beautiful like this, blank and accepting. “I think we’re just about ready to take the next step, don’t you? Get on your knees. Huaisang will show you what you need to do.”

He ended up needing to resort to the command sooner than he’d expected.

It was his own fault, really. He’d been so busy thinking about all the wonderful things he could do in the future when his da-ge was properly his that he’d forgotten that his da-ge had some very annoying habits, especially early in the morning.

“Since you’re already awake, you can join me for morning training,” Nie Mingjue said, his hair already fully braided – he must have gotten up especially early – with a broad grin; he twirled Nie Huaisang’s saber pointedly at Nie Huaisang, who scowled in return, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He preferred to sleep late whenever possible, had forced himself to make the sacrifice of getting up early, and now this?

It wasn’t that he minded his da-ge’s pestering, not really. He knew it was one of the way his da-ge showed him that he loved him, all that scolding really just a mask for his concern for Nie Huaisang’s well-being, and unlike that incipient interpersonal disaster brewing over in the Jiang sect he, at least, knew how accept a bit of sour with his sweet. But on the very first day?

Nie Huaisang was a Nie, too, you know. He also had a temper.

He hummed.

Nie Mingjue’s movement stuttered, and he paused, his eyes slowly starting to blank out, but Nie Huaisang didn’t finish the stanza, not in full. “On your knees,” he ordered.

“Huaisang?” his da-ge asked, looking confused, but his body obeyed, dropping down onto the floor, just as Nie Huaisang had taught him, his hands locking onto his wrists behind his back. “Huaisang, what…? What are you doing?”

“Getting undressed, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’re not going to be able to suck my cock through my clothing, are you?”

“Your – what?!”

Nie Huaisang’s canines were sometimes a little sharper than most people, and he bared them at his disobedient da-ge now with a fox’s smile. “It’s not very nice of you to ambush me like that,” he said, pushing aside his clothing and leaving himself bare and hard in front of his da-ge. “Scolding me about my saber training first thing in the morning? You should put your mouth to better use.”

“Huaisang! You can’t – we can’t –”

“I want to see you choke yourself on my cock,” Nie Huaisang said conversationally, and Nie Mingjue leaned forward and took him into his mouth, his eyes wide and round. He was bad at it, quite frankly: other than the brief teaching lesson the day before, it was fairly obvious that he’d never sucked cock before. He went too fast, hitting his gag reflex and sending tears to his eyes, but Nie Huaisang never claimed to be anything other than petty and vindictive when crossed. “Do you like that, da-ge? You like sucking your didi’s cock?”

Nie Mingjue made a noise of protest.

“No? Are you sure? Look at how eager you are. Look at how you use your tongue on me, how you try to take more than you can handle, like you’d die if you didn’t pleasure me.” Nie Mingjue was visibly struggling now, unable to stop his mouth from moving or release his hands from behind his back no matter how much he tried. “I bet you’re hard. Do you like being hard for me?”

Of course Nie Mingjue was hard. Nie Huaisang had put it in the instructions the day before – had painstakingly taken the time to associate the feeling of Nie Mingjue touching himself just the way he liked it with the feeling of Nie Huaisang’s cock on his tongue, so that one sensation would instantly recall the other.

“You can touch yourself,” he added, and Nie Mingjue’s hands finally released from behind his back at last – but they went to do Nie Huaisang’s bidding, not to push him away the way Nie Mingjue had clearly intended. “Don’t come until I say you can.”

He put his hands on his brother’s head, the gesture far from a massage this time, and started fucking his brother’s face. “Maybe this’ll teach you to be nicer to me,” he scolded – but gently, most of his irritation already abated in the wake of his excitement and pleasure. It didn’t take long for him to reach his peak, spilling into his brother’s mouth with a grunt and watching with pleasure as his brother obediently swallowed all that he could and licked up what he couldn’t. “Good boy, da-ge. Well done.”

“Huaisang,” his brother rasped, looking up at him with pleading eyes, one hand still working himself hard and fast, the other tucked down to cup his balls. “Huaisang, what did I do…? What have I done to you…?”

“Oh, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, his heart growing warm. Even now, after this, his brother blamed himself before he blamed Nie Huaisang – if that wasn’t love, what was? “Don’t worry. I’ll make it all better.”

He hummed the rest of the stanza, watching the remaining threads of awareness fade away.

“You can come,” he said, and smiled when it only took a few more strokes for his brother to finish. “Forget everything that happened this morning. It was just a bad dream you had, the details of which are unimportant and already gone – except maybe for a slight unpleasant association with surprising me with morning saber training. When you wake up, it’ll be just as it was before I first walked in.”

He walked out of the door and broke the connection, firmed up his resolve, and went back in to get dragged outside for morning saber training, which was the worst.

Still, all things considered, Nie Huaisang felt that he’d gotten out ahead.

Sniggering at his own pun, he lifted up his saber and dragged himself through all the old routines, watching with an indulgent smile as his brother enthusiastically jumped around, barking out suggestions for improvement and correcting his form.

Yes, he thought happily to himself. This is good.

And it’s going to get even better.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and his brother looked at him in question. “Are you a virgin?”

“What type of stupid question is that?” Nie Mingjue asked with a glare, and Nie Huaisang held up his hands in a protestation of innocence.

They were at the private baths today, the little grotto with its own hot spring that was reserved for the exclusive use of the Nie clan. Just as the Lan sect had its much-prized Cold Spring, the Nie sect had an entire network of hot springs, with various locations scattered throughout the Unclean Realm. The temperatures of the springs varied from warm to near-boiling, and the water in each one was rich with minerals that cultivators required to strengthen themselves; unlike the Lan sect, the Nie sect believed in rewards as well as discipline, and each spring was stocked full with all sorts of soaps and creams to help ease sore muscles, toughen bone and sinew, or even enhance mental fortitude. They were excellent places to cultivate as well as bathe, and were accordingly extremely popular with the disciples, whether Nie sect disciples or guest disciples who had earned an invitation.

Naturally, the one reserved for the Nie clan was the finest of the lot, and Nie Huaisang loved it dearly. As a member of the Nie clan, he was allowed in as often as he liked and he took full advantage of the privilege, ignoring his brother’s occasional complaints that the baths were meant to supplement cultivation, not replace it. He knew his brother didn’t mean it, that he was happy with anything that would help Nie Huaisang improve – indeed, that he’d been very happy with the extent of Nie Huaisang’s recent improvement, which Nie Huaisang had ascribed to a sudden bout of enlightenment in connection to one of his meditation techniques.

There had been no such enlightenment, of course, but he wasn’t about to tell Nie Mingjue that the improvement in his cultivation came from all of cock-sucking he’d been doing – and receiving – lately, his da-ge’s vigorous yang energy strengthening him much more than he’d anticipated.

(It was because he held his brother’s heart in his hand, he realized, and belatedly understood why his mother’s voice had taught him all those tricks to get people to fall in love. The stories said that the nine-tailed fox spirits enticed men to be their lovers until they lost their souls, and only then devoured them – Nie Huaisang could see why, if the yield was so much greater.)

And that was all just from hands and mouths so far! He was sure that the results would be even more impressive once they started dual cultivation in earnest.

Which was the plan today, in fact, except right before they’d been about to begin he’d thought of the question he had asked, interrupting the flow of things.

Even now, Nie Mingjue was crouched in front of him on the ledge near the pool, his large legs splayed apart and Nie Huaisang’s cock nudging at his well-stretched entrance – he’d had him fingering himself for the last ten minutes straight, convincing Nie Mingjue that it was a natural and normal thing to be doing in the bath with his brother, who was clearly far too busy chattering about nonsense to notice; he had wanted the first time he entered his brother to be with his cock, and anyway he loved a good show.

“I’m just curious, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, pouting exaggeratedly until his brother rolled his eyes in amusement. “Won’t you tell me? I thought you told me that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It isn’t,” Nie Mingjue said crossly – he was often cross, these days, even though Nie Huaisang was doing such a good job of helping him work out his anger through the regular and routine application of pleasure. “It’s a stupid idea, that’s what it is. Experience is experience, inexperience, inexperience; there’s nothing more to it than that. And yet people assign value to it, even condemnation in the case of women –”

“Yes, yes,” Nie Huaisang said, interrupting before his brother could get carried away on yet another rant about the foibles of the cultivation world and how it treated the female victims that had survived the Wen sect with lives but not chastity intact. It was one of the many subjects his brother was taking issue with against Jin Guangshan, who wanted to be Chief Cultivator – as far as Nie Huaisang was concerned, the odious man could do as he liked with the title, but he understood why his brother was so upset about some of his policy decisions. Certainly a slut like Jin Guangshan had no business telling any woman that they couldn’t marry because they’d been involuntarily despoiled. “I know, you’ve told me already. But that doesn’t answer the question, da-ge. Are you a virgin?”

His fingers slid causally in the form of a hand seal, encouraging complaisance – he couldn’t always be humming his brother into a trance, after all! Sometimes one needed to be a bit more subtle.

“If I tell you, can I sit down already?” his brother asked, long-suffering. “I’ve had enough of your games.”

“You can never have enough of my games,” Nie Huaisang said, smiling his fox’s smile. “But yes, da-ge, it’s a deal – just remember to go slow. Now, tell me.”

“Fine. Whatever,” his da-ge said, and grunted a little as he started lowering himself down on Nie Huisang’s cock. “Yes, I’m a virgin. As it happens.”

“Really?” Nie Huaisang said, swallowing and wetting his lips, resisting the stimulation. “But da-ge is so handsome. You really haven’t taken a woman to bed before?”

“Too much trouble,” Nie Mingjue said. “All the fuss and bother of finding a suitable female cultivator who wouldn’t feel pressured by my position, or ambitious for a place as my wife, and then there’s the risk of pregnancy… it didn’t seem worth it.”

“What about men, then?” Nie Huaisang asked. He watched as his cock slowly disappeared, bit by bit, into his brother’s body. “No risk of pregnancy there, and most of them wouldn’t think of marriage.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, panting a little. “Huaisang, do we really have to sit here? It’s a little uncomfortable –”

“We’re just sitting in the baths, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, reinforcing the message with a hand seal and a bit of spiritual energy. “It’s not like we’re doing anything strange. Just sitting and relaxing, that’s all. Nothing else. Any discomfort you have will pass once you’ve adjusted.”

“Right,” his da-ge said, and pushed himself the rest of the way down with a grunt. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Nie Huaisang’s lips twitched. “It’s just the heat, I’m sure,” he said ironically, and put his hands on his da-ge’s hips. The sensation of penetration wasn’t new to him, of course, but there was a thrill of pleasure to be had in being balls-deep inside his own brother while he told him how much of a virgin he thought he still was. “You train so much; I bet you have all sorts of muscle cramps that are just now finally relaxing. If you feel any more discomfort, it’s probably just that.”

It was important, he felt, to guide his brother into these things slowly – the enchantment he’d cast was strong, especially with how often he’d repeated it and how open and trusting his brother was towards him, but in the end it was still only an enchantment; his brother could still break free and recover himself if there was something he found too strange, too sudden, too much. Far better to gradually accustom Nie Mingjue to the sensation of having a cock inside of him – or getting his own cock inside of someone else, for that matter – before Nie Huaisang started taking him to his bed on the regular.

“So, why not men?” he asked, picking up the earlier thread of conversation. “It seems to avoid most of the issues you raised, and I know you like men, too.”

“Not the issue about finding a proper partner,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. “I’m Sect Leader Nie before I’m anything else – the men in the Nie sect are loyal to me, required to obey me, and after I took the mantle of general in the Sunshot Campaign, many of the other sects feel the same. Who’s to say that someone wouldn’t feel obligated to say yes, even if they didn’t actually want to…? I couldn’t do that.”

You’re a better man than me, Nie Huaisang thought. I want my ‘yes’ no matter how I have to get it.

“Did you ever like any of them?” he asked, and his brother scowled at him. “You did! Was it san-ge? You liked him so much when he was with us.”

“It was,” his brother reluctantly admitted. “Don’t get any ideas, though; that was in the past! Anyway, in his case, it would have been even worse, wouldn’t it? There were already so many rumors about his background. Imagine what people would say if they thought we were lovers!”

“People already thought you were lovers,” Nie Huaisang said dryly.

“All the more reason not to encourage them, then.”

“Mm, I suppose da-ge has a point,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’ll have no choice but to stay with me forever.”

Nie Mingjue huffed and ruffled his hair, making a face when the movement changed the angle a little. “Whatever you say, didi,” he said, indulgent as he was only towards Nie Huaisang. “Now, do you want to meditate a little?”

Nie Huaisang considered it. “Yes,” he finally said. “That’s a good idea. I’ll meditate, and you’ll warm my cock.”

“What was that?” Nie Mingjue said, lips twisting into a scowl. “I didn’t quite hear that last part.”

“I’m agreeing to meditate,” Nie Huaisang said innocently. Instructing his da-ge to immediately forget anything that drew his attention to their current situation had clearly been the right choice; it made this all the more fun. “Just like you suggested.”

“You’re being remarkably cooperative these days,” Nie Mingjue said. “It makes me think you’re up to something.”

“Me? No way, da-ge. I’m far too lazy to scheme.”

“Not if it’s something you really want, you aren’t.”

Nie Huaisang, seen, smiled. “I suppose so. How do you feel right now, da-ge? Physically.”

Nie Mingjue considered the question with the seriousness of a man with a great deal of concern for his health, and many people asking him about it. “Good,” he finally said.

“Full?” Nie Huaisang asked, moving his hips a little to fuck up a bit into Nie Mingjue, who let out a small, involuntary moan.

“Yeah,” Nie Mingjue said, biting his lip a little. “Yeah, full. Kind of – stretched? Not in a bad way. Like when you’re cultivating and you draw in too much qi all at once, but a bit more… physical.”

“If you want to get yourself off, I wouldn’t mind,” Nie Huaisang said comfortingly. “I’m going to meditate, after all. It’ll be as if I’m not paying any attention to you at all.”

“Maybe I will,” Nie Mingjue said, his cheeks flushing red – even after all that work to convince him that this was something he could do without shame, something he should do, he still got all embarrassed when they talked about it. He was so cute! “You meditate. I want to see a noticeable improvement in your strength by the end of the week, you hear me?”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Nie Huaisang said honestly, and settled in to watch his da-ge touch himself, jerking himself off in that casual and efficient manner he had when he thought he was all alone. He could feel the effect of it already, spiritual energy flowing through his meridians and condensing in his core – dual cultivation was going to be amazing, he just knew it.

“You like the feeling, the one you can’t quite put your finger on right now,” he murmured, letting his words flow right into his brother’s head while he was distracted by pleasure. “It feels good to you, makes you feel secure, happy. Gets you feeling hot. One day, I’m going to make you need it, crave it, beg me for it – I’ll come into your office where you do all the work and you’ll be shifting around anxiously, unsure of what it is that you need, and that’s when I’ll give it to you. I won’t even make you beg me. I’ll fuck you over your own desk, come inside you, plug you up and leave you like that.”

Nie Mingjue might not pay any attention to his words, but he sure noticed it when Nie Huaisang bucked his hips up, fucking up into him; he gasped, leaned forward, and braced himself on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

“I’ll have you in the main hall on the throne,” Nie Huaisang said dreamily. “I’ll ride you until you’re weak at the knees and then have you suck me off, and then we’ll invite in our guests, no one the wiser that you’ve got my come in your mouth and yours in my ass. I’ll grow strong, da-ge, until you don’t need to worry about me so much – until I can hold you down. Until I can make you need me.”

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue muttered, his eyes hazy as he worked himself. “Shut up. You’re supposed to be meditating.”

Nie Huaisang pressed his lips together and smiled, watching his brother finish in his hand, instinctively fucking himself down on Nie Huaisang’s cock to get more of what felt so good.

“Actually, da-ge, I think I found something that I think will help my cultivation even more,” he said conversationally once his brother had somewhat recovered, and as expected his brother turned bright eyes to him. “Here, put your hand on my belly – aren’t I stronger already?”

“You are,” Nie Mingjue said, surprised. “Even compared to this morning! Not much, but definitely something – you must be very compatible with this new cultivation technique you’ve found.”

“I heard it was one that my mother used to use,” Nie Huaisang said, and it wasn’t even a lie. His mother had always liked Nie Mingjue, from the stories he’d heard; he was perhaps the only one of all the people in the Unclean Realm that she actually liked, and Nie Mingjue paid back her affection by loyally ignoring all of the speculation and whispers about her – he didn’t question it. “I’m having some trouble picking up the technique fully, though; you know how I am. Could I ask you to help me with it?”

“Certainly,” his brother said, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you making progress.”

“It needs a lot of practice, though,” Nie Huaisang said, widening his eyes and pouting. “Lots and lots of practice – will da-ge help keep me on track?”

“Like I do your saber training?” Nie Mingjue said dryly.

“Well, I’m more compatible with this one,” Nie Huaisang said, ducking his head to hide his grin. “If da-ge agrees to help, I promise I’ll do my best to practice as often as da-ge recommends.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Nie Mingjue remarked with – admittedly justified cynicism. “All right. What’s the cultivation technique? I’ll help however I can.”

“Let me show you,” Nie Huaisang said, and rolled them both over. “Put your hands on the beam there above your head – yes, perfect – spread your legs a bit more, tilt your hips up…”

He pulled out and thrust in hard, punching out a fucked-out little exhale from his da-ge that he rather liked the sound of, so he did it again, and again, and again, until he was really getting into it.

“Look at that, da-ge,” he said sweetly. “I’m working up a real sweat. Isn’t that good?”

His brother didn’t respond, of course. Fucking him like this, after he’d just come, was overstimulating him to the extreme, reducing him down to little mewls and whimpers and breathy punched-out sighs as he spread his legs wider and tried so very sweetly to encourage him to keep up the good work.

Somehow, Nie Huaisang thought he’d be able to defy his brother��s expectations and actually stick to whatever training regime his brother put together for him this time.

Somehow.

Clearly, all he’d ever needed was the right incentive.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #niecest #my fic #my fics #silver mist #nie sect worldbuilding #why it shows up in my smut I don't know

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fishylife · 3 years

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Street Dance of China, Season 4, Episode 4

- I’ve had issues with Tumblr not saving my posts again v.v I’ll just save often and hope that that does the trick.

- Latrice and Ibuki reenacting HB’s performance haha. From the behind the scenes clips I’ve seen, Ibuki does speak English, so I like to think they are now friends :D

- Hilty & Bosch have known each other since they were six years old T_T That’s cuuuute. Apparently they don’t get into arguments a lot because they always keep a distance between them XD Good strategy.

- San’er’s performance was great! He definitely brings the entertainment in his creativity (including incorporating a story line), but he doesn’t forget about the technical parts of dancing (the popping).

- Bouboo cheering on Rochka when he challenged Jianyan :P

- This spinning move he did was neat

- 不咋地 is going to be the recurring inside joke between Yibo, Rochka, and Bouboo ^^;;

- Yixing singing the SDOC theme song again XD With his super low energy voice XD

- Yibo was tipping the bench which was why Yixing and Henry were like, rocking back and forth at the same pace lol.

- Admittedly George vs. C-Lil was kind of rough. George tried to include Chinese elements in his performance, but he was injured, so he couldn’t really showcase them, and the latter part of his performance became just a typical contemporary dance. C-Lil’s performance was alright, but I think the judges were expecting something more impressive. While break dancing is very impressive to watch, I am starting to see the limitations of it, because if a dancer is not impressive, they are just kind of mediocre. George and C-Lil weren’t able to bring anything superbly impressive, which I think it was difficult for them to vote. Yibo abstained, and C-Lil got two votes, so C-Lil advanced.

- Zyko was incredible as always. It fascinates me how he’s mostly performed with these ballad type songs that don’t really have a beat. Also his flexibility is insane. I’m glad he got through with four votes because we need to see him more.

- I really liked Chika’s performance! I feel like women’s dancing is sometimes a bit limited in the mainstream because people just expect them to look sexy. It isn’t as much the case on this show because all of the ladies on this show are dancers and not idols or pop stars. But anyway, I just love seeing women dance without their bodies being sexualized. Chika’s dance showcased not only control over her body, but POWER. I loved her big movements. Compare the power that she shows vs. the power that say, Ibuki shows. Ibuki is a much smaller lady and it shows in her proportions, so how she expresses power looks different from how Chika expresses power, and Chika’s is the sort of power that I’ve really looked forward to seeing.

- Rochka fanboys over everybody, I love it. Keep spreading the love, dude.

- Ok, Xiaoji’s performance was pretty entertaining. I am not kidding when I say my jaw dropped, at the same time that all the captains went OH SNAP. But this guy definitely has charisma and stage presence. His confidence made up for his lack of ability to improvise XD I was CACKLING when this guy thought the song was done and Yibo was like “bro there’s more” and Xiaoji had to come up with something to end it off lol. I wouldn’t say his challenge was as good as Xiaohai’s, mostly because he hadn’t memorized the music like Xiaohai did. In terms of technical stuff, his performance did seem more impressive than Lai Wei’er’s, but he also did less “stuff” (like, there were a lot of pauses in his dance probably because he didn’t now the music). But Xiaoji’s was definitely more entertaining, though that may just be because of who he is and not his dancing. (By the way, Xiaoji’s real name is 林森. I thought the name 林木森 was just a joke because of how much wood was in it. I never guessed that someone would name their kid 林森 X’D Guess his 八字 indicated that he had a weakness in wood or something lol)

- Have some laughing captains, it’s good for the soul.

- Acky-san acknowledged that he’s probably not going to beat the younger dancers in terms of technique, so what he brought instead was style. The “robot” style of popping is pretty old, but no one else has done it in this competition probably because it’s so old school, and he definitely delivered in a way that only he could.

- Henry singing Frere Jacques with the French contingent X’D

- Thoughts on Han Yu vs. Boris. I can imagine what Han Yu was going for in his original performance, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t have the vocabulary to explain it, but basically the way his performance was choreographed just didn’t really impress. As Yibo mentioned, Boris was impressive in his dance to Han Yu’s music, but his dancing didn’t suit the song as much as Han Yu’s did. So the original dance + challenge was a matter of impressiveness vs. whether the dancing suited the music. Han Yu shone in the battle. I think he seemed a lot more impressive when back in a hip hop sort of groove, music that has a lot of major beats, compared to the piano music that was less grand an epic. As for Boris, I think that seeing a few of his performances in succession showed that his toolbox is a little limited in comparison to Han Yu. It hate to see Boris go because I loved his battle against Zyko but alas. I also wanted him to stay because he’s one of the few non-Chinese contestants who speak Mandarin relatively well. He had no issues speaking in Mandarin with most of the Chinese people on set. The ending was hilarious, when he was asked whether he had any last words, and Boris was like “well, I’m literally going to see these guys in two seconds when I’m back in the audience, I’m not dying” lmao.

- I don’t know how I feel about how the show has decided to deal with the last 29 contestants, of which three would be chosen to join the 49 dancers advancing. They’re competing fairly with the other contestants that haven’t performed yet, but they’re at a disadvantage compared to the previous contestants that were judged individually. For example, what if the fourth best dancer was better than a dancer that had already entered the 49? It would only be fair if the judges were allowed to take out people from the 46 contestants that had passed. It would’ve been a bigger problem if there were still a lot of big names to go though. Most of the best dancers have already secured a spot for themselves, so I think that’s why I’m not like, the most perturbed.

- I was low key waiting for Xiao Jie’s performance because his audition performance during episode 1 was so amusing. I thought his individual performance was fun! He managed to add some creativity and story telling (Chinese dude getting drunk) but also showcase some of his specialty skills (locking).

- I forgot to mention this before, but it amuses me that so the editing team will so diligently put in a “don’t try this at home” warning message whenever a dancer does a dangerous move haha.

- So the captains are doing a dance battle for the reborn event, but I’m not really sure how this is all gonna work. I’m digging Yixing’s look for the battle btw.

- Anyway, pre-battle hugs for all.

- KRUMPMASTER. Also I think he did some of the routine that he did back in Season 3.

- Not gonna lie, I wasn’t super impressed with Han Geng’s first dance but his second dance was pretty hype.

- Lol Yibo feels most comfortable challenging Yixing during his battles. He did move where he dropped onto his back right after Yixing did it (i.e. being like you can do it but I can do it better). Based on what I saw of season 3, I think Yibo would call out Yixing in his performances then too.

- Yixing was definitely heavy on the krump side, though I actually thought his first performance was really interesting because there was barely any krump in that one. He mostly stuck to other elements. As we got through the other rounds, he became more krump heavy, and I think he lost a bit in terms of variety there.

- The thing about Han Geng is that he’s no longer as athletic, so he relies more on power and control, but he needs to make sure he does the right moves that showcase that.

- I think Yibo impressed me the most. He had a lot of variety in his arsenal and he was very entertaining. He is also quite athletic, so as long as he can imagine it, I think he can do it haha.

- As others mentioned, Henry was extremely creative. He used a lot of dance moves to show a certain action, like tugging a rope or playing pool and such.

- Anyway, big hugs.

- Baby needs a nap.

- Yibo won the most points in the four rounds of the battle. This hug with Han Geng is uwu. Anyway, Tony Gogo mentioned that Yibo interpreted the music very well.

- Of course, Tony Gogo as well as the Gogo brothers praised Yixing for his krumping energy

- Philip said that Han Geng had a really good ear, and that was how he was able to take advantage of the best moments to unleash certain dances.

- The five contestants that were saved were A-wei, Boris, George, JC Jun, and Kelo & Uwa. I definitely think the editors purposely showed us more clips of them so that we’d grow attached lol. The only one of these five that I don’t quite remember is A-wei though. Anyway, very pleased that Boris is back haha.

- Pouty boi

- Yibo, Henry, Han Geng, and Ibuki getting really into 煞科 lol.

- I think next episode is going to have some team performances, which I think will be fun. Some of these teams are STACKED.

- Previews for Hot pot!

- They were talking about songs they listened to in their childhood. Han Geng started singing a song about an Office Black Cat? XD I’m guessing it’s a cartoon haha. Yibo listened to Leehom Wang and Jay Chou. Henry mentioned that he looked up to Leehom because he was also an overseas Chinese, plus he played a lot of instruments (just like Henry). As expected, Yixing looked up to Jay Chou (after all, Jay Chou was one of the earliest artists to popularize using Chinese elements in pop songs). Yixing said he also liked Leehom Wang, JJ Lin, and Khalil Fong (I legit have not heard the name 方大同 in a long time so that took me by surprise lol).

- Yibo mentioned Li Ronghao and Yixing was like OH WAIT YEAH HIM TOO. We know from Idol Producer that Yixing and Li Ronghao are bros haha. The captain says “不榮藝組合” which pronounced the same as “不容易組合” which is something like “unlikely duo,” except the the 榮 is from Li Ronghao’s name and the 藝 is from Zhang Yixing’s name lol.

- The robot spilled all the tea! Bad bot!

- I think they later played a listening game that Henry kept losing? lol

#thinking out loud #cvariety #street dance of china #screencaps

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same-side · 5 years

Note

I just finished DBH and Im seriously so in love with it! But when I came on Tumblr, all I could find is all this content around Gavin, and Im just so confused, because he seemed like such a jerk in the game. Why are people so into Gavin? Did I miss something?

Hi there!

First off, allow me to welcome you to the fandom!

In regards to Gavin: you literally did not miss anything; he is absolutely a one dimensional jerk in game!

Its important we make a distinction here between fanon Gavin and canon Gavin. You’ll find the fandom is incredibly divided - a lot of people adore him, a lot of people hate him. The reason for disliking him is understandable, of course - there’s a slew of incredible and well rounded characters in dbh (North, Luther, Kara…) that are swept under the rug in favour of a veritable avalanche of content for rat man reed. He has 14 minutes of screen time in which literally all he does is antagonize and threaten the player. But people have to understand, when someone says they love Gavin, they mean fanon Gavin. I don’t think theres a single person that is actually a canon Gavin stan.

Keeping that in mind, you also have to take into account the drop off - at this point, the only people still left/creating content in the fandom are generally the ones that are balls deep and clinging to the headcanons, au’s, etc. that they’ve built with friends. This applies heavily to Gavin for reasons discussed below. Additionally, the algorithms for sites like tumblr and instagram won’t recommend old posts; old posts don’t show up in tags. Artists with a lot of clout that have since moved on from the fandom’s work have basically disappeared into the void (rebelflet, for example). So it may seem like there’s only content of Gavin / Gavin ships, but in reality there’s a ton of jericrew and Kara crew out there from when the fandom was still new / bigger - you just have to know where to look.

So… why do people like Gavin… I mean, it helps that canonically he has beefy tiddies, a cool bad boy jacket, and a pretty face at certain angles.

That being said, I think one of the biggest reasons Gavin (and RK900, by extension) are so popular is that they aren’t well rounded, fleshed out characters. Because we don’t really know anything about them and they have minimal screen time, they’re easy to project on or to add onto, and no one can tell you that you’re wrong because there’s no evidence against it. It’s almost like a universally shared OC that the fandom has developed together. Since they have no canon backstory, and in rk900’s case, no canon personality, it allows for a lot of creative freedom and the ability to explore character interactions, foils, and growth within the dbh universe. The growth aspect, I think, in conjunction with the projection aspect, is key point for the popularity. It tends to be fairly formulaic. Take the canonical asshole Gavin, stick him with an android - whether its RK900 as his partner or Connor as a coworker. Have him come to care for the RK model, and deal with his own insecurities (and usually a traumatic past, the flavor of which might depend on the creator’s own life struggles). Repent, redeem, grow. This redemption arc is the same exact vein of growth and change that makes Hank and Connor such an appealing partnership for players as well - only, in Gavin’s case, it allows for complete freedom in how to get from point a to point b. People like a character they can relate to - and when you can smack your own possible trauma (being an illegitimate child, having an abusive lover, abusive parents, abandonment fears, body insecurity, whatever it may be) on a character because they’re a blank slate, you relate to them and vent through them. Even little “silly” projections or projections that aren’t necessarily traumatic can make someone love a character even more - for example, “Gavin loves Hello Kitty,” “Gavin can’t handle spicy food,” “Gavin is Latino.” Even when the creator isn’t projecting, adding these kinds of headcanons make him a fleshed out, three dimensional character that people can relate to or empathize with, especially when giving his actions an explanation besides just fear of losing his job.

I came into the dbh fandom a little late; by the time I knew what it was, the hype had died down and reed900 was already a firmly cemented, heavily present part of the content. Given that, I’m not sure what its exact origins were, or if it seemingly popped up overnight. It could have been crack. My best guess is that people saw the positive change between Hank and Connor, and thought, “Hey, wouldn’t it be rad if we stuck the other Connor with the other dysfunctional DPD bastard?” . I admit, it makes a nice parallel, which may be part of the appeal in additional to the previous reasons. Speaking of those kinds of interpersonal relationships, there’s also a popular headcanon (that’s been mentioned/liked by d*vid c*ge himself) that Kamski and Gavin are siblings/half siblings/cousins. This stems from the fact that Kamski and Gavin are both mo-capped/voiced by the same actor. By taking this headcanon into account, it adds depth to Gavin’s hatred of androids and allows for interesting backstory exploration, growth, and reconciliation.

Another reason is the enemies-to-lovers trope. For a lot of people that trope really jimmies their neutrons, and what could be better than an android hater and an android to fit that cliche? Once again, analogous to hankcon. The angst potential is also incredible when you take convin or hankvin into account instead of reed900 - reading into Hank and Gavin’s interactions it would seem there’s a tumultuous past between them. And in Connor’s case, Gavin can actually kill him or he can KO Gavin, which allows for a good deal of enemies-to-lovers and angsty regret material. Besides, a lot of people are really into hate s*x.

That…. makes a good segway. I may as well mention the elephant in the room for Gavin’s popularity. There’s a culture of fetishizing abuse in fandoms and Gavin is a prime target for this because “”he’s asking for it.”” It’s also easy to make one character a psychopath when they don’t even have a canon personality. This shows up a lot, whether because of writers treating it as a kink in fanfic or artists using it as a gag because its “funny”. I… won’t really go into detail on this, but it is a phenomenon that adds to the slew of Gavin content. This is another reason for why a lot of people hate Gavin / hate reed900. I started out feeling this way as well. Their perception of it is coloured by the abusive stuff or the mishandled stuff that seems to be prominent. I just have to say that this blog is a safe, sane, and consensual zone.

Sorry, that was a really long breakdown but I hope that gives some insight into the Gavin phenomenon. Last point. He winks like a dumbass. How can you not love that face.

#dbh #detroit become human #gavin reed #dbh gavin #reed900 #t talks #long post #abuse for ts #sorry i have a lot of feelings about gavin because i used to get a lot of hate towards him #i think at this point most people that hate gavin have left the fandom because hes unavoidable

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

State of the Fics 2019

The WIPS and Dead Ends Edition

So: having recently had a few discussions with some fellow authors and talking about other writers and stuff... here is where I’m going to answer some/most/all of the MOARPLZ requests.

I have 440+ works on A03 and a lot of what I hear is MOARPLZ or “is there going to be any more of this...”

So, I’m kinda going through my list right now and letting you know what my plans are for 2020 and what, if anything, you can count on to see more of, and what is, in fact, truly over. If you don’t see a fic that you love and want to know more about it, feel free to ask me.

Take Note and RSVP - every once in a while, we get asked about this story. This was my first jaunt into the fic world, and it’s unfinished. We lost our Steve writer because of some Fandom Drama (you can blame some stans who accused us of plagiarizing a fic we’d never read who continually attacked us until the stress just made it not worth the effort of finishing.)

Solar Powered Soldiers was my first solo effort. This fic, as far as I’m concerned, pretty much sucks. It was meant to be a Steve/Bucky fic, ended up with the only smut scene as a Nat/Clint piece, and didn’t really have a satisfactory ending. I am not likely to ever go back and fix this.

Steve of Oz was supposed to be mostly smutty foray into exploring Steve as the Avengers Bike. The plan was basically for him to end up having sex with literally everyone, while in a Wizard of Oz setting. Never happened, didn’t get much response to it.

Lost in the Shadows Every once in a while, I get someone who asks me about this AU. Talk about your niche markets! On the other hand, I love me some ShadowRun, so I have not closed down the idea of writing more on this AU...

So, here’s a fun thing: This particular AU is what’s been requested by my Marvel Trumps Hate winner, so, I’ll be writing a dragon-level event story for this, some 27 - 30,000 words. You ready, chummer?

The Communal Kitchen AU We have a few half-complete stories in this series; Vol 3, the Mating Habits of Hero Birds, a vague outline of a Team NuclearWinter side piece, and a couple of smut pieces that never got written. I may yank the sex pollen scene from Vol 3 out and post it as a stand-alone. We’ll see. If there’s interest in any of this, maybe we’ll come back to it. (I am currently re-reading the whole series, because honestly, I write the fic I want to read, and so I re-read my own stuff rather a lot.)

Anything involving Phil Coulson and Clint Barton - while I still ship this couple, and I’ll read stuff about them, I’ve pretty much given up writing them. Between Agents of SHIELD and everything with Clint starting in, say Age of Ultron forward, I just... don’t feel it anymore? Which does include the started and never finished Coulson’s Final Case

Next Thursday Night - huh, I’d honestly forgotten about this fic. maybe i’ll revisit it this year upcoming... somewhere I think I have an outline.

Subject to PunTax - I love puns, and this story is very formulaic. I pick a topic, make up 5-7 puns on the subject, wrap a story around it and tie a bow with a suggestive pick up line. So, I leave this open to continue, the next time I’m feeling Punny.

Bucky Barnes has Kittens - Bucky as the crazy cat lady writer with bad anxiety. I’ve had a lot of people tell me this story has been great for them, dealing with Bucky’s anxiety issues. I do have more story ideas for this ‘verse, including Bucky finding out that Steve is also a writer and dealing with that. Decidedly On the List.

Eight Arms to Hold You - I have a handful of extra stories for these. Some of them went up on Tumblr for tentacletober... generally speaking, any mermaid fic of mine is subject to a continuation because MERMAIDS and OCTOBUCKY

All American Road Trip confession time here: I stopped writing this fic because of some anti-tonys who kept popping in my comments for this fic to rant about Tony Stark in a fic that was NOT ABOUT TONY. I’ve deleted all their comments, but they were nasty, and I stopped wanting to write for people who were being so abusive to Tony (and honestly, that much bile spilling in my comments, I don’t care who it’s about, it makes me sad) Like, they liked the Fic (steve/sam/bucky) but... eeeh, whatevs. I didn’t feel like dealing with it, and I’m not going to.

Also Prey - One of my more popular pieces, I reserve the right to add more to it when I’m in a fluff mood.

Kiss me Through the Phone - I wrote this with @27dragons and I have about... half a plan for a third chapter called Your Dirty Little Secret. So, with some encouragement, that could happen.

The Truth is Who You Are - my BDSM with religious song lyrics fic; this stuff is really emotional for me, and while I do have 2-3 more pieces planned, they take me a while to write and they knock the shit out of me while I’m doing it. There’s a lot of Tony working through his self-hatred that just... it’s deep. So... there will be more, it just... might be Some Time.

The Killer and the Kid - this is literally my most popular piece. I get a MOAR PLZ ask on this at least once a month. I have been saying for a while I’m not planning any more of this, but I did offer it as an incentive for the Marvel Trumps Hate auction. This particular fic will ONLY BE WRITTEN for a charitable donation.

Joyride - I’ve written a couple of addons for this fic loosely titled Bundle of Joy. They’re not quite Done Yet, but when I get there, I’ll be posting that.

Nights in Sandbridge - our most popular series, and I love these boys so much here. We have no major plans to continue, but if something strikes us, we may.

WinterIron Pickup - a short story that spawned a second chapter. I have some ideas for continuing this, but it’s fallen by the wayside as I write other things.

What Good is the Sky - this piece is so angsty, and I keep getting requests to do moar of it. Trust me, you don’t want that, it will END BADLY. and I will cry a LOT.

Off the Menu - I really do have a LOT more of this story in my head. I just don’t know when I’m going to get around to it.

Bucky Barnes Prom CYOA this was SO HARD to format that I just gave up on it. I may come back and redo this as a few “completed” stories?

Phoning it In - I do, in fact, have a few more of this AU in mind, I just lost a bit of the shiny after an amazing fucking against the sofa smut scene. So, there might be more of this in your future (also I kept expecting it to win March Madness, so I-- didn’t get back ‘round to it?)

A Poor Reflection - never got finished. Not sure why, I had the whole damn thing plotted out. Where is my outline??

The Enhancile War Series - mostly to play with the trope of naked girl in a box, this series originally had four plotted stories, but we just could NOT get the fourth story to GO anywhere, even pushing on it really, really hard.

Any Old Music Will Do - I have a plot outline for this one, with Bucky and Tony forming the core of the Defenders, along with Luke and Jessica, but I don’t know what I did with it... anyway, there’s more ideas here. a bit.

Indispensable we had a plot idea for a sequel and I actually think we wrote about 15000 words or so on it, but-- meh, it ended up not being very interesting. If we come up with some actual plot, then maybe?

Park(s) and Wreck(ed) - I have some more ideas for this as Tony and Bucky get their sexy on all over the office.

Stark, Naked - we did, in fact, do a sequel to this, which was rather short, but well-received. Not much ideas here for anything else, but we like this version of them, so if we get good prompts, we might be tempted to take up the reigns again.

Land After Time - We get a LOT of requests for Moar of this. If we had ANY FUCKING CLUE what was going on, we might. but we really, really don’t

We Can’t Eat That (It’s Dead) - I actually have an entire plot for this, on who the dead guy is and what happened... I could be encouraged.

Forever Home - we wrote a full length sequel to this, but weirdly enough, it WASN’T the original sequel we’d sort of talked about. which means there’s potentially a third story here... (maybe a 4th one, too)

Excuse me, I think You Have My Suitcase - the further adventures of Tony and Bucky in lacy underthings. Yes. The next time I feel like PWP, I plan to revisit.

Dead to Rights - I still really like this idea... I just didn’t get as much traction from the Umbrella Academy fandom as I would have liked. Probably because most of my writer friends are Not Into It, which doesn’t give me many people to bounce ideas off

New York: Become Human - there’s a LOT more story here to tell... maybe we’ll tell it.

Rejoice in the Sun - I started writing this fairly soon after Endgame, when I had a lot of feels, but between the absolute outpouring of hatred about that movie from the fandom. seriously, y’all were going all Annie Wilkes up in the house to the point that I put Endgame back on BLACKLIST to get away from the seething bile... it got really hard to enjoy post endgame content, and I got sick, too, so... that didn’t help any.

Once a Knight - Witch Bucky and Knight Tony... we have some more plot for this...

No Job Too Small - I think I even have another chapter of this WRITTEN. And some more plotted out. Tony and tiny children. What could go wrong?

(D)rift Away - Bigger Better Bugspray... what happens when the Rifters come back? There might be more of this, once I work out some plot. And honestly, stop getting distracted by the damn @heamarvel prompts.

The Door into Winter - I have a whole story for this, still working on it

Learning to Work Together (Good Omens) - we have some more feels for this, so possibly, if we can put plot together.

Pretty much everything else i’m posting in progress is still going strong, Blueberries, Hell Charger, Can’t Help you Fix Yourself, Reclamation, Draco Malfoy and the Rune... and I have a couple of other collabs with other people that are... bogged down with details right now.

We’ve got a couple of stories headed your way from the Marvel HEA Hallmark challenge, including what may well be my new favorite: Buck Barnes Got Married. We also wrote a Cyber Punk AU with companion Tony as an excuse to dress Tony up in skimpy outfits.

So, that’s like the general status of Old Fic... and having ideas is not the same as finding the time to sit down and WRITE them, especially since New Ideas are attacking me at the same time, honestly.

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wordswithkittywitch · 5 years

Text

Donner, Blizten, and Pooka

The traditional host for Billy and Zoë, DeviantArt, is being recalcitrant, so I’m posting it directly to my tumblr this year. If AO3 had a spot for original work, I’d use that just because I love how straightforward their system is. I should look for a better platform, I guess. But for now, this year’s is hosted on tumblr. (I don’t know why I never say Zoë and Billy. I guess it’s just that I’ve been saying their names in alphabetical order since 2002, and I’m not likely to start now.) This is actually an idea I've had since the first year I starting writing these, and I'm so glad I've finally done something with it.

This year’s story has a few instances of gruesome imagery, but no major triggers behind the obvious “character death”, as you know at least one character, be it recurring or otherwise, is going to be a dead one.

With no further ado, enjoy 2019′s addition to the Billy and Zoë universe.

(4940 words, 9 pages, several horror elements. Because it’s a freaken horror story.) Recomended audio accompaniment.

Donner, Blitzen and Pooka

No, this isn’t the same story as last year, just the same exposition

Billy and Zoë were always said to be good kids, not getting in fights, making the sports teams, honor roll, debate team, cheer squad, chorus and band. Both moderately popular jacks-of-all-trades, they managed to make prom king and queen even though they were just friends, and got scholarships to the same college. Billy played sports year round, but managed to talk about other things, mainly debating, singing or playing clarinet. Well, not when he was doing those things, as they involved his mouth. He had a tall, muscular build, his features seemingly mismatched. He had soccer legs and basketball feet, baseball arms on a football torso, which his head was thankfully not too small for, his white blond hair contrasting with his cheeks, which were always red for some reason, be it anger, embarrassment, or chill. Zoë’s body, however, seemed more perfectly constructed. Her complexion was warm and comforting like a cup of cocoa and she had shiny black hair, large brown eyes, long willowy arms and legs rippling with muscles and small, athletic breasts that did not get in the way when she cheered, played the flute, lacrosse, tennis or cricket. Both frequently smiled, especially when the life-long friends found out they were going to college together.

It was a bright, cold day, one of those days in mid-December when there’s finally what to Billy’s mind counted as an “adequate” amount of snow. It was just so hard for him to really get into the spirit of things when the weather looked less like a Christmas card and more like a whole lot of dead plants stuck together with asphalt. Why someone who went for a jog through the woods every morning before class was so excited about five inches of snow was beyond even Zoë’s understanding and also Billy’s ability to explain. The cold air just felt so… crunchy on his lungs. It sounded bizarre, even to Billy, but once he’d been going long enough that he didn’t feel too cold, running in the snow was so refreshing.

So, despite the fact that his cheeks looked like the entire cheer squad had slapped the shit out of him and there wasn’t exactly what one might call feeling in his fingers, Billy was in a very good mood. He turned away from the main road and jogged into what was charitably called the cross-country trail by the college track team. It kept the name mainly because very few people were wiling to reassess it. There was nothing quite like going over broken ground to get the blood pumping, Billy thought. He was immediately greeted by the smell of pine and the crunch of unbroken snow under his feet. He took it from the fact he couldn’t hear water trickling that the river had finally frozen over. He couldn’t see it from the trail, but from his previous morning jogs he knew that it ran parallel to the trail for about half a mile.

Some people asked him, and quite rightly, when exactly a first-year college student had found them time for a morning jog, but it was early in Billy’s athletic career when he learned how to have the “Why am I doing this? It’s way too cold out. It’s way too early. I hate every choice that led me to jogging in the snow.” during the first ten minutes of the jog itself instead of for a twenty minute block beforehand, so that saved a lot of time. It was all a matter of dedication and mind over matter. Also, he had dropped his 8:00 AM ethics lecture within the first month, so that gave him plenty of time. He could drop one course if it gave him enough energy for his other classes, this college had a notoriously high freshman drop-out rate, and Billy refused to be just another fresher who dropped off the face of the earth.

It was nice to have a jog into the thin strip of forest that the college seemed have bought to be a pleasant stripe of green forty feet in the background of the models in their early thirties wearing backpacks that came around about once a year to pose for photos that would make the college look more fun-loving and ethnically diverse on the website. It was one of the few places on campus that was far enough away from the Laundromat basement to not smell heavily of dollar-store Febreze knockoffs. Even on days when he had to substitute his morning job for an afternoon jog, because after all, no amount of Red Bull can hide the fact an all-nighter was all that stood between Billy and a “incomplete” assignment, especially not if you were the teacher’s aide who had to read the damn thing; Billy almost never saw any other students or faculty on his jogs. Unless, of course, you counted the caretaker’s distressingly fat Maine Coon a part of the faculty, but Billy had only encountered one student who was willing to argue Timmers worked for the college, and that person was a third-year law student who had just smoked a bag of marijuana so large Billy honestly wondered if it was now available at Costco.

The fact of the matter was that Billy had never seen another human walking the cross-country trail at eight in the morning, so when a slender figure stepped out from between the trees Billy let out a manly exclamation of surprise that he would insist did not sound remotely like a three-year-old girl stepping on the tail of a cat of the same age. Fortunately, that slim figure was Zoë, and she’d been friends with him long enough that there was no point in trying to fake having dignity in that moment.

“Zoë!” Billy exclaimed, deeper than his previous scream but still high enough that he took a moment to cough and compose himself before he continued, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Zoë said urgently, which is never a good way to start a conversation. She held out her hands in that position people usually only take if they’re trying to calm down someone who is on the verge of throwing a fit or if they’re pretending to tame a flock of velociraptors.

“You look like hell,” said Billy, which was true. She was still wearing the outfit she had been the night before, but appeared to have taken her morning shower anyway. Water dripped miserably out of her sweatshirt and dribbled down her leggings, her long black hair plastered to her face in a single black, tattered sheet. Her makeup ran down her face in long black streams that made her eyes look large and hollow, and heavy brown stripes that showed thin strips of bluish-pale skin between them.

Despite knowing as little about makeup as he could manage, Billy was aware that Zoë was not exactly a beauty vlogger and her usual approach to makeup involved pulling random tubes of liquid out of her coat pockets and saying things like, “Oh shit. I’ll just blend it out I guess.” or “Or don’t look at me! Don’t look at my eyes, I hate this, I guess I’m just catwoman now!” or “I guess that’s what blotting is for.” Somehow seeing it running off her face made it look more dramatic and distorting to her features, rather than “I’m a woman performing a musical recital and if I do not rub something on my face it will appear from where the audience is sitting that I have rubbed something on my face, but in a way I do not want.” That was definitely not the effect it was creating now; now it looked like something had tried to rub her face off her head.

Billy thought that he could see faint white etching of frost forming on her hands and up her neck, but he was fairly sure that was an optical illusion caused by the thin light through the branches and the part of his sock that melted snow had now soaked through sending a “it’s too cold out here to be alive” message every few seconds.

“Billy.” Zoë said urgently. She stumbled forward, her legs seemingly unwilling to bend properly. Her hand grasped his shoulder, so cold he inhaled sharply with pain. It was like the mere touch of her skin on the fabric of his sweatshirt was actively stabbing him through to the bone with knives so cold his flesh stuck to the blade like lips on cold metal. She looked into his eyes and he shuddered again. There was something wrong with her eyes, they looked concave, like the eyes on fish that has no business being still sold as edible at that age.

With apparent effort, Zoë forced out another four words. Though the phrase was short, each word was spoken with the slow intensity of someone fighting both the urge to scream in someone’s face and the urge to collapse with exhaustion. Billy was far too distressed by the state of his friend to notice that, as thin and breathy as her voice was, she didn’t inhale before speaking.

“Leave the reindeer alone.”

Startled and not yet getting a concept out of what Zoë had just said, Billy pulled away from her instinctively. He tried to parse out a meaning from her statement, but with only half of a mind on the subject, as the rest of his mind was taken up by worrying about what Zoë had done to get in that condition, it seemed meaningless.

“What happened to you?” Billy asked, trying to fight his urge to recoil and losing. Zoë simply shook her head and began to back away. Okay, she was clearly not in a state to discuss it, maybe once she had warmed up and was in a safe place and dry clothes he, or maybe a therapist, could get her to talk about what had happened. Billy didn’t like the idea of that, he was bad at giving emotional support and would much rather hurt whoever hurt his friend. To be honest, he didn’t have any experience fighting someone physically, but he was very big and muscular and thought he had pretty good odds beating up someone if he had to. After all, he was motivated, and more importantly, he was eighteen, and eighteen year olds have an inflated concept of their ability to come out on top in a fight.

Someone had hurt his best friend and he needed her well enough to tell him who it was before he beat the tar out of them. That meant getting her inside immediately. She probably already had hypothermia, based on the fact it was late December and she was dripping wet.

“Let’s get you inside.” said Billy, taking a cautious step towards Zoë. She drew further back, stepping over a fallen branch without taking her eyes off of Billy. He put up his hands as unthreateningly as possible.

“You’re going to be okay.” he insisted, moving closer. Zoë shook her head, she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, but god what was wrong with her eyes? Every time Billy tried to make eye contact with her, he felt something deep inside himself forcing him to look away before he figured out what he was looking away from.

“Leave the reindeer alone.” Zoë repeated, her voice low and urgent. Billy lifted his hand, and much quicker than he would have expected, she spun around and walked briskly back into the woods. He broke off into a run after her. Cross-country it was. While it seemed that every branch in the forest was trying to high-five his face, Zoë moved forward quickly without appearing to be impeded by the woods at in the least. Branches cracked loudly as he pushed by them, snow crunched beneath his soaking wet sneakers, his breath came in long ragged gasps as he ran. Strangely, it seemed like the only noises in the forest were the ones Billy was making himself.

“Zoë!” Billy cried out, not expecting her to react but desperately wanting a noise to blot out the awful silence around him. She didn’t appear to hear him at all, and she certainly didn’t call back. Zoë made no sound. Not even the woods made a sound, no birds chirping or squirrels chittering threats to animals fifty times their size, no distant sounds of other students waking up in the campus just beyond the trees.

Billy had no idea how she managed to walk that fast, but at least it meant she was doing better than she looked like, he wouldn’t have expected someone who looked as bad as she did to be able to walk at all. He should have caught up to her by now, Billy thought, pressing on with a fresh gust of effort, but she seemed to only get further away the more he ran. He ignored the pain and the wet and the branches lashing out at him, not daring to take his eyes off of Zoë least he lose sight of her. She was getting harder to follow, her wet gray sweatshirt blending into the shadows between the trees. She moved silently behind a tree and failed to emerge from the other side. Billy blinked furiously and forced himself forward a few more yards, as his mind argued between the two ideas that if she stopped behind that tree, he could catch up, and the fact that tree was too young and thin to hide a toaster behind it, much less a teenage girl. He grabbed onto the tree when he reached it, more to stop himself from falling facelong into the snow than anything else.

Bent over double, face red as plastic holly, Billy gave up on catching Zoë and tried to catch his breath instead. He was fast enough on the sports field, but he knew that in a footrace Zoë could overtake him nine times out of ten. The tenth time Billy wasn’t sure if Zoë was just sick of being asked to a rematch and let him win one. She was shorter, but had much longer strides than he did. Billy pressed his eyes closed and cursed himself internally for not thinking of this sooner. No one went off the trail in these woods, she could run as fast as she could, but her footprints would still lead Billy to wherever she stopped.

He opened his eyes but didn’t straighten up. He looked at the snow. Billy wasn’t much of a tracker, but he could tell the difference between four inches of untouched snow and snow someone had just walked through. He was so sure she had been standing just here when he lost sight of her, that this was the tree she had darted behind. He glared at the tree accusingly, as if it were the tree’s fault that he lost track of her. Taking a deep breath, Billy drew up to his full height and looked around. Behind him, there was a distinct path he had been crashing along as he chased her, but aside from that Billy had no indication of where he was. He inhaled deeply, and the cold air was like daggers on his heaving lungs. How could he had been enjoying the weather less than half an hour ago? It was less than half an hour, wasn’t it? How long had he been running through the woods? He might not have been used to running between trees but he was still exhausted. He even didn’t feel this tired at the end of a football match, so how long had he been in the woods? He looked around, trying to remember which way the shadows were falling when he started his run, less to guess at how long he’d been out there and more to see if he’d gotten turned around. He must have done, Billy reasoned, as the woods weren’t that deep. It was just a strip of young trees between the quad and the river, wasn’t it? He should have been able to see at least one of them from any point in the woods.

Finally, Billy’s eyes fell on something other than glittering white snow and twisted branches. In the snow, not far from him, the trees thinned enough that there was what should have been another stretch of unbroken snow. But this snow had fresh tracks left in it. Sadly, he could tell in a moment that these were the tracks of an animal, not Zoë, but they were so odd that for a moment, Zoë flew from his mind. They were large, but delicate and round, cleft in the middle like a deer but with two dots behind them. Part of Billy thought that they looked a little like rabbit ears with little round eyes under them, but he had as little experience with rabbits as with deer.

The strange thing about the prints is that they started in the very center of the clearing and moved out into the deeper woods, like some giant hand had placed the animal delicately in the center of the clearing and let it wander away. Billy put that thought out of his mind, because it was ridiculous, it was creeping him out, and if the animal had held still while the snow started to fall that could have covered its tracks. Probably. Not that it had snowed in the past week, but Billy put this out of his mind and moved closer to the tracks.

These tracks were broad and easy to follow, even with him churning up the snow beside them as he traced their path. He asked himself why he was following these tracks when Zoë was clearly in danger of something, but he found himself reluctant to give up on them and look for signs of someone who hadn’t left any tracks he could follow until this point. There was a movement at the edge of his vision, and Billy began moving towards it before he fully looked up. Maybe these tracks had lead him to Zoë after all. There was something grey moving between the trees, and his heart shot up in his chest with hope, failing to quiet down appropriately when he saw whatever it was it was far too large to be Zoë. And whatever it was, it was moving towards him.

Billy held still for a moment, not daring to move lest whatever it was spook as easily as Zoë did. Maybe it was her, after all, and she was just much closer than he thought she was. No. It was coming out of the trees now, it was looking at him, and it was clearly what left the hoofmarks.

As he had been conscious the past few years, Billy was aware of the movie Frozen and was able to think “Yeah, I guess that looks like the reindeer owned by dude who people keep saying I look like, so I guess that’s what reindeer look like.” despite the fact a small part of him had until this point always pictured reindeer as looking more like Bambi than Sven. Whatever it was, it was wearing a bright red bridle so it was clearly tame. Also, he rationalized, a wild animal wouldn’t be happily trotting up to a human it had never seen before.

“Hey.” said Billy weakly, holding up his hand and immediately feeling stupid for doing so. The reindeer cocked its head and trotted forward a few more steps.

“I, uh, don’t have anything…” Billy said quickly, patting down his pockets. A reindeer with a bridle walking up to a random human was definitely something that had broken out of a petting zoo. That would account for why the red bridle covered in round brass bells.

“I know.”

Billy blinked hard and cocked his head. The reindeer looked down at him. Billy had really not expected reindeers to be this big, but that didn’t account for where the voice came from.

“Who’s there?” asked Billy, looking around.

“I am.” said the reindeer. Billy hadn’t caught its mouth moving but that was definitely where the sound was coming from. He took in the bizarre appearance of the enormous creature. It’s antlers seemed to branch up forever into the trees, its thick creamy-white mane shook gently with every breath. Thick white and brown fur covered powerful muscles and the smell coming off of it was like nothing Billy had ever experienced. Because he was watching it so closely, he could see the dark, furry lips form the words, “You’ve lost your friend.”

It wasn’t a question.

Mind racing, Billy desperately tried to figure out what the appropriate thing to do in this situation was. Either he was losing his mind, in which case what he did next didn’t really matter, or a reindeer was talking to him.

“Do you know where Zoë is?” Billy asked carefully. The animal smiled. It’s mouth wasn’t suited for it, and there was something very odd about the teeth.

“I can take you to her.” the reindeer replied.

This was weird. There was no getting around that. He had just found a talking reindeer in woods that were much, much bigger than they were on the outside, but the important thing was that Zoë was still missing.

“I promise,” the reindeer said slowly, with a warm and husky voice. Billy couldn’t quite understand how the animal’s lips were forming English sentences, but they were definitely moving in time with the speech. Tentatively, Billy reached forward and touched the animal’s head. Warmth immediately flooded into his hand, and the reindeer rubbed against it affectionately. It reminded Billy how cold he was, and suddenly all he wanted was to bury himself in the animal’s fur and start feeling his fingers again.

“I promise to bring you to Zoë.” the reindeer repeated. Billy flexed his cold fingers. If he was this cold, then Zoë, soaking wet and turning blue, needed help now. The last doubt out of his mind, Billy moved to the reindeer’s side and tried to figure out the fastest way to get up it. Steeling himself, he took a firm hold of the red bridle and swung his weight up on the animal’s back with all his might. He got a leg over and pulled himself into a balance, and it seemed to him that the reindeer flexed its muscles to settle him more firmly astride itself. Warmth flooded up into Billy from the thick, shaggy fur.

For a moment, there was nothing but the stillness of the woods and the ragged warm fur beneath Billy’s hands. Neither of them moved. Then, he heard the animal’s voice again.

“Dear god, you are stupid.” said the reindeer.

Before Billy had fully registered what the reindeer had said, the thick, warm fur wriggled around his hands like maggots eating a corpse and tightened onto every part of him it could grab. Like thick cords, the fur wrapped itself around his fingers, his wrists, and up his arms. A sickening thought crushed the air out Billy’s lungs: This was not a reindeer. Billy knew almost nothing about reindeer but this was not a reindeer and it never had been one.

The reindeer arched this neck back and laughed, its mouth opening at entirely the wrong angle and showing entirely the wrong set of teeth. It was as if someone had transplanted a wolf’s mouth into a reindeer’s head, but did it wrong so that the mouth could open up to an obtuse angle. A long, horrible tongue rolled past the fangs and writhed in the air like a dying snake as the creature snarled out a sickening noise that was slightly an agonised screech but mostly a cruel laugh.

Billy became aware of the fact he was screaming and probably had been since the fur moved. The creature’s laughter rang through the icy woods, echoing and shattering icicles off the trees. The animal reared, and Billy hoped for a moment it would throw him off but the fur moved like snakes, rooting him firmly to the spot.

Then it ran.

Ice-encased branches whipped across his face, but could not dislodge him even when he pulled with the force. The forest was still morning-bright, the sunlight cracking through the branches and casting a thousand periwinkle-blue shadows dancing around the snow like dying spiders. The not-a-deer’s hooves passed over the landscape, sending a flurry of snow in its wake.

Before them, the woods appeared to finally thin. They were reaching the edge of the woods, and a last gasp of hope awoke in Billy’s chest. If they got out of the woods, would the not-a-deer let him go? Was that it’s plan all along? Sunlight danced on the ice, and Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what the thing’s destination was. He threw himself as hard to the left as he could, but something… momentum? The twisting fur? The sheer will of the creature? Righted him again. There was nothing Billy could do.

They were heading right for the river.

With a leap, the not-a-deer broke out of the woods, hanging in the air for a moment, the icy surface of the river sparkling beneath them like a delicate spun glass sheet.

“The ice!” Billy screamed. “It won’t hold us!” But even as he wailed these words, Billy knew that was exactly the idea. The crash of hooves meeting ice was enormous, but even that was drowned out by the sickly crack of the ice’s surface giving way. Billy’s last scream was cut off as the water hit him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, all he felt was the water shredding icy cold through his whole body, it felt like even his heart forgot to beat.

Billy knew he was going to die. He would probably drown before he froze to death, and all that was left to do was decide if he was going to die with his eyes closed or not. It was the only choice he had left in this world. Billy forced his eyes open against the icy water. At what he saw, he almost wished he hadn’t.

Zoë’s body floated unfettered mere yards away from him. Her eyes were closed, her skin was discolored, and her hair floated around her face like smoke. Blood cut red streamers in the water from where something with a large mouth and sharp teeth had removed a chunk of her leg. But still, he could see it was just a taste missing. This was where the thing took it’s meals. This was not a dinner table, this was a larder. This was were the thing brought it’s meat to eat slowly over the long, cold winter.

There was something else in the water, something small and moving towards him. It didn’t swim, it didn’t float, it merely stood upright in the water, pulled ever closer to Billy by some unseen force. It was also Zoë. But it was Zoë as he saw her in the woods before this all started. She was underwater with him, but water dripped off her heavily, tears rolled down her cheeks from her sunken, lifeless eyes. Billy knew no sound could carry through water, so when he heard Zoë speak, he knew she wasn’t using her mouth to do it.

“I told you.” said Zoë’s ghost, her voice trembling. “I told you.”

Billy couldn’t respond, his lungs full of water, but his last thought as the cold and the water and the shock drained what little life was left in him, was this:

I found Zoë after all. I found her.

Above the surface, the ice rocked gently and slowed in its movements. The world was quiet, but after a few moments, one finch let out a tentative twitter. The silence of the wood was broken. The thing had fed once again. A few more animals dared to start moving. What appeared to be a small clump of leaves stood up and stretched its back. Timmers shook snow out of his fluffy mane and trotted delicately to the edge of the river. Humans were so horribly predictable: they see an animal and automatically assume it’s there for their benefit. Timmers had long since stopped trying to warn the students about the pooka himself, no amount of purring around their ankles or hissing and charging from the woods or growling ominously at the river seemed to do any good. Every human who had gone to the river had met the pooka and every human who met the pooka were drowned by it.

Timmers thought that this time, leading a real human with a real voice, even if they were a ghost at the moment, to the next victim would have some effect. The plan had almost worked perfectly: the ghost had spoken to her friend, the human was warned, and he still jumped on the reindeer the first chance he got. Timmers stretched out his body in the feline equivalent of a sigh of resignation and turned back to the caretaker’s cottage, where a tin of good wet food and an army blanket twisted into a turban-like affair waited for him in front of the electric heater, Timmers’ salary for his important work on campus, even if no one bothered to listen to him.

There was just no helping humans.

#Billy and Zoë #stuff Kittywitch wrote #holidays #horror

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sanguinarysanguinity · 5 years

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Fic-Writer / Vid-Maker Meme

Tagged by @educatedinyellow and @gailbsanders, thank you!

Author/Vidder Name: sanguinity

Fandoms You Write For: Lately it’s mostly book!verse Hornblower and ACD!Holmes (although the ACD!Holmes is largely behind the scenes with a long-form WIP that I’ve been focusing on). I also write for assorted small Holmesian fandoms as the whim or prompts take me, and I used to write fairly prolifically for Elementary, before that show wore me into the ground with how persistently they don’t care about Joan Watson. I’ve written a fair bit of Strange Empire, some Doctor Who / Torchwood, and quite a few one-offs in random fandoms, from the Oz books to Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Fandoms I Vid For: Mostly one-offs or small batches that overlap with the fandoms I write for: Holmesian multiverse, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, plus a number of rarer Festivids-qualifying fandoms like The Middleman or Noah’s Arc.

Where You Post Fic: Most of it is on AO3, excepting some three-sentence and five-sentence fics that I’ve never collected.

Where You Post Vids: Variously Vimeo, YouTube, and DailyMotion, depending on who threw a fit about what copyrighted music the week I posted it, but all my vids are listed at AO3.

Most Popular One-Shot: “The Sincerity of Dust,” a BBC Sherlock Mystrade flash-fic I banged out one morning and which then went on to eat Cleveland. It has 1400 kudos and is working on 14,000 hits. Its nearest rival is “Score: Q to 12,″ an Elementary flash-fic featuring Sherlock and Joan playing Calvinscrabble, which performed modestly on AO3 but cleaned up on tumblr to the tune of 1700 notes.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Holocene Park,” an Elementary case fic featuring dinosaurs under the streets of New York City. If I’m remembered in the Elementary fandom for anything, it’s probably for this or Calvinscrabble.

Most Popular Vid: “Something Good (Will Come From That),” my Holmes/Watson multiverse vid. It has 10K plays, the AO3 page has 2.5K hits, and the tumblr page has almost 800 notes. It escaped my corner of pseudonym-based AO3-centric fandom and has made the rounds of the Sherlockian scions on Facebook, as well as being rec’d on non-fannish websites in French, German, and Japanese. For a little while there it was making me anxious with how popular it got -- at the height of its popularity, I was worrying my mom was going to email it to me. After it hit it big I almost completely stopped making things for a while, because I was pretty sure that nothing else I made would be even half that good ever again. Happily, that turned out to be a stupid reason to not make things, and so I started making things again.

Favorite Story You Wrote/Vid You Made: Yeah, sorry, no, my brain burns out on “favorite” questions, especially ones that have no criteria. I’ll just refer you to my Fic/Vid Speed-Dating Score Card, which can be construed as a list of my favorite works on various axes, and is still fairly accurate despite being a year old. (Scariest nowadays is probably “Tea for Two,” a Moriarty-centric story from this last round of Holmestice.)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: “Any Service Required,” which is dark Bush/Hornblower porn. I always feel hideously exposed when publishing porn -- I’m nervous about posting it even in the best of cases. But what with this being dark-fic, I was half-expecting the self-appointed morals police who get prescriptive about “healthy” relationships to show up and make a stink. Or along similar lines, I was fearing that followers who are used to a certain kind of thing from me will look at this one, think it base trash, and lose respect for me over it. I’m happy to say that nothing like that has happened so far, and while readership has been light, I’m fine with that: I’d rather a story have a small readership who is genuinely into it than a large readership who isn’t, and I’d like to believe that this story’s small readership is mostly due to people taking a look at the tags and making good decisions about the kind of thing they enjoy reading.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: BY ANY MEANS I CAN MAKE WORK. My preference is to grab a meaningful phrase from the text, but I’ll also use quotes and popular phrases, sometimes straight-up and sometimes with a twist, if it seems a decent fit for the story. Ideally, a title will speak to some deeper truth about the story, but when push comes to shove, I’ll settle for a title that is short, clean, and memorable: basically, anything that I and others can remember without having to look it up all the damn time. (This is my main problem with people using lines of poetry or song lyrics as titles: they tend to register in my brain as generic word salad, and in many cases I couldn’t say without looking it up what the title actually was, let alone what it had to do with the story.)

Do You Outline: For long or complex stories, sure, yes. If there are many scenes or multiple chapters, I tend to jot down a few lines listing out the succession of scenes or chapters; for “The Next World,” whose main body is a long and rambly conversation, I had an outline that listed out every twist and turn of that convo. The outline for “Langstroth on Bees” (WIP, currently 58K) is a monster of a thing, listing out the internal timeline (five years of current action plus another ten of backstory), various promises I’ve made that I need to deliver on, assorted events that I want to remember to include, and rough ideas about where chapter breaks should maybe fall. Given that I’ve been working on that story for five years now, often with breaks from it of nearly a year, that outline has saved my ass. I guarantee you that without it, I would have picked up this story at some point, tried to remember where I was going with it, come up with nothing much, and shelved it permanently. If anything, I really should outline more often -- I have a few long-standing drafts in my WIP folder that I just... don’t remember where I was going with that. I remember that I did have a destination in mind, yes, but what exactly? WHO KNOWS. Btw, my outlines are living documents -- I revise them often, as my understanding of the story develops. In fact, revising the outline is one of many tools for understanding where a story is going and what is still needed to bring it together.

How many of your fanworks are…

Complete: 92 stories or story collections (I have a few AO3 “stories” that are actually collected ficlets from tumblr or Sherlock60), and 26 vids and vidlets,

In-Progress: Nothing published to AO3 -- it makes me crazy to have a partially-published WIP. My drafts folder has 36 partially completed stories in it, and there are probably a half-dozen vids that I started but haven’t finished.

Coming Soon: Four? For various values of “coming soon.” I have two Hornblower stories that are mostly done (one for the Tegmore verse and another for the Kraken verse), and I’ve been working steadily on “Langstroth on Bees” in the hopes that I’ll finish it this year. And I’m signed up for Remix Revival -- whatever I do for that will probably be the very-most-next thing.

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Although I have only a 1/3 to 1/2 completion rate on prompts -- I do hope that no one minds that too terribly! But I’ll actively solicit prompts from time to time -- to celebrate something, or if I’m having a shit day and want to turn it around -- and some of my best stuff has come from prompts people have given me. I never ever guarantee filling them (see my above mentioned completion rate), but if someone wants to prompt me something, my ask box is open. Even if the prompt never gets filled, I still get a warm flutter of “They want to play with me!” from it.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: “Langstroth on Bees,” a 58K-and-counting Holmes/Watson retirement fic that I’ve been working for five years. I added a solid 13K to it this month, and have maybe 20K left to go -- I’m hope-hope-hoping to have it done this year. But I’ve gotten far enough into it that “Langstroth” has finally begun overlapping the territory covered in “From Allegany,” and by the end of this chapter I’ll have passed it entirely. Then I’ll be in unwritten territory, wheee! (Speaking of titles, I never really intended to call this thing “Langstroth on Bees” -- that’s just a working title for my drafts folder. But enough of you now know it by that name that I think I’m going to have to stick with it? So I’m desperately trying to figure out how to justify it. ONE OF MANY THINGS TO DO IN THIS DRAFT.)

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: @beanarie @quipxotic @phoenixfalls @xserpx @amindamazed And of course anyone else who wants to play!

#my writing #long post #langstroth on bees

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deejadabbles · 6 years

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Not Quite Unrequited Yami x Reader Chapter 4

Four: Gentle Realization

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// Five //// Six //// Seven

Summary: Yami would do whatever it took to keep his friendship with you intact, even if it meant putting on a smile and pushing his love for you aside. You knew Yugi loved Anzu, but getting over your feelings for him was hard, especially when time made feelings for another best friend arise.

AU where Duel Monsters is just a (vastly popular) card game and Yami and Yugi are twins. This is a fic I’ve already posted this on my AO3 but I wanted to spread the Yu-gi-oh x Reader love here on tumblr.

A.N: I hope all of you like brownies at least fairly well, because- oh, you'll see when reading haha. For those of you who don't know what "White Day" is, to my understanding it's basically a holiday one month after Valentines Day where men give women gifts and chocolate, since in Japan women give them out on Valentines day.

The March day was a chilly one and at first, you contributed that as the cause for Yami’s gloomy mood that morning. You had to admit, by the time you made it to school his cold attitude had left a pretty notable ache in your chest. He barely even acknowledged you when you greeted him in front of the game shop, only gave short, noncommittal replies to the conversation between yourself, Yugi and Anzu on the way to school, and even positioned his chair slightly away from the rest of you after he sat down in class. Before the teacher could come in and interrupt, you leaned in towards Yugi and straight out asked what was wrong with his brother. Yugi had only been able to offer a shrug, saying that he had gone to bed the previous night in a pretty down mood as well.

“I was going to wait until later today to ask what was wrong, but, how about you ask him?”

“What, why me?” you whisper back, casting a wary glance in Yami’s direction, thankfully he was staring very intently out of the window.

Yugi smiled almost sheepishly “I just think he’d like talking to you, is all. At lunch why don’t Jou, Honda, Anzu and I head out on our own and you two can stay here and talk it out?”

You bit your lip, not quite sure if that was the best idea or not. The teacher arrived before you could answer, or even think it over much, so you decided to simply keep an eye on your friend and play it by ear until lunch time.

Yugi was as insistent on the idea of you talking things out alone as he was with anything, apparently. When the class was excused for lunch the younger Mutou got up from his seat, gave you a thumbs up and instantly moved to intercept your other friends and usher them outside the classroom. You actually threw your hands up in the air at their retreating backs, already thinking up a light scolding to give Yugi on actually giving you a choice next time.

For the purpose of stalling, you pulled out your lunch box as you mulled over what on earth you were going to say to Yami. Finally settling on a straight forward but heartfelt approach, you got up and turned towards the young man’s seat- and found it empty. Your heart fell, having started to like the idea of cheering him up given his moody aura only seemed to darken during class. Where could he have gone?

Well, after getting your hopes up on talking to him you weren’t going to just let it go, so, you went looking for him. He wasn’t on the roof, nor in the student council room or by his shoe locker. With those options crossed out, you figured he might have returned to the classroom and started to make your way there. You were expecting to find anyone as you walked down the deserted halls- or not so deserted, as the sight that caught your attention proved.

You were coming up on an intersecting hallway and just so happened to see two reflections caught in the windows to the corner classroom before you rounded the corner. The sight made you stop in your tracks. Nearest your hall was a girl from your class, Mina, and facing her standing some feet down the hallway was Yami. He looked just as forlorn as ever, but the girl had a very…perky cast to her expression.

“Sorry I interrupted you” Mina began, her tone was so shy yet hopeful “I just needed to say something before you told me your answer. To be honest I’ve spent this whole past month in a nervous wreck. My friends were worried you’d tell everyone about my confession letter and embarrass me, but I knew you wouldn’t. Still, I’m still so nervous to hear your answer… I just wanted to say thank you. No matter what your answer is, thank you for at least thinking it over.”

Oh… the girl was…she was in love with Yami. She must have given him a Valentine last month and wanted to see how he felt now that it was White Day. Why…why did the pit of your stomach suddenly ache just a little?

Yami heaved a sigh after a long pause of silence “Your letter was…very flattering. Thank you for believing I’d never do something as cruel as what your friends thought, but, I must ask, why did you specifically say that you didn’t want to hear my answer until now? Besides it being White Day, that is.”

“Well, I wanted you to have time to think it over. I know we aren’t really friends or anything, but we’ve been classmates for a while now, and I thought maybe…maybe if you had plenty of time to think about it, you’d see me as…worthy of dating you…”

Again there was a long silence, and the look on Yami’s face was so guilty and self-loathing it broke your heart. “I’m sorry. I’m flattered that you feel that way, but I can’t return your feelings. I promise it has nothing to do with you not being worthy or any other nonsense, I can’t return your feelings because I’m already in love with someone else. I’m sorry.”

In the reflection you saw as Mina’s face slowly turned into one of despair the longer Yami spoke, now she let out a harsh sniffle while tears slipped down her cheeks. “I- I see. Well, I tried to tell myself that you might not feel the- the same, but I ju- just had to tell you before we gradua-ate.”

Yami attempted to step closer, but froze, his hands raised but helpless as he had no idea what to do. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fine! I understand- good- goodbye.”

And with that, the brokenhearted girl turned and ran down the hall, of course not taking notice to you in her despair, a despair you remembered the pain of well. Yami was still standing there, looking after the girl with a helpless expression. His posture slumped as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked quite thoroughly disgusted with himself.

You stepped out into the open finally and called out to your friend. His head snapped up and he looked at you with confusion and- did he look slightly panicked? No, that couldn’t be, Yami never panicked.

“Hey” you greeted as you closed the distance between him and yourself “sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard what happened” your tone turned gentle and assuring as you said, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Yami, you can’t help how you feel.”

He looked away from your comforting gaze, obviously ashamed “I still hurt her. I wanted to let her down gently, but obviously I failed.”

You let out an impatient sigh and threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling him into a hug that surprised even yourself a little “You did what you could. No matter how you said it, it would have hurt. Trust me, I know.”

He didn’t answer, and his body was stiff at your touch, but only for a moment, after that he seemed to melt into the embrace and even wrapped his arms loosely around you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, just a simple, silent comfort.

Still in the embrace, you found yourself asking something before you could stop the words “You- you said that you couldn’t love her because you’re already in love with someone else…is that true?”

His posture stiffened once again and after a moment he pulled back, refusing to meet your eyes. “That was…a lie, I said that to help soften the blow. I didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t good enough for me or something, so I told her that.”

“Oh, I see. Well I was” you had to pause and clear your throat- why did you have to clear your throat? “I was kinda hoping it wasn’t true in a way. I like to think you’d tell me if you ever fell in love.”

Finally, he looked at you, and once again you found yourself lost in trying to translate what expression was playing in his eyes. What was it? Damn it, why couldn’t you tell?! And why-… why did a pressure in your chest seem to lift when he said that his feelings for someone else were a lie?

He then reached out and took your hand, “Come on, we don’t have much lunchtime left and I don’t think either of us have managed to eat yet.”

Three days had passed since the White Day incident and winter was still biting in the air, though it was finally giving into the encroaching warmth of spring, even if it was at a snail’s pace. Thankfully you were stuck inside all of the chilly day. Yami and Yugi had been charged with taking care of the game store over the weekend while Grandpa was visiting his old archeologist friend, a trip he rarely got to take. Mrs. Mutou would be working late that evening so the twins were quite thoroughly on their own.

The boys were more than capable of the job, but you still offered your help for the day if only to have an extra set of hands and aid the more boring moments in passing quicker. The boys had accepted the moment you volunteered, even offering to pay you in takeout dinner after closing the shop down.

It was actually a pretty fun day, you knew your way around the store and talking with your friends made the time pass quicker. Though truly, besides dealing with a shipment of the new Duel Monster sets, there wasn’t much to do. Of course, you found a spot of trouble at one point in the day and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

At one point, you had gotten up on a stepladder to put the new display of decks in the proper place on a high shelf. As you called out to ask how you needed to orient them in relation to the previous sets, Yami had climbed up on the bench beside you. Oh, not just beside you, practically against you. His long arms lifted to match yours so he could move aside decks and other displays to aid in your task- and you actually felt like you couldn’t breathe for a moment! His body was so close, his chest leaning into your side, his warm breath fanning across your ear and neck. Your face had burned and your heart clenched in a rebellious reaction that you had not in the slightest bit expected.

Then he had leaned away, his act of aid complete, and after a quick assurance that your chosen spot to put the card was fine, he had hopped off the bench and returned to unpacking the shipping box. You actually needed to a moment to recover from the uncalled for onslaught of odd emotions. What the hell was that?! You had thought to yourself. But you were at an utter loss when it came to an actual answer.

“Alright, Naru, come on now, we’ve taken up enough of their time and they were supposed to close the shop fifteen minutes ago” said the mother to her card enthusiastic eight-year-old.

You, Yugi and Yami had just spent the last hour teaching the boy tips and tricks to Duel Monsters. He was a sweet kid and teaching him had been fun, not to mention he was walking away with quite the armload of purchases, so the sale was worth the time in of itself. Besides, it’s not as if you three had any pressing matters to attend to in that time anyway.

“Okay mama. Thanks again for teaching me!” the boy called as he gathered up his cards.

“Anytime!” Yugi insisted with a light laugh, waving the two goodbye.

It was indeed past closing though, so you worked on flipping the signs, closing the blinds and locking the doors while Yami counted down the register and Yugi went to order dinner. The process didn’t take long and as Yami closed the drawer and went to put the day’s earnings in the store safe he called out in an easy, light tone.

“Thanks again for helping today.”

A simple phrase, though his tone held all the true sense of gratitude within it. Of course you wanted to assure him that there was no need to thank you, and opened your mouth to do just that. However, before a word was out, a playful thought crossed your mind, and you just couldn’t resist acting on said sudden idea.

“Sure thing! I mean, I was stuck inside all day, but at least it was with two of my favorite boys. Then again,” you leaned yourself against the showcase near the stairs leading up to their home. Yami gave you his full attention as he turned away from the now locked safe, raising a brow at your playful tone. “if you really want to thank me, you could always…I don’t know…” you sauntered closer to the stairwell “give me the comfy armchair in the living room!”

You heard Yami dart after you as you sprinted up the stairs and laughed when he called after you. In the Mutou household there was a truly coveted spot in the living room: the cushiest armchair that was perfectly positioned in front of the TV. So of course, you laying claim to it for the rest of the night would simply not stand.

You had to let out a distressed shout when you saw Yugi at the top of the stairs; he had heard your challenge and sprinted into the apartment ahead of you, no doubt to claim the chair as his own. Yami was closing in on you as you cleared the stairs and bolted into the living room. To no one’s surprise, Yugi made it to the cushy armchair first, throwing himself on it as if he were sliding into home base. His victory made both you and Yami redirect your course, aiming for the side of the couch that was best aimed at the TV- Unfortunately you two were so close, that the simultaneous action caused you to crash into each other.

Yami had been just a half step ahead of you, so when he turned towards the couch and intersected with you jumping for the same spot, you effectively leapt onto him. The force sent him flying back and the two of you landed on the couch, you sprawled on top of Yami’s chest, practically pinning him to the cushions.

“Ow-haha that hurt my head!” you whined between laughs. You sat up just a little, clutching the spot on your head where it had made contact with the boy’s chin. “Is your jaw okay?” you asked, still laughing.

It wasn’t until then that you noticed how red Yami’s face was as he made a silent gesture to indicate that he was fine. Upon seeing this very un-Yami like response you felt a flood of embarrassment, perhaps fully realizing the awkwardness of your position, you honestly hadn’t thought anything of at first. So as to not make a bigger deal out of it, you simply climbed off of him and slid into the seat beside. He sat upright and after a little cough, seemed to return to normal.

“I hope I didn’t hurt your head too much,” Yami said, actually managing a slight chuckle.

“Nah, I’m fine,” you assured, still feeling an intense wash of embarrassment in your chest. You happened to look up at Yugi and were surprised to see a rather pleased grin on his face, though he quickly hid it by turning to the TV, asking what you two wanted to watch.

The food arrived and you three decided on a mini anime marathon for watching material. Three episodes in, with food starting to digest, Yugi asked if you guys could take a short break so he could give Anzu a quick call. Of course accepting the request Yugi scurried off to his room leaving you and Yami alone.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Yami said just a few moments after his brother left. He got up from his seat and walked over to the kitchenette just off of the living room.

Your curiosity was piqued and you leaned over the back of the couch to watch as he opened the oven “Please don’t tell me you forgot something in the oven again. I still remember the reason why you two usually order in when left home alone” your tone was light and teasing.

He answered by flashing you a raised eyebrow over his shoulder. “No I didn’t, I was just keeping it in there so it wouldn’t dry out on the counter. It’s actually something I made for you.”

“For me?” the teasing tone vanished as you got up and padded into the kitchen.

Yami turned to you, holding a round pan of brownies in his hands “Your 1am text stating that you were craving baked goods last night got me thinking. You were going to spend all day helping Yugi and I, not to mention a dessert would be nice for all of us. But I especially thought it would be a nice surprise for you,” he seemed to turn a little bashful and went to scratch the back of his head “I know I’m not the best cook or baker but I hope they turned out alright.”

You normally would have answered with a heartfelt ‘aw that’s so sweet!’ or something of the like, but you were too overcome to reply just yet. Since New Years you had been noticing these odd moments where you found yourself feeling strange around Yami. Well, if you were honest with yourself, it had actually started before New Year, but that’s when you had really started to notice it. The odd warmth you felt at his touch, the flutter in your chest when he leaned in closer than usual. Sudden floods of emotion like earlier that very day when you found yourself in unexpected positions with him. Or earlier that week, when the idea of him having love for someone else made your chest- oh…

Then of course, most paramount among these moments were scenes like this, where the small things he did to show his soft side touched and struck you deeper than ever. …Oh no.

You had remained silent too long, because an already adorably bashful Yami had looked up from the floor to gaze at you with concern. Quick to regain yourself, you reached out and took one of the pieces of brownie. Or at least you would have if it wasn’t still one pan sized piece. Yami said something about how he should have cut them, but you giggled and said it was fine, only struggling a moment before managing to break off a section. You popped it into your mouth, imagining how Yami must have gotten up early just to make these. They tasted amazing, or at least, the thought behind them amped up their quality.

“They’re great, Yami! You did an amazing job on them, you should be proud.”

He flashed that smile of his, taking your words to heart and looking quite proud of himself. But that smile. That flutter in your chest started up again…Oh no.

He went to cut the brownies and get glasses of milk, still looking quite happy with your reaction. He had probably made a mess out of the kitchen while trying to bake, likely sat by the oven, watching like a hawk in fear of repeating the last time he tried to bake something alone. Yami was so sweet, so thoughtful. He was confident in so much, but had his moments of bashful insecurity like anyone and perhaps his usually calm demeanor was the cause- but those shy moments of his just made everyone so endearing. He was loyal and brave and smart. He loved his friends, he was distant sometimes, sure, but that just made getting close to him all the more special. Not to mention in spite of his distant nature, you had things like this that showed he cared, just as much as Jonouchi or Anzu or Yugi. Yami was amazing, you had always known it, but now…

Oh no. You had done it again. Oh nooo! You had fallen for your best friend- again!

As you both walked back to the couch and Yugi returned, your mind was reeling- spinning- trying to make sense of this sudden realization. The show on the TV played but you couldn’t keep your focus on it, too engrossed with dissecting every time these feelings had overcome you in Yami’s presence. It had been often, even months ago, though they were growing in frequency and intensity by the week it seemed. Honestly, who could blame you? You hated yourself for doing this yet again, but Yami was amazing, he made you feel amazing. It made sense you would fall for him.

So much time must have passed as you sat on that couch working through these feelings, not even an arm’s length away from the man who caused this inner turmoil. Still, by its end, you could honestly start on the path of coping with this new realization. Over brownies of all things, you had come to realize that you were in love with Yami.

What were you going to do?

#series: not quite unrequited #reader insert #yugioh x reader #yami x reader #atem x reader #ygo #yami #yami mutou #shamless fanfic #yami yugi

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incarnateirony · 6 years

Text

Tumblr chaos, post rescue; Castiel, ratings, etc etc.

So tumblr decided to go bonky but in a way I could save an old post, that won’t turn up by direct link anymore, or open the Keep Reading. Keep in mind this was made mid-season-13, and I haven’t been arsed to update it since then, but this is just me like... rescuing a post. HOPEFULLY THIS ONE WORKS.

So we’ve all heard the divisive wank. First, it was that “Cas ratings are the lowest rated” and, some that STARTED clue-ing in backpedaled to “well he has no POSITIVE effect on the ratings.” - whatever it took to try to make it seem like Misha had no personal positive impact to the show.

This is a topic I covered in an old video of mine, but I decided to do it modernly again, complete with automated spreadsheet. Episodes have been listed by number, demo, raw viewers, and then Cas Y/N. For the sake of argument, at another point I’ll also do breakouts based on “Cas promotion” to show how the shift is incredibly more drastic there, but Northern Sparrow did that back in Season 10 with expectable results. So for now, let’s cover this. And I’ve literally tried to postulate as many of the anti-arguments to discredit pro-Cas things as possible.

The following episodes are based on “Did Cas appear in any capacity in these episodes in this season,”

Arguments have been made such as removing the Premier as an alternate total for Castiel, under the extremely generous assumption that fans and GA do not generally expect Cas in the Premier at this point, and that none of the numbers are in any way related.

This is a buffer provided in the interest of anti-arguments, rather than from the angle of Pro-Cas. Finales do not have the same effect, as they generally drift from the premier demo, as quite literally witnessed in all the charts below. The charts are then sorted by N/Y on Cas, but you can doublecheck the numbers as you wish.

All numbers have been rounded to hundredths (0.xx) for demo and x.xxx for million viewers. If it is missing another unit, that means it was a 0, and Excel ate the 0.

( Numbers are sourced from the highly popular https://tvseriesfinale.com/ )

SEASON 11

Possible anti argument: Cas was only in voice in Baby. Even still I urge you to do the math and realize it does NOT bring Cas down to the season average or No Cas thresholds as is. Minus the premiere, Cas still pulls 0.044 above episodes that do not have him. Minus baby it drops to the 0.03 range-ish. Go on. You have a calculator.

SEASON 12

This is the closest one to date, if only because various negative impact of 12x19′s airdate is NOT being removed, again, in the interest of giving anti-Cas people every benefit of the doubt (and it wasn’t the size of the one I’m about to talk about soon), and every angle, without removal or exemption for special rules that would give him any positive edge. Even with this hit, 0.016 demo still cements Cas above episodes without him, even with the premier removed.

HERE’S WHERE IT GETS FUN THOUGH.

SEASON 13

You’re probably wondering what the hell all of that at the bottom is. That’s me literally giving haters every possible argument in the book I could think of in their interest to drag Cas down.

Cas Minus Premier you’ve figured out by now.

Cas Minus Premier Minus Thanksgiving seems like we’re giving Castiel an extra “but but but!” argument.

But you will also see that “No Cas” has been given an exception on the mass pre-emption of 13x17, with an option removing that from the tally, despite not doing so for season 12 in his favor (which you will notice very similar number shift on 12x19).

Both Thanksgiving and the NYC blackout of airing were exceptional events, and each “side” reasonably has one, so while giving the NYC exemption, and knowing the network has said they’re aware of Thanksgiving and writing it off as a “special” due to the holiday, both are receiving options of Exemption from the totals.

In the interest of comparing the excess effects of Scoobynatural, a bracket has been made for “Total without Scooby,” “Cas value without Scooby,” and “Thanksgiving without Scooby.” Obviously we can not include “No Cas NYC without Scooby” as that is already self-exempted as an episode that contained Cas.

The results are as to be seen. The only way, whatsoever, that ratings operate at-or-better than the average result of episodes with Castiel included are if you: Include Thanksgiving’s crash to Cas, while giving non-Cas eps an exemption on NYC, and remove Scoobynatural’s bonus. That’s right. If you give them a free pass on their reasonable crashout episode, but make Cas take the equally reasonable crashout episode as a penalty, and remove a good episode of his entirely as a special, the episodes would almost match.

To clarify:

Castiel, Thanksgiving Included, No Scooby: 0.59, and removing the premiere ticks it to about 0.58.

Non-Cas eps, NYC exempt, letting them get the benefit OF Scooby’s ratings without including it to Cas... even though... Cas was in the ep? You’ll get 0.585.

That is literally the only way to break it even. If you remove Scooby from their season average since... Cas was... in Scooby... and not getting the benefit... they still drop under the line.

Obviously the most reasonable comparison would be to remove Scooby from both for the “special” argument (which really only strips bonus from Cas), and give either neither, or both, their respective exemption. (Thanksgiving, NYC)

Cas, minus premiere, minus scoob, minus thanks: 0.607

Non-Cas, minus NYC crash: 0.577

Cas, Minus Premier, scoob, including Thanks: 0.59

Non-Cas, including NYC crash: 0.557

[drums fingers on desk] So what I’m reading out of this is, if I penalize every possible Cas route and give every possible benefit to non-Castiel episodes, they break even. If we do equal penalty or lack thereof, we get 0.030 difference and 0.033 both in Castiel’s favor, kinda like I said he runs us roughly 0.03 difference depending on the night, modernly?

And we had an identical effect in S11? And... S12, it appears to be half, when allowing Castiel to still take every penalized episode, but it’s still above the same base line?

And then there’s also the fact that raw viewership on all S11-13 totals are also higher on average, if people want to spin that angle, even if it’s technically demo that matters.

I wonder what this MEANS.

WHAT COULD IT MEAN?

That’s at least three years. I could probably go further back, as I imagine this divide started gradually inclining from S9 for misc reasons, but it’s here, and we’re here, and we’re now. Digging back into archives of season 6 (if there’s even a true net negative going on there, which I doubt, just saying “ancient history”) doesn’t matter when we are in TODAY. This is three consecutive years. With EVERY REASONABLE ANTI ARGUMENT AVAILABLE AND SPECCED OUT FOR THEM. I am literally arguing a case FOR THEIR END and the only way to do it is to WILLINGLY twist it into the most ridiculous penalty/reward imbalance to even make it even.

And while this prepares to reblog and no doubt get skewed, I’m going to provide a useful attachment in advance for the inevitable, pre-telegraphed, “But ratings are down compared to before and that’s cuz Bro Only fans left and they’re the TRUE MAJORITY” (as if we never had a Cas/Destiel fan exodus in S9 and 10 too or anything from other drama) so have a link on why that simply isn’t true. As well as addresses a bunch of other dumb-as-rocks talking points people who don’t understand what they’re looking at tend to use to bag on people/the show.

There’s a reason S12 crept into the top 20 shows for digital calls in the world for the first time last year, including resources like Hulu and Amazon that, while they do not report to Nielsen for demo numbers, report to the network for digital sales. S13 is doing even better. I can’t wait to get the numbers on that when season is done.

And before anyone challenges my “link on why that simply isn’t true” I’m going to issue a simple challenge: Find me a show aside from the Superbowl that gets, today, the 10.0s that were fairly common high-ish end TV back in 2005. I’m not gonna make it ridiculous and ask for the 20.0′s that ER was getting at the time. Find me a 10. Because ratings everywhere have declined.

I keep issuing this challenge for people to find me even one 10.0 current nightly show this year, but it’s like... it’s like nobody can find it. I wonder why!

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It’s fine if you don’t like Cas. Nobody says you have to like Cas. Acting like he has no net positive impact is ridiculous. Spreading misinformation because someone with a myopic episode-to-episode, strictly-fandom-bubble, argument-of-the-hour-for-only-their-preferred-perspective, is absolute insanity.

And before anyone does the OTHER telegraphed argument of “WELL... THAT’S... JUST... 0.03ISH!” you first need to recognize that’s a 5%~ loyalty viewership impact over the season, but those are strictly STANS THAT ONLY TUNE IN WHEN HE IS THERE. That is NOTHING to say of the ramifications that would happen if he would leave entirely, permanently. And considering the myopic “no positive impact” is direly wrong, you MIGHT want to consider how much of the GA outside of the hatred-bubble has drawn an affinity to him as their primary interest. All existing demographic information says about 33%. Some have said over 40% would quit if he didn’t come back at one point. This was a 10,000 head census, IP-checked-for-individuality polling with over 60 individualized questions. Dean still got 50% of preferred character interest. Sam’s made me cringe with how low it was but it unfortunately matches all other global trends on other platforms, and that sucks. But even if it was “low” respectively, they’re both important. Between the two it meant J2 - as two separate individuals - pulled about 67% of the show popularity, with Misha pulling the other third. And considering the regained S7-8 demographic, thataboutmakessense.

Like I said, at some point I’ll do one on the effect of Cas promos, but at one point, Northern Sparrow did this in S10, so I mean

Have that to pacify you for now to see that this was already an ongoing this even back then.

Hopefully I armed people with some good information the next time someone spews this age-old horse shit at them.

#supernatural #ratings #castiel #the cas effect #tumblr is wild

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mischiefiswritten · 6 years

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The Care and Keeping of Your Writeblr | Pt. 1 - Getting Started

Hello all, and welcome to my guide of possibly-useful, possibly-not advice for creating and maintaining your own writing blog and connecting with the online writing community.

I'm in no way an expert, nor am I the best, most popular writeblr out there. Not all the advice I post will work for or even appeal to everybody, but I'd like to share what I've observed and found useful in my own time running this writeblr sideblog.

This installment will be covering the basics of GETTING STARTED.

So you've decided you want to start a writeblr. Good for you! The writeblr community is a great place for motivation, inspiration, sharing ideas, getting feedback, collecting resources, and just having good old fashioned fun with other writers. It can be intimidating to try and enter into an established community, and it's okay to be nervous. But with few exceptions, this is a very friendly place.

Choosing your URL:

This is the first thing you're going to be asked to do when starting a new blog, whether it be a main blog or a sideblog. You'll want to put a fair amount of thought into this as it can influence the amount of traffic on your blog and changing it later can confuse your followers. This is the simplest, most straightforward piece of advice anyone can give you - put something about writing in your URL. It doesn't have to be some variant of 'writing' if you don't want it to, but consider different ideas related to the craft. Images of typewriters, pens, ink, etc. all bring writing instantly to mind. Also consider your genre. You could use an offshoot of that such as "name-does-scifi."

If you're making a sideblog, consider whether you want your writeblr url to be similar to your main URL. (That's what I did.) Remember that likes, follows, and comments will all show up as coming from your main blog's URL. It may help other writeblrs make the connection between the two, especially in your early days. This is of course just a matter of personal preference. Food for thought.

An effective URL will make it easier for others to find and connect with you!

Writing a Title and Description/Bio:

Once you've fired up that shiny new URL, you'll find a lovely white void awaiting you, yearning for all those lovely words you've got inside your head. First and foremost, you'll see big block letters that probably say 'Untitled' at the top of the page, right under the header image. Again, I suggest putting something about writing in your blog title. This is the first thing someone sees when they open your blog, and again it lets them know if it's likely to have the kind of content they're after. This isn't mandatory by any means - you do you - but it may help you gain traffic in the beginning. Some writers, like myself, simply use their URL as the title, others use the title of their WIP, and others put any phrase that strikes their fancy.

Under the title, there's a space for a description. Use this space to introduce yourself, your WIP (if you want) and your blog. It can be as vague, specific, serious, humorous, long, or minimalist as you like. Browse some other writeblrs to get an idea for what appeals to you. Remember you are under no obligation to share any personal information including name, age, or location. Your privacy is yours to protect in whatever ways you see fit.

As far as content goes, here are some things you may want to mention in your description depending on the kinds of posts you plan on sharing.

genres (young/new adult, adult, children's, fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, etc.)

original works or fanfiction?

are you open to participation in tag games?

WIP titles

writing tips, humor, encouragement

liveblogging your writing process/journey

guides, resources, and references

will you be posting much original content or mostly reblogs?

links to other accounts/pages (hyperlinks are supported)

If your writeblr is a sideblog, consider listing your main URL in the bio and your writeblr URL in the bio of your main. Many people like to follow back, but since they were notified of likes, follows, and comments via your main URL, they may not put two and two together without some assistance.

Makin' it Pretty:

It's what's on the inside that counts, that much is true. But we can't help but be attracted to polished looking blogs. Don't worry about being fancy right away (or ever)! Just think about making your blog look well cared for. How? Choose an avatar/profile picture, a header, colors and fonts, and a theme. (Also note that lacking all of the above, including title and bio, can make your blog look suspicious to cautious users.)

The mobile/in-dash version of your blog and your in-browser blog can be customized separately, but your avatar, title and description will appear in both. The mobile version will look much the same as everyone else's, with variations in font, colors, and pictures. Fonts and colors can be selected from the settings/edit appearance menu. You'll want to upload a jpeg for the avatar (which can be square or round) and header (which you can reposition). It doesn't matter much what these pictures are - just have them in mind so you can get them in right away!

The easiest way to make your in-browser blog look nice is to select a theme. There are several free ones available with an array of different features so you can get the most bang for your zero bucks. Many are color and font customizable as well and support links, pages, and widgets. If you install pages for your characters, your WIP, or whatever you want one for, people will be seeing those through the in-browser version of your blog. Themes make it easy for them to navigate! (Click on the paint palette icon to change your theme.)

Writeblr Lingo:

Writers are pretty much a subculture, and we speak our own jargon. Here on Tumblr, there are also extra terms you may want to be familiar with as you get started. Here's a basic glossary for your reference. (Some may seem obvious, but I make no assumptions.)

Writeblr: Write + Tumblr = writeblr; a Tumblr account focused on writing

OC: original character

WIP: work-in-progress

Ref: reference

Sci-Fi: science fiction

YA: young adult; a genre typically considered well-suited for an audience of ages 13-18 and/or centered around protagonists of ages 13-18

NA: new adult; a genre considered geared toward an audience of 18-30 and/or centered around protagonists of this age range (note that this is a fairly new genre and the associated age range is somewhat variable); often associated with transitions from young adulthood to 'real' adulthood in terms of lifestyle, personality, etc.

Mutuals: people who are following each other; ie you follow them AND they follow you

Tag(ging) Game: a game passed around via tagging other writers in the post; played in the text body; most have the name and how to play within the text body

Tagging: typing the @ symbol followed by the account's URL; typing @ will pull up a menu of suggested URLs that display the blogs' avatars and will update as you type

Bookblr: a close cousin of writeblr; this blog type focuses on reading published books and often includes reviews and recommendations

Rec: recommendation

Comments? Suggestions? Corrections? Additions? Let me know what you thought about this guide and if you have any ideas for future installments, which are coming soon. Happy writing, everybody.

#writeblr #writing #writeblr community #starting a writeblr #guide #tips for beginners #writers on tumblr #care and keeping of your writeblr #getting started #mischiefiswritten #new writeblrs #cak

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challengerbmxmag · 6 years

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Sam Waller Interview

Sam Waller co-runs, the UK based Central Library, “a shop in the North West of England that sells zines, DVDs and other interesting bits and pieces.” He’s also part of the current resurgence of quality independent BMX media with his Red Steps magazine. In addition to that he finds the time to contribute to Challenger with his quarterly column, ‘Notes From A Fancy Island’ and of course, ride. And, when you talk to Sam, you can tell that riding reigns supreme.

Sam and I email back and forth fairly often because of the column but also about other random stuff like old spots, concrete skateparks, music, etc. It’s fun to email with Sam so I figured it would also be fun to ask Sam some more in-depth questions. Hit the link below for the full interview.

All photos by Gaz Hunt. Thanks, Gaz!

I know you live in Manchester, England now but where did you grow up and what is your BMX origin story? I grew up in the complete middle of nowhere in a place called Colton in the south of the Lake District. Whilst the countryside in film and television is often shown as a tranquil, quaint place, the reality is a fair bit different, and Colton in particular seemed like a hotbed for strange stuff going on. Only recently a large farmhouse was burned down by a wild woman who owned loads of pigs. She was exiled from the county, but the pigs remained to cause havoc.

Anyway, my older brother has played guitar since he was six or seven, but as I was a useless at it and couldn’t get my hands to move properly, I felt obliged to find a similar all-encompassing past-time.

I was mad on Formula 1 racing for a while (thoughts go out to the Schumacher family), and I went to a karate lesson once (a hobby quickly scrapped after the whole hour was spent being taught how to bow honourably), but up until the age of 12 or 13 it just felt like I was dawdling about.

All of this changed when, for some reason I’m not entirely sure of, me and my friends decided to make some jumps and drops and stuff to ride on our mountain bikes in some woods near a dual carriageway.

One of my friends knew some older lads from nearby who had proper bikes and Little Devil hoodies, so I think they must have planted the seed of raditude with him, but I think at that time I was just happy to be out the house and not playing Tekken 2. We later found out that the woodland we’d chosen was a popular dogging site frequented by truck drivers (I'm not sure if 'dogging' exists in America - maybe look it up), and quickly moved our spades and everything into another forest. By that point the damage was done and my mind was snagged.

After a bit of bouncing about on a mountain bike, I then splashed out on a second hand Standard that someone had painted post-box red, affixed some stunt nubs and never looked back (or lookbacked, for that matter).

The nearby town of Ulverston had a pretty big riding and skating scene, but thinking now about us lot trying to lay down ‘street style’ in this small historic market town, we may as well have been the Jamaican bobsleigh team — the rough ledges were strictly for stalls, and the closest thing to a flatbank was a grass verge round the back of a Texaco garage.

What were some of your biggest inspirations as a kid and what about now? I always think about how the 16 year old me would probably make fun of some of the things I'm into now. Is that the case with you at all? Apart from the receding hairline and the slight increase in responsibilities, I think I’ve stayed pretty much exactly the same since I was 16. Back then I think my favourite film was probably Natural Born Killers, and my favourite album was maybe something like Bad Moon Rising by Sonic Youth. Whilst I’ve maybe expanded my interests a little, I’ve pretty much been in a rut since then.

I’m not into memes or internet humour in the slightest, but I remember someone once showing me a video of a wrestling fan in America crying and shouting, “It’s still real to me, dammit.” That’s how I feel about a lot of things I was into back then. A lot of people who I went to school with moved on from being into music and films and pissing around on bikes, whilst I’m still snagged on it all, listening to The Minutemen and wearing check shirts. It’s pretty stupid really.

What's The Fancy Island? Good question. Just next to Strangeways prison and only a mere stone’s throw from Manchester’s slick centre, lies a true rat-pit of questionable activity. I’ve seen loads of stuff happen here, such as an aggressive man chase a prostitute with a two-by-four and a creep lying in an alley trying to lure small boys into his lair.

In amongst all this, there’s loads of naff wholesale shops that sell everything from low-end Halloween costumes to fake Air Jordans made out of cardboard and fuzzy felt. All these shops have mad names like EEZZEE and Vibe Centre.

Getting to the point now, coming up with titles for things is pretty difficult, so a few years ago when I was cobbling together a zine, I nicked the name Urban Mist from one of these shops, and then, when I went to set up a Tumblr during the carefree pre-Instragram era, I nabbed ‘Fancy Island’ from a similar establishment.

I think Fancy Island has closed down now, but it’s no doubt been replaced with yet another shop with a daft name selling cheap batteries and t-shirts with swear words on the front.

Whilst I’m explaining names, I’ll state that Red Steps is a classic spot in Manchester that I ride past on my way to work every day. It boasts a rusty, needle-thin flatrail, a few small stair-sets (that are indeed red) and a large flow of gormless students to crash into. I’m not too sure why I named a magazine after it, but it just struck me as a funny name for a spot and I was struggling to think of anything else.

One thing I struggle with is balancing how to take BMX seriously while balancing a sense of humor about it as well; i.e. it's pretty goofy but is also this amazing vehicle for new experiences, ideas, and a pretty incredible community. Do you ever think about this? Like with most things in life (except crucial necessities like eating and breathing), riding bikes is pretty stupid and abstract if you try and think about it too hard. That said, I don’t see why bike riding should look goofy (apart from actual goofy-footed grinding - as a self-confessed goofy grinder myself I’ve got a lot of time for George D, Ralph and Dave McDermott) — riding is loads better than pretty much all other activities, but it’s constantly being made to look daft, when it could so easily look dope.

I think to stay juiced and not turn sour, you’ve got to completely ignore most things going on with riding and stick firmly to the bits that you like. I treat riding like music or films or anything else. In the same way I don’t go to the cinema to watch big summer blockbusters, I don’t spend my free time watching Corey Martinez edits or endless hours of footage from some zany mega-comp.

I’m a simple man. As far as riding is concerned, I like smith grinds, bottles of Heineken, Galaxy chocolate, black and white photos, sitting on benches and talking complete nonsense. The rest of it is irrelevant to me.

I constantly hear/read people complain about the lack of BMX magazines but there's so much cool stuff being printed right now. We've discussed this in email a bit but it seems weird that people are complaining. It's almost like people just have an idea of what they think a magazine should be and if it doesn't have look or read a certain way they are just confused. How do you feel about all of this? A solid group of people do buy things and support these independent projects and whatnot, but I think it’ll take a while for the loud-mouthed Instagram warlords to come to terms with the fact that the new magazines around might have different names to the ones they used to subscribe to 15 years ago. I suppose it’s maybe easier to talk about the lack of magazines out there than actually go to the effort of seeking them out, but having said that, it’s not exactly hard to find stuff these days.

I remember years ago hunting down anything beyond Dig or Ride was an absolute hassle involving a lot of e-mail mither and blind faith - but now with yourself, Berks St. and 90East stocking interesting stuff in America, me and Clarky doing Central Library over here and the newly formulated Wiretap down under, it’s easier than ever for anyone to get their hands on zines and DVDs and all that.

The new stuff that’s coming out now is ten times better than Dig or Ride ever were anyway. Endless contest reports and dull bike checks have fallen by the wayside, and I haven’t seen a photo of Jimmy Levan’s zebra-print leggings in years. Things are really looking up.

What do you do for work? Thoughts on pursuing money via BMX and also what's the best job you've ever had? By day I work in an office writing stuff for a clothes shop. As you can imagine, trying to come up with an interesting way to talk about the 659th blue shirt you’ve seen this week can get a bit tough, but I can’t complain too much really. The office is fairly warm and there’s a kettle in the kitchen.

As for pursuing ‘serious wonga’ via riding, I’m one step ahead of you. Central Library has just received big investment from Duncan Bannatyne and Deborah Meaden (of Dragon’s Den fame), meaning we’re finally able to stock all those bizarre Caramac-coloured tyres that real bike shops seem to stock. We’re also expanding our print line to offer crime fiction and the Goosebumps novels. My main aim in life is to become one of those creepy industry characters who spends their time sniffing around young and naïve talent in the hopes of flogging a few ‘dad caps’.

My finest job was probably working for my dad in the family trade of dry stone walling (which explains my surname). I’m not sure if dry stone walls exist in America, but they’re those fairly humble looking stone walls you see dividing up the fields and forests around the English countryside.

Anyway, building them isn’t too bad as far as manual labour goes. When it’s raining and you’re miles up some hill wallowing in the mud lugging big stones around with nothing more for lunch than a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle and a Penguin biscuit, then it’s a little miserable – but on a good day when the sun is shining and you’re working with ‘good stone’, it’s hard to beat.

The best days were when my dad would fall asleep just a few minutes before the end of the lunch hour, basically extending the break for at least another 45 minutes. Thinking about this job now, I’m not sure why I ever gave it up.

Do you have any other hobbies besides riding? Yeah, but I’d say the lines were pretty blurred. This is maybe a pretty boring answer, but I suppose riding lends itself to other hobbies pretty well. I might be wrong, but I don’t think keen swimmers or budding javelin-throwers get into photography or making videos in quite the same way. It’s sort of like the ‘pillars of hip-hop’ or something – riding, taking pictures, messing round with video stuff and generally snooping around all fits together nicely (or at least it does in my peppered mind).

It’s not like I’m slipping on my Etnies t-shirt for my weekly two hour power sesh and then the next night I’m wearing some short-shorts down at the climbing wall. Even when I’m on holiday with my wife, I’m still just snooping around the same way - we’re not buying tickets for some naff rollercoaster or dining out at exclusive restaurants with Abe Froman.

Are you able to take time off of riding and not feel like you're missing out or feel guilty? I have one friend who really goes in on the guilt tripping if I don't ride. Related: You said you like sitting on benches. Can you do that on a nice day? At the age of 28, I’d like to feel like I can just about deal with a few missed sessions. Obviously I still need a comprehensive run down of spots seshed and feats accomplished when I’m away, but it’d be mad if I was out all the time. The human body can’t handle that much raditude.

Fear of things going un-photographed does creep in sometimes, but Clarky will have filmed it anyway, and Gaz and Wozzy are better photographers than me, so if they’re about then hopefully someone caught the action.

Moving onto the subject of benches, these babies really come into play during my dinner break at work. I get on fine with everyone there, but when the clock strikes twelve I’m not going to be sat in the office spilling reheated chilli over my keyboard… I’m straight out into the city centre on full sit-off mode – hopefully getting into some daft conversation with one of Manchester’s many vagabonds.

A few months ago I was sat in town when I was approached by a fairly scruffy gentleman who was bleeding loads from his forehead after someone kneed him in the skull. The rest of my lunch break was spent trying to sort him out a bit. One meal deal, some wet wipes and a pack of king-skins later, he seemed alright. You don’t get these hijinks sat inside all day.

I was just thumbing through the new Red Steps (nice job) and I just realized how much I enjoy your interviews -- what is it that you like about interviews? Not trying to stroke the ego here but you are really good at it... Cheers. Any ego strokes are much appreciated. This maybe sounds a bit daft, but I want to know everything. This is probably evident to the people who know me, but I’m a complete mither, completely hassling everyone with questions all the time.

This pesky nature extends into everything, meaning that I spend a lot of time reading a lot of interviews about the things that I’m into. I buy a lot of old copies of magazines like Wire, Ray Gun and Sidewalk on eBay, and even though the interviews contained within those pages might have been conducted in the corner of a pub maybe 25 years ago, they’re still worth reading today.

A proper interview with a little intro and some photos laid out nicely on a page… it’s mint – it’s a finished thing – sort of like a well-edited video or something. I know a lot of people are into ‘podcasts’ these days, and that’s fair enough, but to me – they’re not complete enough. I don’t want to hear people say ‘um’ and ‘err’ all the time, and I want something sick to look at (and by that, I don’t mean a load of pundits sat around a table with headphones on).

I’m going to rattle on here whilst I’ve got the chance. Anyone reading this who gets the opportunity to answer questions for an interview, a ‘bike check’ or anything else…don’t just write a lazy sentence for each answer – go mad. Tell some funny stories. Or if you’ve got nothing to say, just make something up. No one cares about how responsive your headtube angle is or how you ‘usually just cut the bars down’. This could be your only chance to air your thoughts into the wider world, and you’re going on about what PSI you put in your tyres? COME ON PLEASE TRY HARDER YOU BORING GIMPS.

(above) Spread from Sam’s zine, Latvia Photos. (below) Cover of Sam’s zine, Around Town.

You also make photo zines/books not related to riding. Do you have any high art aspirations with this stuff? No real aspirations I’m afraid. Wine gives me bad heartburn, so I generally try and swerve anything resembling a gallery opening schmooze-off. As I was sort of saying before, making photo zines is just an extension of everything else. I like taking photographs, so it makes sense to put them together. It’s all pretty small-time really – it’s not like I’m getting thousands printed.

To be honest, it’s all a complete faff that I could easily avoid by not bothering and just sitting around watching American power-dramas, but it’s good to have stuff to look back on – even if it’s just a 40 page zine that nine people will see.

Crouching under a tattered old curtain processing rolls of film every night whilst being mithered by my cat isn’t particularly glamorous and I’d imagine there are probably easier ways to get cosy with the artistic elite.

What's your favorite slang word? Going back to my walling days, my dad uses some pretty intriguing slang terms. Unlike inner-city slang, which will usually be documented in music or useless BBC3 comedies, these more rustic words don’t get much recognition. I don't use these terms myself, but I certainly respect them. Here’s a few choice cuts…

“A few skins on the job” – a large workforce “Keitel” – a fairly humble work-jacket “Bait” – lunch “Bray it – hit it “Kessen” – when an unclipped sheep falls over onto its back and can’t get up due to its weight. This happens more often than you’d think.

You can buy scoop up a copy of Sam’s magazine, Red Steps, in the Challenger web shop here, look at the online shop, The Central Library, that Sam runs with Clarky here, and check out some of his other photo zines/books here.

#BMX #manchester #Colton England #sam waller

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