#beans writing

[autumnalfallingleaves]

The Witch's Brew Café: A Hilda Coffee Shop AU

AO3

reblogs are highly appreciated, and please do not repost my art

Summary:

Frida, a young witch fresh out of college, moves to Trolberg to work at the library with her apprentice-sister Kaisa. However, when she checks out a magic-friendly café, she might get more than she bargained for with moving to a new city. Enter Hilda, the very cute butch working the till. Frida is going to kill Kaisa.

Hello! I haven't written in a while but I actually got this all out this afternoon over tea and I managed to polish it up enough to post :) I may write more at some point, but here's this.

Excerpt:

The late-autumn sun is only just starting to kiss the tops of the trees when Frida parks her car on the side of the street. She hasn’t been in Trolberg long, having moved into the small-ish city only a few weeks ago, but she’s already appreciating the reduced traffic, and with it, the available parking spots in convenient places. 

She’d only finished up at the Witches Tower a few hours ago, finally done with all the paperwork needed in order to register as a practicing witch within the city limits. Bureaucracy with the Trolls, or something else equally ridiculous. Frida’s just here because there was an open job opportunity at the library with Kaisa and there’s good resources for college graduate witches at the Tower. 

Anyway. She’s tired and all she wants is to enjoy a cup of coffee (preferably dark. And strong enough to hold itself up outside the mug.) and chat with her apprentice-sister, whom— despite working in the building above the same Tower Frida’s had to inhabit for days— she hasn’t seen in forever. Mother of magic, she’s exhausted. 

Locking the car door behind her, Frida crosses the street and pushes open the café’s door to the swirl of fallen leaves around her feet and the cheery tinkle of wind chimes. It’s a warm little place, inside, with golden lighting falling over the plush couches and chairs in the seating area, worn books stacked on low tables, and a healthy buzz of conversation from the assembled patrons. The website, when Frida had looked at it (it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, and she’d wanted to know if they served croissants) had advertised that they welcomed all, including the more magical of Trolberg’s citizens. She can see that now, glimpsing a few elves chatting over on one of the low-set tables, and even a nisse in an orange jumper quietly sipping at a steaming mug and reading a book over in the corner. Amazingly, for all the prejudice against magical beings Frida’s seen and experienced, there seems to be none of that here. 

It’s nice. It’s really nice. This must be why Kaisa had insisted they come here. She’d also had a bit of a suspicious look on her face, but Frida hadn’t called her out on it. Kaisa kinda of always looked suspicious. This was nothing new. 

Probably. 

Hopefully. 

Read the rest on AO3

[bakedbeanchan]

AU where Zuko doesn't practice helmet safety

[whumpacabra]

Sometimes you look something up for medical accuracy, understand the topic entirely, and then choose to ignore everything you just learned.

For the ✨drama ✨

[silovsmenot]

This or That | Artūrs Šilovs

Request by anon...

silovs is a media darling. how about something with him and social media admin, like they're trying to get him to do a tiktok or something for the fans and he's just nervous around them

WARNINGS: None at all, as usual, it's 1000% complete fluff. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilovs x reader. NOTES: I absolutely adored this request, and I will never get tired of writing for Arty. WORD COUNT: 1306

As far as jobs go, you were pretty sure that you’d hit the jackpot. The social media admin for the Vancouver Canucks, with pretty much free reign on what you wanted to do. Your job was to get the team trending, to keep the community talking and to make the boys seem ‘real’.

These players were, for intensive purposes, celebrities in Vancouver. If they were spotted on the street, management wanted people to see them as approachable and friendly. It was a good marketing tactic, and you were rolling with it.

The team had so many young guys that it was easy for the most part — they were all ready and willing to get in front of the camera, and do stupid things for the trends. You were having a great time with it. Even some of the older guys were getting into it.

But there was one who was a little more reserved and had, until now, evaded you. You’d exchanged words in passing, you knew the other existed, but he finished training and left without word most days. He kept to himself, and while that was fine for a while, management wanted him to be included.

Artūrs Šilovs couldn’t escape the camera forever.

And today was the day that you were going to get him — you weren’t unfair, you’d find something together that he’d be willing to do. It was never your intention to make any of the guys uncomfortable.

Completely on queue, you saw his head ducking out of the changing rooms with eyes on the nearest door. But there would be no escape from the social media admin today.

“Artūrs!” You shouted, jogging up behind him with a growing smile at your lips. He turned quickly; the Vancouver cap backwards as messy strands of brown hair escaped through the hole. And, as he normally did post training, his glasses rested upon the bridge of his nose.

You’d told yourself when you got this job, no dating players, but he was cute and you could be tempted to break your own rule.

“Sorry, if you’re not busy, would you mind helping me with something?”

You phrased it carefully, knowing he was more likely to turn around and say yes if you said it was to help. And it was to help both of you. As expected, he did nod — he turned on his heels and was ready to follow you.

You both found yourselves smiling at the other, he was full of nerves as you began to walk back into the corridor and he didn’t quite know what to say to you. There were things he was thinking about saying, like how he was thankful that you had been a friendly face to him since he was called up to the Canucks, or how he would’ve liked to spend some time with you, but far from a camera.

Whatever he was thinking as you led him toward the little media room, he didn’t say any of it. Arty just followed with hands buried in his pockets, fiddling with threads with nerves and a small smile upon his lips.

He opened the door before you could reach, holding it wide open for you to enter as you’d say a quiet thank you. With the door closed, it was impossible to not focus on how nervous he so clearly was.

You simply found yourself staring at him for a brief moment, trying to find the words to say that would put his mind at ease.

“Art, I’m not going to ask you to do something that you’re not comfortable with…” You quietly said with a few short steps toward him. “I have an idea and if you’re not happy with it, we don’t do it.”

His brown eyes had been fixated with since you called him that corridor and they made no signs of wavering from you. He was uncomfortable in front of that camera, but it was just nerves with you, and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d grown used to so many people over the last few weeks in Vancouver, but you stood out. You made him smile without a word and while he knew you’d only talk to him to get him in front of that camera, he wanted you to talk to him. It was all quite confusing in his head, but pushing through it all, he’d simply nod in response to you.

A quiet, sheepish ‘okay’ coming from his lips.

And so, you began to explain your idea, and it was simple. An easy ‘this or that’, with things from Canada vs back in home of Latvia. It would take a little work to find a comparison, or as near as you could both get, but it was a way for him to reveal a little bit of home to the Canuck fanbase.

“I like the idea… Let’s do it.” Artūrs finally said as you finished your explanation, taking a moment to dramatically gasp for air after you’d talked non-stop for a couple of minutes. You couldn’t help the triumphant nod that you gave at his answer, the smile spread across your features from ear to ear. A smile that quickly caught upon his own lips.

All it took was a piece of paper, five minutes to sort the ‘this or that’ options and you were both ready. His steps were hesitant as they bought in before the green screen, the little camera now upon him.

“First one is nice and simple, your left is Rīga and your right is Vancouver — your favourite city is …?” And you paused. He’d told you that his answer was Vancouver, but he stepped to his left which caused a quiet laugh to part your lips.

He stared at you, pinkening in the cheeks, for a moment as he tried to figure out what he’d done. Once he did, he took two quick steps to his right with hands waving in apology.

“Arty, you can calm down. We’re no rush with this, just think about it and take your time.” Your voice was soft; reassuring and genuine, and it worked. He stopped staring awkwardly at the camera, and simply found your gaze yet again. And there? He felt more comfortable.

Now you had to stand directly behind the camera to make it work, but it did work from there. He kept your gaze, and with clammy hands from nerves, he made the right steps each time. Another five minutes later and you were done. It all needed throwing together for a video to post, but you had what you needed … and there was a hidden, but shared, disappointment in that. He thought about making a few more mistakes to stay longer, and you thought about asking just a few more unnecessary questions to keep him there.

Neither of you made your excuse to stay as you were both nervous. You walked him to the door of the media suite with a melancholy weight upon your shoulders, leaning against the door frame as he’d linger just beyond.

“This wasn’t too bad, was it?” You asked with a slightly teasing tone, just enough to make him smile again. And he did smile, he smiled wide and nodded his head as he removed the cap and messed at his hair with his free hand.

“It was almost fun.” He quickly said, and you felt the slight fluttering in your stomach. “Just let me know if you need me again, at any point.”

That only serve to make the fluttering more unruly. Your mouth dry in surprise as you were simply forced to nod your head. You didn’t take your eyes off him until he was nearly out of sight, and you just missed the sight of him turning back to catch a final glimpse of you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, I'm not sure if you've explained it or not but going in the depths of Malleus and Leona's character relationship? Like explaining their interactions and how they actually think of one another

Many fan works tend to depict Leona and Malleus as extremely antagonistic toward one another. However, the truth is that their relationship is more like a one sided dislike or annoyance (on Leona’s part). It’s not uncommon for them to bicker or have some tension in their conversations even when they have the same goal in mind such as protecting a harp (Beans Day) or wooing a ghost (although Malleus is not participating for the latter, Leona still insists the ghost would prefer him to Malleus to get that dig in). They’re definitely still on bad terms), but Malleus is generally pretty neutral with Leona unless he is provoked.

Leona’s beef with Malleus is story relevant and makes itself known in book 2. He appears to primarily dislike Malleus because it is thanks to his sheer power that Diasomnia crushes Savanaclaw every inter-dorm tournament, essentially dashing Savanaclaw students’ hopes of being scouted and going pro. Buuut it seems like from the way Leona speaks about his rival, he has long since held these feelings and they aren’t linked to a single inciting incident.

Part of why Leona dislikes Malleus in general seems to be Malleus’s attitude. Leona describes his fellow prince as “pretentious”, “high and mighty”, and acting in ways that show disrespect to him (like in Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes, when he casted a spell meant for objects on Leona). He may also take issue with Malleus’s “incomprehensible fae humor”, which Leona references both during Halloween and in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes. Additionally, Leona outright states that he hates people who refuse to listen (Silver) and just march to the beat of their own drum (Rook), which are traits you can argue also fits Malleus (since Malleus didn’t really listen to the upset dorm leaders in his Dorm Uniform vignettes). Leona appears to prefer dealing with Malleus to Silver though, as he says that Malleus’s ears aren’t just “for show”. Interestingly, Leona might dislike Malleus less than Rook; Leona is wary of so much as wishing Rook a happy birthday and refuses to dine next to Rook… yet Leona does sit next to Malleus at the end of Terror is Trending.

Leona is one of the few students who isn’t afraid of Malleus and has the gall to openly insult him (or is rude) on more than one occasion. He doesn’t really show any remorse or intent to apologize. In fact, Leona understands very well what bothers Malleus and often acts on those points of weakness to goad him, whereas it is very rare for Malleus to start the fights. For example, Leona tells Malleus in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes, “You thinkin’ you’re gonna get it next time? Well, sorry to break it to you, but no one’s ever gonna invite you,” and, “You’re never gonna have a chance to wear those robes, so put’em away for good already.” This, of course, angers Malleus and leads into the two insulting one another’s physical features and exchanging threats (removing horns, declawing, calling each other animals or implying a lack of humanity, etc.). They similarly insult one another in Terror is Trending (again, Leona instigates: “Hmph, look at Mr. High-Horse over here. Were you flattered to be asked [to have your picture taken]?”) and again in Fairy Gala (Leona again: “Ever consider gettin’ off your tail and cleanin’ up your fellow fae’s mess?”). I’m sure there are tons of other instances you could come up with; these are just the immediate ones that come to my mind. Funnily enough, Lilia and Silver see these heated conversations as proof of Malleus and Leona’s friendship. I feel like this could also, in part, feed into Leona’s dislike of Malleus, as people having the wrong idea about your relationship can be irritating.

Now, Malleus does appear to care about maintaining amicable relations with representatives of other countries. Often it is he who instructs Sebek to apologize to Leona for being rude—two major instances of this occur in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes and during Vargas Camp. He even personally (and happily) welcomes Leona to Diasomnia in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes, viewing Leona as no different than any other guest.

This goes into the realm of speculation (so please bear with me!!) but it could be said that Malleus has a very… unique view of friendship? So Lilia and Silver may not be too far off when they say that Leona and Malleus are chums in their own weird way. In Glorious Masquerade, Rollo poses a real threat to Malleus and to his people—yet when Malleus experiences genuine fear for the first time, he seems more excited at the novel feeling rather than cower as a result of it. Following the climax, Malleus still presents the song he had prepared as a gift of good will for NBC. He also proceeds to play with Rollo’s guilt to get him to agree to sharing a dance. And THEN Malleus says he looks forward to being invited again????? These are all quite friendly gestures for someone who put you and all your people in danger, my guy… 😂 So perhaps Malleus just gas a very different way of approaching friendships? Hard to say, but that’s some food for thought!

Leona and Malleus have had moments of amicability, so it’s totally possible for them to get along. This happens primarily in Leona’s Union Jacket vignettes; in them, Malleus gifts the birthday boy an antique book in an ancient language (Leona’s best subject). The two then talk about enjoying the freedom of walking around town without an attendant or some servants trailing after them. Being of a similar social status, they are able to understand one another to some extent.

This is going into another point of speculation, but I wonder if Leona and Malleus recognize their similarities beyond this interview. I certainly have; they’re both arrogant princes that deeply desire what the other prince has, and I feel that their animosity, in part, comes from this realization (whether conscious or unconscious). I certainly get the sense that some of Leona’s hatred of Malleus comes from seeing his own desires manifested in him—of being that coveted prince praised for his power, his people lavishing him with affirmations, a crown… All the things Leona doesn’t have.

[ghost-bxrd]

“This is where you live?”

Jason drops the duffle bag on the counter, “Yeah. It’s no manor, kid. I told you.”

He’s not self conscious. He’s not. This apartment is fuckin’ nice ok? He spent a lot of money on decor and proper kitchenware and furniture and shit.

But Jason also knows that, objectively speaking, it doesn’t hold a candle to Wayne manor and its fifty-something bedrooms. That place is basically its own country.

Bruce nods.

“I like it,” he says solemnly, walking over towards the window to peek through the blinds. The view from up here isn’t exactly panorama level but the building is one of the tallest in Crime Alley and Jason’s apartment is on the top floor, so it does provide a pretty good view of a good portion of the Alley. “It doesn’t feel as empty.”

Jason pauses where he’s resetting the traps and alarms by the door, glancing over his shoulder to where Bruce is starting to tentatively explore the living space and is struck by how violently out of place the boy looks with his rigid posture and elegantly curved eyebrows. Even the plain hoodie, faded hand-me-down jeans and ridiculous wool cap aren’t enough to hide how utterly not Crime Alley born-and-bred he is. Everything about Bruce is basically screaming rich-Bristol-trust-fund-kid.

Which, yeah. Checks out.

Jason clears his throat and clicks the security on, waiting for the small light at the side to switch from green to red.

“Your room’s the one down the hall to the left. Right one is mine. Door at the end of the hall is the bathroom.”

Bruce hikes his backpack up higher on his shoulder, eyes eerily vacant as always, but Jason wants to think that there’s a sliver of curiosity behind that steely gaze anyways as he inclines his head and makes his way down the hall.

As soon as the kid vanishes around the corner Jason allows himself a moment to exhale and run a hand down his face tiredly.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What was he thinking.

How the fuck is he supposed to raise a tiny Bruce Wayne with his older furry counterpart running around Gotham at night hunting criminals? Criminals like Jason?

Nothing. He was thinking nothing. And it’s about to bite him in the ass.

No way can he build a criminal empire and take over the drugs and weapons trade with a traumatized nine year old dependent on him.

God dammit.

[lucky-katebishop]

I was confused at first why they were being killed one by one because that didn't really make sense and then I realized it's because last names are what they are born with. Last names can dictate influence, especially when it comes to wealth. Lindy used her last name as an advantage over Ricky because September was just a stage name- his last name came before hers so he had to die first. I think it's interesting that something so simple is actually so complex and no wonder the Doctor was so confused by it. The dot used what so many rich people take for granted (their last name) in order to punish them for it.

[xjustakay]

✺ (1/22) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: cry — 1130 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; getting in trouble at school - but he’s got a real good reason, your honor)

Regulus hangs up his phone with a huff, pushing up from his desk chair to head up the hall to the living room. “James?”

“Yes, my love?” James calls back. He turns from folding laundry into piles on the sofa and frowns when he clocks the tension in Regulus’ face. “What could I have possibly done?”

“It’s not you, it’s your son,” Regulus mutters.

“My son?” James’ brows shoot upward. 

“He’s your son when he gets into trouble.”

“I resent that.”

“Resemble it, more like.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “I just got off the phone with Pandora. She got a call from Harry’s school about him being in principal McGonagall’s office because of an altercation with another student.”

James blinks. “They’re five, what does that even look like?”

“Well, we’ll be finding out shortly, because we have to go pick him up. Lily’s got their car and she’s at work.” Regulus shakes his head as he goes to retrieve his coat from the peg inside the front door.

“Hey, hang on.” James grabs him gently by the elbow to get him to look at him. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“He’s in the principal’s office at five years old, James.”

“That happened a time or a few when I was—” James cuts himself off when one dark eyebrow is arched at him pointedly. “Right, not helping my case. Look, it’s Harry. It’s probably just a big misunderstanding.”

James lifts both hands to grab Regulus by the jaw, towing him in to kiss his forehead a couple quick times. The corner of Regulus’ mouth ticks upward despite himself.

As it turns out, it’s not a misunderstanding.

Instead of looking guilty, Harry looks instantly defiant, arms crossed tight over his chest and chin tilted upward, when Regulus and James join him in the principal’s office.

“Have a seat.” Minerva McGonagall motions across her desk to the open chairs on either side of their son. “Harry, would you care to explain to your fathers why we’re here?”

Harry’s brow furrows as he lets out a huff. “I tackled someone in the sandbox.”

Regulus tilts his head. “Pardon?”

James cuts him a vaguely admonishing look before his focus returns to the child between them, expression softening. “What happened, mate?”

“He made Luna cry, daddy!” Harry whines. “He kept on pulling her hair and calling her Loony.”

Regulus whips toward McGonagall, glaring icily. “And where’s that boy?”

“He’s also been spoken to and picked up by his parents, mister Potter,” She tells him.

“That’s not all, either!” Harry interjects with a dramatic flail of his arms. “I went and told him he was being mean and to say sorry, but he said he was sorry to me ‘cause I have a weird family.”

“Alright, that’s not—” James’ mounting irritation gets cut off when McGonagall lifts a hand to halt him.

“Then he said his mum and dad are talking all the time about how papa’s gonna leave us all someday, and I got really mad so I tackled him and hit him.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s…

Regulus stares at Harry for a long moment, an unexpected pang in his chest. He didn’t know what to expect coming down to the school, hearing Harry’s story of what had occurred. He certainly had not assumed it had anything to do with him.

Harry is so like James, standing up for those he loves with everything he’s got. Even if it gets him into trouble.

Opening and closing his mouth twice, Regulus catches James’ eye. A small smile curls at his husband’s mouth, an odd cocktail of pride and sadness mixed in his hazel eyes. Regulus suddenly knows the feeling, complex as it is.

“I understand you were upset and looking out for your family, but you know you’re not supposed to hit people, mate,” James tells Harry.

“I know…” Harry mumbles, ducking his chin.

“If someone’s being mean, you tell a teacher, alright?”

“Yes, daddy…”

Regulus, lip pinched between his teeth, looks across the desk to find McGonagall’s eyes already on him. A strangely sympathetic look is offered to him from the older woman, but he ignores the twist it causes in his stomach.

Asks instead, “Is Luna alright?”

“I’ve spoken with her, as well, yes. Despite the issue, she said she’d like to finish her day as she usually does,” She confirms.

“Right, well, we’ll get this one home, then.” James claps his hands on his knees then pushes to stand. “So sorry, principal McGonagall.”

“Yeah, me too, sorry, principal McGonagall,” Harry mutters.

Harry shuffles off his chair to follow James on the way out of the office, Regulus grabbing his Spiderman backpack for him. He’s last to the door, which means the ‘mister Potter’ that’s called after them can only be for him. He turns with dark brows lifted, tries not to look too confused when McGonagall’s mouth twitches upward just barely.

“That’s quite the little boy you’ve got standing up for you, there,” She says.

Regulus glances back the other direction at where James and Harry are walking to the school’s main door hand in hand. His own small smile appears, throat tightening before he quietly clears it.

“Yeah, he’s really something,” He murmurs, turning back to the woman. “We’ll work on the hitting bit.”

“That’s good, yes,” She snorts, waving him off.

Regulus catches up to his family, falling into step on Harry’s other side. He makes it a point to ensure that he’s the one who helps Harry into the back of the car when they reach it. Keeps an eye on him pulling his seatbelt across himself on his booster while James settles in the driver’s seat, watching them in the rear view mirror.

Mind still reeling a bit with the turn of events, he can’t help but feel like he’s meant to say something.

“Harry, my darling, you—” Regulus twists his lips to the side as he runs a hand over Harry’s messy hair affectionately. “You know that I’m not really going anywhere, don’t you?”

“Of course, papa.” Harry nods surely. “I know you love us all too much.”

Regulus smiles faintly, nodding in return. “That’s my boy.”

He leans in to leave a kiss against the side of Harry’s head, double checks his seatbelt is secured appropriately, then closes the car door. When he drops into the passenger seat, he finds James looking over at him adoringly, a bright smile on his face. Wordlessly, he leans over the center console to press a lingering kiss to Regulus’ lips.

“Does this mean I can still have dessert after dinner tonight?” Harry asks from the back.

There’s a shared laugh between Regulus and James, two wide smiles pressed together now, before they finally separate to get on their way home.

[beanghostprincess]

Young Shanks always did the dumbest things for Buggy to pay attention to him and think he was the coolest guy in the world, but it never worked and it only ended up with Buggy getting angry (thinking Shanks was just trying to show off) and Shanks all sad and looking like a wet depressed cat.

I think one day he does something really, really dumb. Dumber than usual. He sees Buggy walking over the railing of the ship once (he was born to be a clown. Part of the circus. He has a good sense of balance) and thinks that it's the coolest thing ever, and perhaps that if he does the same, his best friend will notice him. So he gets on the railing and yells "Hey Bugs! Do you think I can speed run to the end of the railing?!". Buggy, of course, is uninterested and also extremely tired of him already (besides, does he really have to always try and be better than Buggy at everything? Why can't he have this thing for himself???) and he just looks at Shanks deadpanned and says "Yes, and also fall and drown and kill yourself in the process". So Shanks starts running.

And he falls into the water. Because he's a fucking idiot. And Buggy was right. Buggy just rolls his eyes and calls for Rayleigh to help Shanks (the last time it happened he got really angry Shanks had jumped to save Buggy instead of calling him instead).

While Rayleigh is scolding Shanks for his stupid behavior, the young pirate isn't paying attention to him because he keeps staring at Buggy from a distance and hoping for him to turn around from the other side of the ship. But he looks like he doesn't even care Shanks almost drowns. Shanks just hugs his knees close to his chest and covers himself more with the blanket they've given him.

Rayleigh keeps talking, though. "How many times do we have to tell you guys not to pull shit like this, especially on calm days. And I get that you're young and dumb, but I'd appreciate a little bit of collaboration to fix the dumb part- I- Why would you even do that anyway? Shanks?" And he turns his head around to see Shanks' eyes following Buggy's every movement from afar. The man can just sigh and pat him on the head and say: "I get it, but putting your life at risk like this for-"

"I would do anything for him."

He says it so seriously... His eyes never leave Buggy, either. It sends shivers down Reyleigh's spine, for once. But then he notices the kid's trembling lips, and quite obviously not like this from the cold. And his heart just breaks.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

I wrote a WondLa fic, third on AO3! Motivated by the trailer drop and also my love of found family :D

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: The WondLa Trilogy - Tony DiTerlizzi Relationship: Rovender Kitt & Eva Nine (The WondLa Trilogy - Tony DiTerlizzi) Characters: Rovender Kitt, Eva Nine, Van Turner, Hailey Turner Additional Tags: Introspection, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Canon - Book, Father-Daughter Relationship, Wrote this in a burst of inspiration in one afternoon lol, This has been in my head for a while but I've only just gotten to writing it down, Eva and Rovender's relationship kills me and has for years, Post-Battle of Solas but pre-last chapters + epilogue chapters, Don't copy to another site, I do not give permission for my work to be fed to AI

After everything is said and done, it’s time to go home. But what is home, when you’ve been wandering your whole life?

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday ☕

Tagged by the lovely and talented @theotherbuckley @tizniz @daffi-990 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @dangerpronebuddie

@spotsandsocks @indestructibleheart @racerchix21 Please go visit their amazing snips, audio and art! 💖

It's still Wednesday somewhere right? Ok, so this post about Tommy grabbing Buck's hoodie from @whollyjoly has been haunting me (in the best possible way) for a few weeks. Earlier today it came up when I was chatting with Bee and, well, here we are. From my brain to your dash.

Tommy is... well, to say he's not a morning person is a bit of an understatement. The only reason he prefers to see the sun come up is because he hasn't gone to bed yet. So, when Coleson lands in the hospital for appendicitis and shifts get moved, Tommy is less than thrilled. But, it's his job - his career - that he happens to enjoy very much. He gives himself two minutes to grumble before telling himself to get over it. Telling Evan had been even less fun. He understands, of course. They've both been in the business long enough to understand that things change and being flexible is par for the course. It's just that they finally seemed to have gotten into a decent cadence with their schedules and figuring out how to have regular date nights where they aren't exhausted or rushing off to a shift. C'est la vie or whatever. "Five more minutes?" Evan mumbles, tightening his hold as Tommy tries to extricate himself. He chuckles and rubs his thumb over Evan's birthmark. "That was your five more, baby." Evan slowly blinks his eyes open and pouts unapologetically. "Don't even try because it won't work," Tommy says. "Unless you've got some secret in with my boss that will let me be late.” "No." Evan somehow manages to pout even more. "But it was worth a shot, right?" Warmth floods through his chest, radiating out like liquid sunshine. The temptation to call off and stay in bed all day is overwhelming. But Tommy's a big boy. As such he's going to win the war over Evan's incredibly adorable puppy eyes and go to work. "It was a valiant effort." Tommy kisses the tip of Evan's nose before capturing his lips, morning breath be damned. "Better luck next time, kid." "Go. You're gonna be late." Evan playfully shoves his shoulder. It's so easy and fun and light and- what was it Casey McQuiston wrote? Oh, right. Alex is so in love he could die. That. That's what Tommy feels. He just hopes Evan doesn't run when Tommy finally gets the courage to say it out loud. He leans in for one more kiss before shimmying out from under the covers. The extra five minutes he gave Evan turned out to be closer to fifteen and now he has to rush to throw himself together. He allows for a quick rinse in the shower before hastily throwing on jeans, a tee and hoodie. "Thanks, babe." Tommy takes the travel mug of coffee Evan hands him and settles for giving him a peck on the cheek so he doesn't undo all the work of trying to be on time. "Be safe," Evan says, no less sincere than the first time. It's said with care, as part of this ritual they're developing. Not because it's a habit or a meaningless platitude. But because it’s intentional. “Of course.”

It is crazy late so take this for today or another tag day. LMK if you'd rather not be tagged for BuckTommy stuff. I get it's not everyone's jam. np tagging:

@actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @mountedeverest

@fortheloveofbuddie @weewootruck @saybiwithme mi amor @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6

@ramonaflow @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @mrs-f-darcy @diazsdimples

@drowsy-quill @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela

@underwaterninja13 LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @queenmabcreates

@inell @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @shortsighted-owl @queerbuckleys

@bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck

@ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @welcometololaland

@wildlife4life and anyone else who wants to 😘

[tizniz]

I dunno. Here's something Buddie and cute and penguin related. Because Eddie Diaz loves penguins, I've decided. Fight me.

"What is this?" Eddie asks with suspicion when Buck finally joins him at their truck. His husband is holding a bag out in front of him, smiling innocently, which tells Eddie he's not innocent. "A present, babe." Buck wiggles the bag dangling from his finger. "You open them." Eddie does not reach for the bag and instead stares at it. "Why." "Why do you open them?" Buck asks, head cocked to the side, playing into the adorable stereotype of him being a golden retriever. God, Eddie loves this man. "Because then you find out what's inside?" "Now it's why did I marry you." Eddie mutters. "Because I buy you presents even though you despise getting them." Buck wiggles the bag again, "Open it." Although it quickly becomes clear that Eddie will not be opening it, so Buck releases a sigh that is honestly far too dramatic for the situation and reaches inside of the bag pulling out a cute little stuffed penguin. Eddie doesn't realize he's reaching for it until he registers how soft the fake fur is against his fingers. "You like it." Buck states, his tone gentle and quiet. "I...uh..." Eddie blushes but takes the stuffed penguin, holding it carefully in his hands. "Why did you get me this?" "Because," Buck tosses the now empty bag through the open window of the truck and winds his arms around Eddie, tugging him closer, "you were talking about how you wanted to take home a penguin when we were at the exhibit." The same exhibit that Buck had patiently sat with Eddie at for over an hour while Eddie simply watched the creatures waddle and swim. "Obviously I can't steal a penguin for you, and trust me, if I could, I would." "I know you would." Eddie comments in that same small voice. "So this will have to make do until I can figure out how to get you a real penguin." Eddie laughs, surprised by the wetness in his eyes as he leans down to kiss his husband. "I love you, Evan Diaz." "I love you too, Eddie Diaz." Buck hums, kissing him once more.

[ravenofazarath2]

I’ve been seeing a fair amount of discourse over whether or not Ricky September was a good person, and I feel like a lot of it takes a very black and white view of Ricky as a character.

One of the recurrent themes in this season (and, well, a large portion of the show), is the importance of hope. And I think that’s what Ricky is supposed to represent.

Hope that there’s kindness in the world.

I think we can all agree that that was basically his thing, right? He didn’t have to help Lindy through the slug monsters, but he did. He didn’t have to try to save her life, but he did.

Everyone else we meet in FineTime is self-centered, vain. Their friendships feel artificial. And that’s probably because they are artificial since they never talk face-to-face. They literally live inside a spherical object that also acts as an echo chamber they can personally curate. That’s one of the most literal metaphoric interpretations of “in a world of their own” I can think of.

And right when it seems that life this way will be the death of them all, here comes this ray of sunshine named Ricky September. He immediately shows Lindy kindness even though she’s a complete stranger. And then they hug, what is likely the first empathetic touch ever in her life. Tells her that he spends most of his time unplugged and reading and learning. He does the Doctor grabs a hand and yells run thing. And when he sees that Homeworld was destroyed, he lies to Lindy so that he doesn’t kill the hope that’s keeping her running for her life—to see her mom again.

I know can’t be the only one who thought, “Oh, maybe his kindness will rub off on Lindy, and she’ll be a better person in the end!” That’s the hope.

That’s what Ricky represents; he’s the hope that, as long as empathy exists in this world, things will get better.

Hope that people can change.

The only shadow in this perfect ray of hope is the fact that, just like everyone else in FineTime, Ricky September is racist.

His micro-agressions aren’t as, well, aggressive as Lindy’s, but they are there. His hands are fidgety and he's distracted. He's giving awkward smiles and chuckles. He does seem uncomfortable working with the Doctor.

But we know that Ricky has empathy. He shows it when he saves Lindy, but I think the most jarring example is when he says he read about manual labor and said, "That life was tough." Lindy's response. "My sit at a desk for two hours and gossip with my friends job's not easy. I get chapping." And he learned this empathy through reading instead of spending all his time online. Which is where he learned about pulse codes, too. So he's empathetic and willing to learn.

(On a side note: Lindy's lack of empathy by this point should have clued us in that she was beyond redemption)

And that's I have no doubt that, had he survived, he would have pushed his biases aside and taken the Doctor up on the offer to travel. He would have worked to unlearn the institutionalized hate he was raised in. He's the hope that people—that we can change, become better people.

Unfortunately, Ricky is just different enough for Lindy to other him in order to justify sacrificing him to save herself.

The real lesson Ricky September teaches us.

Unfortunately, Ricky being a symbol for hope is exactly why he had to die by, essentially, Lindy's hand.

Hope simply existing isn't enough to bring change. If we just sit back and hope for a better world, nothing will get done. We have to act on that hope, be that hope, because if we don't, those trying to maintain the hate will snuff us out. And not just for ourselves, but for our fellow man.

If we just sit back and hope for a better world, nothing will get done. We have to act on that hope, be that hope. And not just for ourselves, but for our neighbors, too. If we show each other empathy, we can reach more, spread more kindness, be the change.

But if there's no empathy, then there's no hope for our survival.

And that, I believe, is the lesson RTD wanted us to see.

[silovsmenot]

Foreign Language | Artūrs Šilovs

SUMMARY: A first meeting with a certain Latvian goalie, a surprise that leaves him thinking of you ... And an unexpected reunion thanks to injury. WARNINGS: So much fluff, poor Latvian language - if you're a Latvian native, please excuse me, I'm still learning. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader (f!reader implied). NOTES: This was the very first idea that I had, and it's been a brainrot ever since. This could very easily be a multi-part, because the brainrot is real. Okay so little Latvian lesson: 'sveiki' is an informal form of hello and 'piedodiet' is sorry. WORD COUNT: 2147 FIND PART TWO HERE

New job, new city — you were beyond excited to get started with your new life in Vancouver. It was a dream come true, a sports photographer for the Vancouver Sun. You’d be covering everything from soccer to basketball, and your personal favourite, ice hockey. It couldn’t have been better.

It had only been a few weeks and you were still pretty starstruck by the whole situation. The smile had rarely left your lips for everything felt so right. As you drove to the Abbotsford Centre, your music turned to loud as you sang along to your favourite song — life was good. And today promised to be another good day. You were helping to cover a story of the Vancouver prospects in Abbotsford and how they were developing within the AHL affiliate, while your partner would be interviewing players at the rink side and in changing rooms, you’d be snapping the shots of the training session.

It promised to be a lot easier than your usual days, training sessions were a lot more relaxed than game photography. Even with their game against playoff rivals looming, you knew it would be a calmer atmosphere than the alternative.

With the heavy camera bag upon your shoulders, digits scraped back your hair as you walked, tied back as you always did while working. Nodding across to your partner who stood waiting at the large rink doors, he held out a coffee to you, which you gratefully accepted with a quiet ‘thank you’. You two were close, like siblings — natural partners and you always delivered high tier work together.

“The boss wants some focus on the goalies, see what you can do, y/n.” He muttered as you walked, both sipping quietly at the hot liquid. From where you were, you could already hear the shouts of training, the crash of the puck against glass and the slapping of sticks upon the ice. It was a sound you knew and loved.

And as your partner pushed open the door, the bright lights of the rink lit everything up. You both moved quickly with a light tapping of both coffee cups in luck, your partner immediately gravitating to the head coach who lingered beside the boards, while you would weave onto the bench and begin your setup. Lens mounted onto the camera body, fixing your settings to this particular arena until you were happy with your picture. It was simply second nature now.

You stood beside the boards, camera switching from player to player with smooth motions as the camera clicked. Turning to each goalie, your camera would linger with the rhythmic clicking — you didn’t need to know all of the story, but a focus on the goalies was always a popular one. Players being called up to the NHL happened so regularly, it was hardly a story, but goalies? Now that got people ticking.

As the session progressed, you watched your partner question each player who came to the bench for water before they’d even had a chance to breathe. You would simply smile at each person, almost sympathetically, and do your job with the clicking of the camera.

Even as the young goalie skated over, angling toward the bench where you stood with a hand outstretched for a bottle, your lips presented a small smile as you waited for your partner to pounce. But as he was too wrapped up with Tolopilo, this goalie was left in silence … for a moment at least. You knew a little about him, of course. A young guy from Latvia, drafted a few years ago now, with a bit of a rocky start to the season. His eyes met yours as the blue and green mask was raised from his face, lips curled into a smile at the first glance.

You spoke without a second thought. It had been some years now since you ended things with your ex, but you’d spent a few years learning Latvian for them — it had been years since you had any reason to use it. 

“Sveiki…” 

Artūrs blinked. The smile on his lips disappeared as confusion was etched in its place. He’d been in Canada for a while now, with only the occasional passing player conversation to give him that little piece of home. He’d never expected this woman to come out with that.

“Sveiki.” The goalie quietly replied, leaning his weight forward upon the boards beside you. “You’re Latvian?”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping through your lips as the camera lowered, your body turning to almost mirror his as you leaned upon the boards.

“I’m not Latvian, but my ex was. I learned some from when we were together.” 

As you spoke, he watched you closely as the smile returned to his face. A smile that you couldn’t help but find contagious. He nodded slowly, thinking silently to himself before his blocker hand began to shake. The glove removed, his hand wiping upon his jersey before it was offered across to you with a grin.

“I’m Artūrs,” He spoke with a little more confidence, capturing your gaze beneath his dark eyes. They were easy to get lost in as you looked at him. “But this lot mostly call me Arty.” 

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Arty.” You hummed as your hand came to meet his, a slight look of amusing disgust at the sweaty hand of the goaltender. Needless to say it was enough to make the young goalie laugh.

Releasing his hand with a playful swat, you too would wipe your hand upon your jumper as he laughed. You couldn’t blame him, and you too found it funny, but a sweaty hand was not  what you wanted.

“Piedodiet.” He spoke through the laughter, head cocking as he watched you. Your eyes narrowed playful in response to his apology.

“I’m not sure that I believe that you’re sorry.” You found yourself teasing in response, the camera growing heavy in your hands as it sat idle. If your partner looked over, it would look as though you were helping him with his job — but far from it. You were enjoying yourself, more than you realised at the time.

He gave no response, just the rising and falling of his brows. A cheeky grin at his lips as the hand returned the blocker, the bottle returned to it’s place on the boards.

“Will I see you around here more?” Arty called out as he took a few strides away from where you stood. He hoped, silently, that you’d say yes. That you’d be back to photograph and chat more. For whatever reason, he wasn’t quite sure yet, he wanted to see more of you.

It was your turn to stay silent, shrugging with shoulders and hands. You had no idea if your job would bring you back to the Abbotsford Centre, but you hoped that it would.

And as the training session came to end, your partner returned to you with a notepad full of notes and a voice recorder full to burst, you gave a lingering glance back to the goalie as he took his first steps from the ice, and met your eyes with a smile.

Months passed and you had often thought of the grinning Latvian goalie of the Abbotsford Canucks. Your job hadn’t taken you back to the little suburb of Vancouver, though you’d occasionally catch the games on TV. A little curiosity peaking as you’d remember the conversation with him — sometimes, you’d catch yourself smiling as you thought about it. You’d watch his games when you could and read the news in which he featured.

You couldn’t say that you missed him, you barely knew him, but you wanted to know him … You wanted to be able to miss him.

March rolled around, the end of the regular season was in sight and you’d taken the lead in photography coverage of the Vancouver Canucks for a while now — you’d become a regular at the Rogers Arena, and knew most of the faces of players, staff and partners. You’d even become friends with a number of the wives and girlfriends. You were a familiar face to all.

And you were one of the first on the scene, with your partner in tow, at the announcement of the press conference. Demko’s injury was the worst kept secret in the city, and you’d all been waiting for them to announce it. To know which lucky goalie was getting the call up from Abbotsford.

Journalists and photographers piled into the large room with whispers and nods of acknowledgement. Everyone waiting for Tocchet to make the announcement, and your heart skipped a little beat when he did … for the grinning goalie, Artūrs Šilovs would be taking up the role of back-up in Demko’s absence. 

You wasted no time in getting down to the rink following the announcement, you knew that all the reporters would be clamouring for a word with the captain and the rookie goalie. As the flood of journalists began through the arena, the players were already leaving the ice with only the two goalies remaining with Clarkie. Many left to find the captain and coaches, while a few photographers, yourself included, would snap what shots they could of the two goaltenders.

Your stomach did a spin to see him again, the grin seemingly stuck with glue upon your lips — it had been months, surely he wouldn’t not remember you, you thought. But as his eyes glanced across to the wall of photographers, his gaze did linger upon you. Beneath his mask, he did grin. He’d spent months hoping to see you in Abbotsford, at his training or his game. It was a bitter disappointment when another photographer had been sent down in your place.

And as the nod was given for both goalies to leave the ice, little else mattered to him than making a beeline to you.

“Sveiki.” Arty immediately said as the helmet was raised, drifting on his skates just in front of you. Your smile spread instantly, quietly returning the hello with a hum. “I need to change, but please don’t run off.”

With a curious look etched upon your features, you silently nodded. It was the end of your working day anyway, you needed to sort through the photos of the day, but you could do that while you waited.

So sat upon a chair in the stands, laptop open and photos running through, you edited and submitted your best to your partner who would return to the office to write his piece. Gaze would snap up at the first sound of movement up the steps, it was strange to see him out of his goalie gear and in normal, casual clothing. A pair of jeans, a jumper, and glasses? There was something unexpected about that, but they suited him well. You liked the glasses' look.

“You didn’t come down to Abbotsford again.” He quietly said, the disappointment clear in his voice and on his face. And you felt the sting — but you also felt the twist in your stomach of excitement … he’d wanted to see you again, he’d thought about you.

“They moved me solely to these guys. I’m barely away from this rink now, Arty.” You sighed, hand closing the laptop which rested in your lap. You’d hold it there, fiddling with the corner as you thought. “I watched some of your games from home. I should’ve come down for one or two … to watch.”

“Do you want to go for a coffee, y/n?” Artūrs interjected, impatiently and abruptly. It was almost like he had to get it out before he could stop himself, and he was noticeably nervous as he waited for an answer.

You took a moment, watching him fiddle with the hem of his jumper as he waited — yet his smile never wavered. It was stuck, just as yours was.

“I’d like that.” You finally spoke, returning the laptop to your bag without breaking eye contact. The weight in his chest lifted immediately, a heavy exhale parting his lips as he nodded. You rose with a struggle, the camera bag always seeming to be heavier in that first moment, and Arty was quick to assist. His hand offered out, collecting the strap from your hand as it was slung onto his back with ease.

You walked from the arena together, both grinning wide with occasional glances at the other. A comfortable silence between you, it was simply a nice feeling to walk at each other’s side.

“Es priecājos jūs atkal redzēt.” He finally spoke, breaking the silence with words you didn’t quite know. Your Latvian limited to basic phrases that you learned to speak to your ex’s family during the holidays. 

“What does that mean?” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

“I’m glad to see you again.”

And your heart skipped a little beat.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OMG I JUST NOTICED THAT IN ROOK'S BEANFEST GROOVY HE HAS A TINY LITTLE NET

WHAT IS BRO TRYING TO DO WITH THAT?? CATCH A STUDENTS HEAD???? LIKE HAHAHAHAH I GOT YOUR HEAD, YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE

Oh, the tool he's holding? It seems to be based on a lacrosse stick, which is used in the sport of the same name and acts more like a scoop to catch the ball.

In battle, Rook appears to use it to summon and hold magic where the netting appears to be. However, it's possible that the tool also serves a function where it expands and ensnares other students since we've seen Jack and Azul's own tools behave in those ways (as described in the dialogue and/or in their card illustrations) which may not be accurately depicted in the battle gameplay segments.

[allythistle]

Boromir’s last stand 😫

I’ll be honest, I was pretty nervous when I saw that most of you voted for me to draw Boromir next. I’ve been trying not to base my designs too much on the movie versions and have instead been relying on the descriptions in the books, or my own imagination - but film Boromir is just so much better than the one in the books! I decided to base his look more on movie Boromir (although I did make his tunic shorter because a longer one was making an action pose so difficult to draw) but you will notice that I also gave him a shield.

Of course, in the movie, Boromir doesn’t have his shield on him when he dies at Osgiliath. I couldn’t remember if this was the case in the books, so I re-read that chapter before starting this piece, and found that he did have it with him but it was broken during his last battle with the orcs.

In the scene where Boromir's funeral boat is described, his shield is not mentioned among the items placed about him :

“Now they laid Boromir in the middle of the boat that was to bear him away. The grey hood and elven-cloak they folded and placed beneath his head. They combed his long dark hair and arrayed it upon his shoulders. The golden belt of Lorien gleamed about his waist. His helm they set beside him, and across his lap they laid the cloven horn and the hilts and shards of his sword; beneath his feet they put the swords of his enemies.’’

However, we *do* learn in Aragorn's second verse of his departure song what became of Boromir’s shield:

“Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought.

His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.”

What I found interesting was that the broken sword and horn were sent down the river with Boromir but that his broken shield was not. I did some research and learned that an average shield would be so commonly broken in battle that these typically were not named and passed down in the manner that swords were.

Anyway, I really hope you like this little drawing. I had fun with this piece.