#I realized how weird it sounded to them. like. this isn’t the standard. but. what is?

[padfoot-lupin77]

To all the people that don’t read books/ obsess over shows and movies / make scenarios of fictional characters in their heads / have maladaptive daydreaming: what exactly goes through that head of yours? Is it, like, empty space? Is it quiet? Is there just more room for anxiety?

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons

summary: you and robin have already shared several firsts as best friends: your first time holding hands, your first time cuddling someone, your first time flirting. so what's a little platonic kissing?

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: lots of sapphic pining, yearning, etc. assumed unrequited love. hopeless crushing. doing romantic things and claiming they're totally platonic when they very much are not. mentions of reading trying to conform to the 80s standards by dating a boy. reader is explicitly female (which should be given since robin is canonically a lesbian)

wc: 3.4k+

a/n: this one was a long time coming. it's based off of my own first kiss, loosely.

part 2

Being best friends with Robin Buckley has always been about growing – together.

Life has a plethora of lessons for young souls to learn in time, and some of those lessons were simply hard. The first time you picked up a musical instrument and attempted to play your very first note, and it sounded atrocious. Nothing like the movies, more difficult than you could have ever imagined. The first time you walked the halls of your high school, and the terrifying first wave of panic at the realization you’d need to learn the map of the lands in order to navigate that maze for the next four years. The first time you walked into a classroom all of two minutes late, and the first shatter of embarrassment in your chest as every eye in the room turned to you. The first time you trip over your own laces on your way to Chemistry, the first time you impulsively cut your hair with the kitchen scissors, the first time a boy asked you out as a joke, and the first time someone asked you out genuinely only to fumble over every single word. Your first school dance, your first time cooking pasta from scratch, your first time attending a concert without a chaperone. 

Firsts, firsts, firsts. Life is simply full of them, and they never get any easier or kinder, but having a best friend at your side certainly makes it all bearable. 

Robin Buckley was that rock for you. And you, for her. 

It’s sort of how you got into this mess to begin with. 

“It’s going to be weird, isn’t it?” 

“It’s not going to be weird unless we make it weird, Robin.”

“How can I not make it weird? Where would my lips even go?”

You’re both lucky that no one is home to hear all the shrieking currently occurring in your small bedroom. Only the posters on your wall and your teddy bear you’ve had since you were five are witnesses to the current predicament occuring. 

Robin had been the one to suggest it, in all fairness. Graduation was next week, and there had been a lot of reminiscing flying about. All the firsts, all the hopeful lasts, and all the fatal moments you needed to drag by the hair to the backyard and bury six feet under. 

The topic of conversation had veered pretty erratically, turning left towards that one stubborn B left on Robin’s postcard as a result of her refusing to attend her assigned tutoring for Geometry last year, and then sliding right as you’d huffed about that one girl who had been an absolute menace towards you sophomore year when you’d botched your improv solo at a band concert. But in the last five minutes, it had finally straightened out – it had finally begun to follow the trail of a line of remembering that no one else would ever be allowed to know outside of you and Robin. 

You’d brought up the first date you’d ever gone on. A ridiculous milkshake outing with some guy in your freshman English class that had left you feeling more confused than starry eyed or lovesick as the books promised. 

The date that had caused Robin Buckley to offer to hold your hand at random, in private moments, the week leading up to it. Just so you’d know how it felt. Just so you could figure out how to best intertwine your fingers with someone else’s without feeling terrible foreign about it all. 

It had been platonic. You both swore it had been, shrugging carelessly as you’d let your palm meet your best friends. 

And you’d felt more every time your skin brushed hers than you had the entire night with that boy. Spent the entire date wishing it was Robin’s knuckles bumping yours when you’d reached for that damn strawberry milkshake. 

“Against mine, I’d hope.” 

The dissection hadn’t ended at the hand-holding. Next, the two of you had wistfully recalled the sleepover in which you’d first decided to learn how to spoon one another. Robin had read about it in a magazine, you’d never had firsthand experience, and it just felt right to suggest. Robin had rambled for a good five minutes before you’d tugged her back into her bed and commanded her to just lay there as you figured out where you arm should go as your body curved along the back of hers. 

It had been nice. Really nice. 

You’d never gone out on another date after the Great Milkshake Catastrophe, as the two of you had called it. Robin claimed none of the boys at school could handle her eccentricism. Both of you, young girls fumbling about the world, starving for touch completely unaware. You told yourselves everyone cuddled with their friends. You told yourselves it was normal. 

But then, you’d switched positions, Robin being the big spoon as the teen magazine had described, and you swore your heart had burst when her arm wrapped around your waist and her fingers slotted between your own against your abdomen. 

You’d fallen asleep in that position. Awoken to Robin’s face pressed right into your chest as you’d spread out on your back. Ignored the flaky drool stain left behind on your skin when she’d finally joined the living once more. Pretended like you both hadn’t had the best rest of your lives as you’d clung to one another through fading dreams and subtle snores. 

It was normal, right? It had to be, because it was nice, and it had become a part of your normal sleepover rituals. 

Friends used each other’s boobs as pillows all the time, as Robin had defended. 

“Yeah, but, well-” Robin cuts off in her current stricken rambling, throwing her hands out around the air between you two, “What about when it’s more than just pecking? You know? All that gross shit, where tongues get involved and spit is exchanged and, oh God, should we be sucking on some mints right now or something? Oh my God, what if you’re allergic to my chapstic-”

Gross shit. 

The not-so-clever code word the two of you used whenever describing any sort of romantic interactions. Kissing, making out, sex. The things all of your peers were regular experiencing, sometimes even displaying in public, that the two of you only turned your noses up to. 

You didn’t want to suck the face off of Connor in your fifth period pottery class. The only person you could imagine on the receiving end of that that didn’t make your stomach turn was sitting right in front of you now, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as she clearly panicked. 

“I’m not allergic to passion fruit Lip Smackers, Robs.”

The switch to a passion fruit flavor was new. Robin had been using the strawberry flavor religiously prior, but had recently offered it to you with the excuse of your obsession with strawberry flavored things. 

And now, you’d been using it daily. Trying not to think about how many times her lips had been on it prior to yours. Trying not to think about how many ways you could twist it into some sick secondary kissing metaphor, to have your lips slick with the same sticky substance as hers had been so many times before.

Tried not to think about what Robin Buckley’s lips tasted like, period. Easier said than done when the thought crosses your mind every time you lick your lips moment after application, getting the faux sweetness all over your tongue. 

“You could be. And how would we even know? I can’t even drive! If you start to have an allergic reaction, I can’t even take you to the hospital! We don’t have a c-” 

You can’t do it anymore – any other day, you relish in the sound of Robin’s voice as she’ll squeal on and on about everything and anything. But not today. 

You cut her off with a kiss.

The very same kiss you’d both timidly agreed upon when you’d both realized graduation was next week, and neither of you had had your first kiss. 

The same deal as the cuddling. The same deal as the hand-holding. The same deal as all the pick-up lines and flirting you’d try out on each other, the same deal as all the sweet ‘love notes’ you’d write for one another and slip into backpacks and binders alike. 

The same deal as that fluttering in your chest every time she looked up at you at the local pool, eager to see if you’d witnessed her flip beneath the water. The same deal as all the nights you’d cried into your pillow after being pestered about if any boys at school caught your eyes, because you knew they hadn’t and they never would. Your eyes were already too busy, completely captured by the sight of the brunette now pressing her lips against yours. 

None of the boys at school could ever compare. 

Passion fruit and strawberry mingles within the short peck, freckled cheeks and nose smashing against yours in the most awkward fashion possible. It could be weird; it should be weird. 

It’s not. 

When you pull away, Robin is completely stunned into silence for quite possibly the first time in her life. And her lips are shining with some of your residual spit, and her cheeks are the perfect shade of rose that no actual flower could capture.

Mother Nature herself could never replicate the girl in front of you. The girl you’d been best friends with for six years now, the girl you’d pined relentlessly for for just as long. 

Only you’d just recently realized it. Somewhere between the lip smackers exchange and the movie night in which you’d intertwined your legs on the couch and felt the weight of her between your hips as she’d passed out. 

Looking at her now sort of feels like realizing it all over again. Sort of like looking out over a precipice, and taking a deep breath, because you know you’re leaping off the cliff. No scared looks over your shoulder, no hesitation as you throw your foot out into mid-air. 

The kind of rush you’ve never felt with a boy, and never will. 

“Was that…” she whispers, voice hoarse before she clears it, batting her gorgeous lashes and taking the shakiest of breaths, “Was that good?”

“I dunno,” you lie, “I think we should try again.” 

It’s like a dance, you soon realize. Following her steps, guiding her with your own. She slides her way up closer, and you press your back against your headboard. Her hands are shaking when they brush your outer thighs, and your blood is racing as you tug on her elbows to guide her to straddle your lap. 

You both had said, after all, you needed to learn to be better kissers. That you couldn’t leave high school without having shoved your tongue down someone’s throat at least once. Your words, not hers. 

Your desperate attempt to make sure that someone was Robin Buckley. Your pitiful attempt to have the one thing you don’t think you’ll ever be allowed to hold. 

The weight of her on your lap is nice. The feeling of her lips returning to yours is nice. The way neither of your hands know where to go as you let your lips linger together a few seconds longer than the first time is nice. 

It’s far nicer than Connor from English could ever make you feel. It’s far nicer than that poor boy at the diner ever was, though he tried his best. 

You’re the brave one, when it’s all said and done. You’re the first one to let your palms settle at her hips, squeezing ever so gently to feel the softness beneath slot perfectly into your hold. You’re the first one to timidly include tongue, parting both your lips, trying to ignore the shivers running up your spine as all you can taste now is passion fruit lip smackers. 

Even with your own lip balm, you know your lips are horribly chapped. Dreadfully thirsty and desperate to absorb all the love you know isn’t yours to claim at this moment. Chapped lips, quivering hands, shaking breaths. Unsure movements and the ringing question in the back of your head of am I doing this right? 

Is she feeling what I’m feeling? 

Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But she’s kissing you back. Her tongue is meeting yours in movements that are nothing like the movies, shy baps that you both will probably laugh about later. Kitten licks to test the waters. 

And then there’s the retreating. The rock of her body as she settles her weight closer to your knees, and her tongue is put away in favor of just letting her lips slot between yours in slow and lazy movements. You can feel every deep breath she takes through her nose between the kisses, you can smell her perfume seeping into your psyche every moment she spends so close to you. 

The only lesson being learned right now is that you were an idiot. You were an absolute fool, and you are absolutely in love with your best friend.

“Better?” she questions when she pulls away entirely, and you try not to whimper. Try not to show her how badly you want this, need this. 

You hate the silence and you nearly wish she’d start babbling again. You wish she’d give you a reason to kiss her and shut her up, if for nothing more than to taste passion fruit and yearning all over again. 

You’re quiet for a few beats, staring at her as your chest heaves and your heart begins to twist up into terrible shapes. “I… Yeah. Yeah. I think we’re getting the hang of it, don’t you?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” her nervous smile breaks, and you wish she wouldn’t continue the thought, but she does, “You’re gonna be a pro in no time, breaking boys hearts left and right when you kiss them like that.” 

You don’t want to break a boy’s heart. You want to break hers – you want to entirely implode her heart the way she has yours, and have the honor to know it was mutual. A mutual destruction you both dove into headfirst. You only want to kiss Robin like this, forever. You only ever want to know how right her hand feels in yours, not some guy who can’t even choke out the right words to invite you to the cinema. 

You want, and you want, and you want. 

And just as you bite your tongue, decide against pouring out all your affections all over your bed sheets and pulling her right back into you again, desperate to share air with her and only her, you can hear your front door slamming over. 

Robin has never moved so quickly in her life. Jumping off your lap, leaping to the edge of the bed as a feverish blush overtakes her entire body. As though she might be embarrassed, as though she might be regretful. 

You still haven’t moved from your position, back sticky with sweat against the headboard, when your parents walk past your open door and say hello. 

They probably don’t even hear your sad and quiet excuse of a returned greeting, too enraptured by Robin’s own excited quip of saying hi. 

Your parents love her. Adore her in a way parents should care for their child’s closest confidant. They treat her like their own daughter, and Robin’s parents do the same for you. Once a month, your mothers meet up for mimosas over brunch and probably giggle about how lucky their girls are to have one another. 

You get it. You love her too. But certainly not in the way you should love your best friend. 

They finally leave, and Robin is quick to turn to you, eyes shining with all the stars and sunshine the Universe could have to offer, “That… um, thank you.”

“For what?” you laugh breathlessly, finally shifting forward, looking down at your thighs that had served as a temporary home to the girl who holds your heart, trying to swallow down any shame and all that rapid longing. 

“For… you know,” she smiles, a secret for the two of you to only ever keep, never sharing with the world. Selfishly, you almost enjoy the sentiment, “I’m sorry I was acting so weird about it before. You were right, it didn’t have to be weird unless we made it weird. I’m lucky to have you as my best friend, you know? And like I said, if you’re…. You know, doing that with boys, you’re going to be a certified heartbreaker. The world isn’t ready for my best friend. Besides! Another thing checked off the list, right?” she pauses, and you swear the smile has gone sad, but you can’t risk the projection, “Now we can both say we’ve done… that… before graduation! And-”

You speak before you can think better of it, interrupting her entirely, “I think I need more practice.” 

She stops in her tracks, eyebrows raising wildly and eyes turning to saucers, “What?”

“I think…” your head reels, desperate to come up with an excuse to kiss her again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. “I think I need more lessons, yeah? Like, I don’t know. More practice,” Oxygen evades you in desperation, giving your best puppy dog eyes, system in overdrive as you stare at her lips and your voice drops to a careful whisper, “My parents are out of town next weekend… Maybe we could try again then? Same time?” 

You swear her smile shifts, and you hadn’t even noticed the ingenuity in it previously until she dazzles you with one that must be real. As if you’ve just made her year, lightened her load, offered over your first born to the darling girl. 

“Well….” she moves her eyes across the room, focusing on a polaroid photo of the two of you pinned to the wall above the desk, “I mean, we did say lessons, plural. I can see if Steve will cover my shift on Saturday night if that works?” 

Am I doing this right? 

“That definitely works.”

Is she feeling what I’m feeling?

“Perfect. It’s a…. date, then.” 

“It’s a date.” 

It’s not. Only to you, never to her. 

But it’ll be enough. It’s enough to know next Saturday, she’ll be back here, in your bed and in your lap, getting that passion fruit chapstick all over your lips and shaking your chest from the inside out until it’s ready to burst. 

One day, you might be the brave one, when it’s all said and done. You’ll tell your best friend all the ways she feels so nice, and all the ways you want to capture that niceness in a bottle for the rest of your days. You’ll tell her the way you have no interest in the boys at school and how you’re cursed to forever be the heartbroken, never the heartbreaker, and only ever at her hand. The very same one clasping yours as she stands at your front door, thanking you vaguely once more, grinning ear to ear as she gives you three tight squeezes that are completely lost on you. 

Today’s not the day, though. Today is the day where you spend the night in your self-made cage, face buried in the pillow, noises somewhere between desperately muffled screams of frustration and dry sobs of torture leaving your lips as you picture the way she’d looked after the kiss. Her eyes softly shut, her lips still puckered, her neck entirely exposed as she tilts her chin back to look at your ceiling through her eyelids. Picturing the way that next time, you’ll try to convince her the two of you should learn the art of neck kisses. Picturing the way that next time, maybe you’ll grab her hips a little harder or let your hands wander a bit farther to her thighs. 

Tonight is the night you have no idea amongst your pity party, that Robin Buckley is on the other side of town, experiencing the exact same turmoil as she longs for the girl who tastes like her gifted strawberry lip smackers – the very same one Steve Harrington berated on her to get rid of when she’d vomited out all the ways she hates fake strawberry flavoring, but you love it, and she’d convinced herself if she bathed herself in enough of it, you might just want her the way she wants you. 

Tonight’s not the night, though. 

One day, the kissing lessons will simply be kisses. One day.

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[cluescorner]

Tim Drake has a weird fucking function

The thing about Tim that I find unique is that his life became SO MUCH WORSE after joining the heroing thing. Everybody else had a mid-to-shit life before becoming a hero/living with Bruce and mostly everybody (except Jason who LITERALLY DIED) had their life improved by being a hero/being Bruce's kid (or at least it is typically portrayed as such.

Tim had the exact opposite trajectory. His life wasn't perfect before he became Robin, but like...multi-millionaire/billionaire (canon is unclear, but he's within Gotham's upper-strata) kid with both natural intelligence + charisma and a bright future ahead of him and parents who were emotionally neglectful but nothing really beyond that (which is also a form of trauma, but all of the info we have indicates that the Drakes were no Arthur Brown or David Cain) and he still had other people he could rely on outside of them. He went to boarding school, which could be something horrible OR something amazing depending on your own thoughts/experiences. I grew up having a commute where we'd drive past a really pretty and rich af boarding school that literally everybody in our area DREAMED of going to, so to me the idea of going to boarding school sounds incredible but mileage may vary. Tim seems like the type of kid who would thrive in that though. Based on what we know in canon atm, his pre-robin life was fucking amazing.

And then he starts being the sidekick and working towards becoming Robin. His parents immediately get kidnapped and poison themselves through drinking tainted water; his mom dies and his dad is in a coma. This is not the fault of Robin, but Tim himself muses about the idea that Robin and dead parents are linked: to become Robin completely, you must lose your parents. And with how fate/destiny/canon events can operate in comics universes, maybe he isn't that far off. Once his dad wakes up, their relationship becomes strained as the man grieves the loss of his wife and realizes that his son has been doing vigilantism as a hobby. It is unclear exactly how good of a parent Jack was before the incident, but the results of Tim's involvement with the Robin mantle has definitely made things worse between father and son. Jack will also die within quick succession of 2 of Tim's best friends, his girlfriend, and his other father. He will also effectively lose like 1/2 his loved ones in the fallout of all of that mess including: his older brother, his other friends (both civilian and superhero), and the stepmother with whom he shared what I would argue is his best parent-child relationship (Dana also may have died, but it's left unclear). He has stopped pursuing higher education (the moment he even applied for college he 'died', and it seems he hasn't made another attempt since) and if he wasn’t a major focus of the media before he sure is now. He tries to quit briefly (in fact he initially was planning on quitting once someone more suited came along) and cannot bring himself to do so. Even when he does manage to get away for a while, his superhero life impacts the pre-robin life he is trying to go back to. Leaving is an impossibility, this is all there is for him now. He also isn’t allowed to make mistakes anymore, not when lives hang in the balance. The one who enforces that impossible standard the most (besides Bruce depending on who's writing) is himself. He’s got TRAUMA now and people want to hurt him constantly. He is constantly questioning his own sanity and morality and place in the world. He almost dies like every month. Tim grows colder and less grounded, he is becoming both a better and a worse version of himself at the same time. He’s saving lives in the same few issues as he’s setting up a Saw movie plot for the man who killed his father. He is haunted by the ghosts of his past and the looming figure of his future. His life becomes SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE after he becomes Robin. Some of it is the fault of others, some is the fault of circumstance, and some of it is due to his own actions. But basically all of Tim's worst traumas and life-changing moments are either tied to or caused by Robin. Dick's parents would still be dead, Jason would still be living on the streets, Stephanie would still have Arthur Brown for a father and a lot of other things that deserve their own posts/IDK if they've been retconned, and Damian would still have been raised in the eco-cult where death is a constant. Those are life circumstances that occur without the involvement of Robin, the only one who even needs Bruce involved at all in their series of events is Damian. But Tim? All of what is considered his 'worst' moments occur after he assumes the role.

This idea is what I find the coolest and most fascinating about Tim as a character. Being a hero is usually portrayed as either an outright awesome thing or a righteous duty that one must fulfill or (maybe in a grimmer and/or more grounded story) a sacrifice to your interpersonal relationships/mental health that is made for the greater good. For Tim, being a superhero actively ruined his life (both because of the general circumstances surrounding being a kid vigilante and the choices he made as part of that role). It's never portrayed that way in canon because we need to come out of issues going 'wow being a superhero is so cool! I'm gonna buy the next issue!', but when you just look at Tim's life literally everything really bad that we know of occurred after he became Robin.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Here's To The Future - Part 4: Rampage

Summary: The war’s over. That should be cause for celebration, except the wrong side won. Things begin to change quickly, and it doesn’t take long for Midnight to realize something’s not right among the clone army. She should be glad the war is over, but the threat of her losing her boys is all too real. She did swear she would do everything she could to keep them from being separated when the war ended.

She’s not going to give up on that promise. Even if it kills her.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x reader (no clonecest)

Warnings: Some violence, mentions of slavery, a brief mention of blood and injuries.

A/N: Takes place during episode 5. Not much plot wise, mostly just a filler to get to the next part which will be sort of the build up to the climax of the story. Also an excuse to have Midnight and Omega interact a bit more.

Also I am still looking for a beta reader for this one, so if you’re interested…

< Previous | Next > | SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“But she looks so peaceful! I don’t want to wake her up!” 

“She’s been asleep almost sixteen standard hours. While she likely needs the rest to catch up on her missed sleep, oversleeping any more may inhibit her cognitive abilities, awareness, reaction time-” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever that means. I’ll wake her up.” 

She’s already mostly awake by the time large, calloused fingers trail along her cheek. Though the noise in the ship isn’t anything new, it was usually dampened by her door. It’s a lot louder in the bunks with nothing but a privacy curtain to keep the sound out. Sure her room is now uninhabited, but she can’t bring herself to leave Crosshair’s bunk yet. Not while it still smells like him. 

“It’s time to get up, cyare.” Wrecker says softly, a vast contrast to his previous volume. 

She leans into his touch, groaning quietly. “Five more minutes.” 

“Tech says you have to get up.” Wrecker counters, gently stroking her cheek. “Something about cognitive whatever.” 

“He’s not my mom.” She pouts. “Lemme sleep till we land.” 

“We have landed.” Tech says, appearing next to Wrecker. 

“What?” Midnight sits straight up, narrowly avoiding smacking her head on the top of the bunk. “When? Where”

“We landed moments ago on Ord Mantell. We’re investigating the contact Echo knows about.” Tech says, offering a hand. 

Midnight ignores it, sliding out of the bunk with a groan. Wrecker catches her easily, keeping her from falling face first onto the floor. She rubs her eyes, trying to blink life back into her body. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Sixteen standard hours.” Tech answers. “Though you have caught up on some missed sleep, by my calculations you need at least five days of nonstop sleep to recover completely.” 

Midnight blinks at him, her sleep drowsy brain trying to process his words. Had he been keeping track of how much she was sleeping? It’s not that unusual for him, he knew the ins and outs of every member of the squad down to weird little habits they didn’t even notice. The fact that he was paying so much attention to her is touching. 

“Aw, Tech,” She wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek on the hard plastoid of his chestplate. “You’re so sweet. But I need a lot more than that to make up for a lifetime of poor sleep.” 

“Hmm.” Tech adjusts his goggles. “Well, I’ll have to do more calculations...” 

Midnight stands on her toes, kissing his cheek. “You do that, my sweet nerd.” 

She makes to walk away, but a disappointed groan stops her. She turns back around, finding Wrecker standing there with a pout. “Well, what about me?” He asks. 

“I can’t forget you, Wrecker!” She grins, stepping up to him. She stands up on her toes, cupping his face. She traces the scar on his cheek for a moment before she pulls him down, pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss. 

“Better?” She asks, pulling away. 

He nods, sneaking back in for another kiss. “Better.” 

****

Ord Mantell city reminds her a bit of home. Or, at least this part of it does. It’s brighter than the lower levels of Coruscant, and a lot cleaner, but if she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed they’d returned to Coruscant. 

Despite their missing member, Midnight takes the spot in the middle between Tech and Echo once more. It’s still natural for them, even after all this time. 

Omega walks in front with Hunter, their leader grilling her a bit on the rules he had laid out since their last mishap. 

“Remember the rules?” Hunter asks Omega.

“Don’t wander off, keep my eyes and ears on my surroundings, and trust no one but my squad.” Omega says. 

“And if you get into trouble?” Echo asks. 

“Use my comm and give my location.” Omega says confidently. 

They make their way down an alley, Echo taking the lead. 

“This is the place.” He says, stopping at a flight of stairs leading down to the entrance of a bar. 

“Charming.” Tech snarks.

“I’ve seen worse.” Midnight shrugs, following them down the steps. 

The bar is dimly lit, and mostly empty aside from an Ithorian and a Weequay arguing over a gambling table, and a Trandoshan. 

“Which one of them is Cid?” Hunter asks Echo. 

“I couldn’t tell ya.” Echo answers. “I only heard about Cid. Never actually met him.” 

“That would have been information to share earlier.” Tech says. 

Hunter approaches the Trandoshan. “We’re looking for Cid. You know him?” 

“Cid, huh?” The Trandoshan says. “Nope. Doesn't ring a bell.” 

“What about them?” Hunter nods at the other two who were now getting into a physical fight over whatever they were arguing about. 

“Was I not clear? You’re in the wrong place.” The Trandoshan taps Hunter with the wrench in her hand. “So unless you’re here to spend money, get lost.” 

“Great plan, Echo.” Wrecker says. 

Midnight watches the Trandoshan sit at the bar, narrowing her eyes. She moves closer, leaning up against the bar. Omega plays with the buttons on one of the dejarik tables as the others argue. 

“You know, it’s a bit odd.” Midnight says. “This place is called Cid’s. So unless that name was picked at random...” 

“You’re Cid.” Omega finishes for her, stepping up closer to them. 

The Trandoshan turns, crossing her arms. “You’re both sharper than your friends over there.” 

Omega activates her comm, the sound echoing in the close quarters. “I found Cid.” 

The other four turn to look, Midnight leaning against the bar with a smirk on her face, Omega pointing up at the Trandoshan behind her. 

***

“I had a good thing going with the Jedi.” Cid says as she leads them into her office. “They valued my insights. But now that they’re all dead, the demand for my services has declined. Thanks to this new Empire.” 

Midnight leans against the wall near the door, the others looking around Cid’s office. 

“Times have changed...for all of us.” Hunter says.

“No kidding. I never had clone deserters come to me before.” 

“Yes, well, we separated due to a fundamental difference in ideology.” Tech says. 

“That’s cute, you thinking I care.” Cid cuts him off. “Cut to it and tell me what you want.” 

Echo plugs himself into the scomp, bringing up an image of the bounty hunter. 

“We encountered this woman on Pantora.” Hunter says. “Do you know who she is?” 

“No.” Cid shakes her head, staring at the holo of the woman. “But I know a bounty hunter when I see one.” 

“Can you find out who hired her?” Echo asks.

“That depends on what you boys do for me.” Cid says. 

Hunter and Tech share a look, Midnight rolling her eyes. They were still very new at this.

“Are you fresh outta the tube? You pull a job for me, and I get the information you want. That’s how this mercenary thing works.” 

“Mercenary?” Echo asks. 

“Not too quick, are ya?” Cid asks, moving behind her desk. “Clearly the kid and cover girl back there are the brains of your operation.” 

“What kind of job?” Hunter sighs, asking exasperatedly. 

“A rescue.” Cid says, sinking into her chair as they move closer. “There’s a nice bounty on a kid named Muchi. My sources say she was taken by Zygerrian slavers who are holed up on the other side of the planet. Bring me the kid and I’ll get you your intel.” 

“Well, who collects the bounty?” Wrecker asks. 

“Oh look, it talks. We split the bounty 70-30, my favor. Take it or leave it.” 

“Grab a kid from a few Zygerrians?” Wrecker says, moving towards the door. “We can do that in our sleep.” 

“Looks like we have a deal.” Cid says, tossing the puck to Hunter as the others file out. “Details of the bounty are on that. Don’t screw it up.” 

****

“What do you think?” Hunter asks as she leans up against the side of the pilot’s seat. 

Midnight shrugs. “I don’t trust anyone. But, if she can make good on getting this information, she might be useful to have around.” 

“And if she can provide us a way to make credits...” 

Midnight sighs. “We don’t have to-” 

“Keep your credits.” Hunter cuts her off, already knowing where this is headed. 

“Why?” She presses. “I have more than enough.” 

“I want you to keep them.” Hunter says, his tone telling her he’s done arguing this point. 

Wrecker groans, clutching at his head, really finishing the conversation for them. Midnight moves to the empty seat, plopping herself down. 

“You all right?” Hunter asks Wrecker, watching him. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing.” Wrecker nods, getting up from the copilot’s seat, leaving the cockpit. 

“According to Cid’s intel, the Zygerrian slave traders are hiding in the ruins of Old Ord Mantell city.” Tech says as Echo and Omega enter the cockpit. 

“What’s a slave trader?” Omega asks, taking Wrecker’s abandoned seat. 

“Someone who buys and sells people for credits.” Tech explains nonchalantly. 

“People can be sold?” Omega asks in surprise. 

“They don’t have a choice.” Echo says. “They’re captives treated like property.” 

“That...doesn’t seem right.” 

“It’s not. And we are going to stop it from happening to that kid.” Echo says. 

“As well as earn a decent amount of credits once the job is complete.” Tech interjects. 

“Yeah, that too.” Echo says before exiting the cockpit. 

“Don’t worry, Muchi. We’ll rescue you.” Omega says, holding her trooper doll. 

They land a distance away from the city, making their way to an overlooking cliff. Sure enough, there’s a ship sitting in the city, and several Zygerrians roaming around. Omega, Tech, and Wrecker scan the city with binocs, looking for the captives. 

“I have a visual.” Tech says. “I only see one child.” 

“Poor Muchi. She looks scared.” Omega says. 

“I’m clocking two dozen hostels.” Tech continues. “Multiple entry points with minor fortification.” 

“Simple smash and grab like that time on Kuat.” Wrecker says. “Easy enough.” 

“I’m in.” Omega says. “What are we waiting for?” She makes to move forward, but Hunter stops her. 

“You get back to the ship.” He orders her.

“But-” 

“That’s an order.” 

They leave Omega behind, sneaking their way down into the city. Tech leads the way, all of them careful not to make too much noise. 

“Echo, you’re the eyes in the sky.” Hunter says as they stop. “Wrecker, Midinght, draw the Zygerrian forces out. Tech and I will grab the kid.” 

“Not a problem.” Wrecker says. 

They move further into the city, waiting for Echo to get into place. 

“Echo, sitrep.” Hunter asks, ducking behind a piece of rubble. 

“Two roving patrols on speeders. First guard checkpoint dead ahead.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Hang on. I think I’ve got company.” 

“Well, take care of it. Quietly.” Hunter says. 

There’s a yell and Echo falls from the building, hitting the ground with a thud. A Brezak flies out of the sky, narrowly hitting them. It lands, hitting Wrecker with its tail, throwing him into a rock. Tech, Hunter and Midnight fire at the Brezak, but it flies off. They find themselves surrounded by Zygerrians, one of them firing an electric net at them, knocking them unconscious. 

***

Midnight leans against the fountain, glaring down one of the Zygerrian guards. He’d been the one to chain her up, being a little too touchy for her liking. Once they get free, she’s going to smash his head in. Her arms are cuffed behind her, the position not exactly comfortable. She supposes it could be worse, though. 

“It’s getting looser.” Wrecker says, tugging at his collar, trying to get it off discreetly. 

His body suddenly jerks, being electrocuted by his collar. 

“Do that one more time and you’ll be-” Echo is cut off in his threat by his own collar electrocuting him. 

“Save your energy.” Tech says from next to her. “We are going to need it.” 

The Brezak that had attacked them flies overhead, landing on one of the tallest buildings. Midnight can just make out a figure standing at the top, looking down at them. That must be their leader. 

The Brezak roars, the three people that had been there before shrinking back in fear, the child whimpering. 

“Relax, Muchi.” Wrecker says. “We’re the cavalry.” 

“What are our odds out of this, Tech?” Hunter asks. 

“I am not certain.” He replies. 

“So much for being smart.” Wrecker snarks. 

Tech sighs. “This is not a standard military operation, and seeing as how we’ve never been tasked with rescuing a child from slave traders before, there’s no data I can compare it to.” 

“We need to signal Omega before their scouts find her.” Hunter says. 

“Except our comms are over there with our weapons.” Echo says, nodding at their pile of gear. 

Tech looks up, eyes widening before he turns back to Hunter. “We won’t need a comm to signal her.” 

Hunter turns, looking up at the roof of a building. Midnight glances over, seeing Omega there. 

The door to the building slides open, the lead Zygerrian coming through. Midnight hates him immediately upon first sight. He walks with his hands behind his back, holding himself upright with an air of arrogance and self importance. He reminds her a bit of Admiral Tarkin. 

“Look at what we have here.” He says, walking closer to them. “Five new slaves to add to my collection. “Strong ones too. You should fetch a nice price.” He steps in front of Midnight, grasping her chin in his hand. His grip is tight, his claws threatening to break her skin. “This one especially.” He smirks at her. 

She’s not sure what possesses her, but she leans her head back, spitting right in his face. He releases her, wiping it off of his fur before rearing back and slapping her. Her head snaps to the side, her cheek burning. The others shift, rattling the chains. Midnight turns back to face him, glaring at him. She can feel the slow ooze of liquid sliding down her face. He’s caught her with his claws. 

“You’re going to regret that.” She says, as threateningly as she can. 

He smirks, chuckling. “Even the most defiant of slaves can be broken.” 

“The Republic outlawed slavery.” Echo says angrily, trying to draw his attention from her. 

“We’re not in the Republic anymore, skug.” He says, turning and walking away. 

“You’re lucky we don’t have our gear, because this would go very differently for you.” Echo says, trying to direct Omega discreetly. 

Midnight shifts slightly, wiping some of the oozing blood onto her armor. It would be easier to clean off that than if it gets into her clothes. 

“Are you alright?” Tech asks her quietly. 

Midnight rolls her eyes. “I’ve been hit by men before, Tech.” She turns to look at him, the look on his face cutting off her breath. 

His brows are furrowed behind his goggles, eyes narrowed. There’s a dark look on his face, his eyes full of anger. She’s never seen him look like this before. At least, not up close. 

Something falls off to their left, drawing everyone’s attention. Omega must have knocked something loose in her attempt to get down to them. A couple guards begin walking in that direction, but Wrecker kicks a rock, knocking the feet out from under a guard. Midnight bites back a laugh, but is quickly sobered as another guard ignites his electro-whip, whipping Wrecker with it. 

“We can make do with one less slave.” The leader says, turning back to them. “Maybe I’ll feed you to my pet.” The Brezak roars in response. “As for the rest of you, you will be part of a new beginning. With the meddling Republic gone, we can return to Kadavo and rebuild what was taken from us. Under this new Empire, our operation will flourish once again. And if you do not comply... the person next to you will pay the price.” 

Midnight resists the urge to roll her eyes. She hates monologues, especially given by assholes who think too highly of themselves. Thankfully the leader is distracted by something, one of the guards carrying over a struggling Omega. 

“I found her sneaking around the cage.” The guard says. 

“I wasn’t sneaking.” Omega says. “I was unlocking.” She holds up a bolt. 

The large cage begins shaking as something snarls inside. The Zygerrians run to try and close it back up, but the doors fly open, a rancor bursting out. The Zygerrians fire at the Rancor, but only succeed in making it angrier. 

“A rampaging adolescent rancor is not the distraction I was anticipating.” Tech says. 

“That’s their problem.” Wrecker says, bracing himself against the fountain. “We’re getting out of here.” He snaps the chain holding all of them in place. 

Echo works on removing their bonds, Omega coming up to the child. 

“It’s okay, Muchi. We’re here to take you home.” She says. 

The older Falleen points at the Rancor, speaking in Falleen, but none of them need to understand to know what he’s saying.

“The rancor is Muchi?” Echo asks. 

The others grab their gear and weapons, Hunter tossing Echo his as the rancor runs through the city, tossing Zygerrians as it goes.

“Gear up. We have to go after Muchi.” He says. “If we don’t capture her, we don’t get our intel from Cid.” 

They follow Hunter who tracks the Rancor, running through the city. The other captives follow, barely managing to keep up as they stop for a moment. 

“What about them?” Omega asks, motioning to the Falleen and the human. 

“Omega and I will get them to safety. You find Muchi.” Echo says. 

“Right. Go for the speeders at the south entrance.” Hunter says. 

Tech translates for them as they head off in their own direction. The others follow the path of bodies, finding Muchi surrounded, but easily taking out the Zygerrians. 

“She’s doing fine on her own.” Wrecker says, impressed. 

Midnight is impressed as well, silently cheering as the rancor takes out Zygerrian after Zygerrian. That excitement quickly ends, though, as Muchi turns on them, having taken care of the rest of the Zygerrians. 

Of course. How exactly were they going to convince a rancor they’re the good guys? 

Wrecker and Tech draw their weapons, but Hunter quickly puts his arms out to stop them. They need Muchi alive, and as unharmed as possible. 

A roar sounds behind them, the brezak swooping out of the sky with the Zygerrian leader on its back. They turn and fire, barely missing getting taken out by it as it lands. The brezak turns on Muchi, the Zygerrian lifting his electro-whip, but Hunter tackles him off the brezak before he can hurt Muchi. 

Muchi turns and runs, the brezak following after her. 

“You’re going to pay for this, skug.” The leader says to Hunter. 

“I’ll handle him.” Hunter says as Wrecker, Tech, and Midnight run up to him. “Go get Muchi.”

They run after the rancor, following the sound of the fight between the brezak and the rancor. Muchi must have won as the brezak flies off, leaving them facing down the angry rancor.

“Any ideas how to stop that thing?” Wrecker asks Tech. 

Tech pulls out his datapad, typing away. “Rancors adhere to a social hierarchy. You have to challenge the alpha for authority.” 

“Oh that I can do.” Wrecker says, tossing his blaster aside before he runs at Muchi. 

Tech and Midnight watch as Wrecker and Muchi fight, beating the piss out of each other. Hunter joins them soon after, watching as they begin to slow down, getting tired. 

Echo rides up on a scooter with Omega, Wrecker and Muchi barely swinging at each other now. 

“How long’s he been at this?” Echo asks as they hop off the scooter. 

“Too long.” Tech answers. “He’s losing his touch.” 

They weakly swing at each other one more time before Muchi flops on her side, falling asleep. Wrecker leans against her, gently patting her head. 

“Aw. She’s kinda cute up close.” Omega says, stepping up closer. 

“Nicely handled, Wrecker.” Hunter says. 

Wrecker grunts indistinctly, giving him a thumb’s up. He’s going to sleep really well tonight. 

***

They eventually get Muchi and Wrecker roused again, transporting them back to the city. Omega rides happily on Muchi’s back as they make their way towards Cid’s. 

“Aw. That’s a good rancor.” Wrecker says, patting Muchi’s head. 

A male Twi’lek comes out of Cid’s, approaching Muchi happily. He speaks to Muchi in Huttese, hugging her face. Cid pushes past the two Gamorrean guards, looking at Hunter in disbelief for a moment. 

“See, Bib? All is well.” She says. “Now, about the matter of payment.” The Twi’lek snaps at one of the Gamorreans and he hands over some credits. 

Omega slides off the rancor, the Twi’lek and Gamorreans leading Muchi away. 

“Bye, Muchi.” Wrecker says. 

Muchi turns, roaring happily at them. 

“Gotta say, fellas.” Cid says. “I wasn’t sure you could pull this job off.” 

“You could have told us we were going after a rancor.” Echo says. 

“Hmm. Must have slipped my mind.” Cid says. She points at Hunter. “You, dark and broody. My office.” 

Tech turns on Midnight as Hunter makes his way into the bar with Cid. He tilts her head back, looking at the scratch marks on her cheek. They’ve stopped bleeding, but the skin is still burning. 

“They’re not very deep.” He says, studying them. “But they need to be cleaned.” 

“I’m fine.” She says, trying to push his hands away. “What’s the worst that could happen? My skin falls off?” 

“Yes.” Tech deadpans. 

Midnight gives him a horrified look. “Okay. When we get back to the ship you can clean them.” 

“Good.” He takes her face again, poking at the cuts. “They shouldn’t scar. It doesn't appear to have broken too deeply into the dermis. Bacta should clear them up rather quickly.” 

Midnight tries to bat his hand away, but he’s insistent on poking her face. 

“Do they hurt?” Hunter asks, appearing out of nowhere as he steps up to her. 

“They do when someone’s touching them.” She tries to push Tech’s hand away, but he’s insistent. 

Something comes over Hunter’s face as he stares at her, his eyes hardening and the look darkening. She looks up at Tech, finding a similar look behind his goggles. She looks past Tech at Echo, his eyes narrowed. 

“Oh.” She says lamely, letting her hands drop to her sides. 

“I hope you gave him what he deserved.” Wrecker says, stepping closer. 

“I did.” Hunter says, his voice dark. “Come on.” He puts a hand on her back. “Let’s get back to the ship.” 

***

Midnight changes clothes, stretching out her limbs now that they’re free of the armor. Her skin itches a bit, the bacta gel having absorbed quickly after Tech applied it. The cuts are already healing, hardly more than raised bumps. By tonight, there’d be no sign of them even being there. 

She had protested the use of bacta on them, seeing as how they weren’t that bad and they’d probably heal well on their own, but after seeing the looks on their faces, she had quickly given up. She hasn’t seen them that protective in a long time. 

It makes sense, though. 

They’re entirely on their own now. They don’t have the GAR to fall back on. If something happens to one of them, they only have each other to fix it.

She slips some credits into her bag before tossing it over her shoulder. She leaves her room, making her way towards the ramp. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hunter asks, stepping in her way. 

“Supply run.” She answers simply. 

“By yourself?” 

She gives him a look. “Uh, yeah. That was the plan.” 

“You’re going to wander around an unknown city by yourself.” Hunter lifts an eyebrow at her. 

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “We need to stock up on some things.” 

“She is right.” Tech says, stepping up behind her. “We are running low on medical supplies, as well as hygiene products.”

“Not that any of you use them.” She murmurs. “Plus if we’re going to be spending time here, I’d like to get to know the city a bit better.” 

“Let one of us go.” Hunter says. 

“Uh, no.” Midnight says, Hunter giving her a taken-aback look at her outward defiance. “I’m going. I am the least recognizable of all of us.” 

“She has a point.” Tech says from behind her. 

Hunter stares at her for a moment before his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Don’t wander too long.” 

“Can I go?” Omega asks, all of them turning to look at her.

Midnight looks to Hunter, shrugging. Hunter looks down at Omega before sighing. “Fine. But stick close to Midnight and don’t wander-” 

“Keep a close eye on my surroundings and trust no one but my squad. And I’ll use my comm and give my location if I get into trouble, I know.” She says. 

“Quick learner.” Midnight smirks. 

“Be careful.” Hunter says, wrapping an arm around Midnight’s waist. 

“Usually am.” She murmurs as he leans down, kissing her softly. 

“Keep an eye on her.” He murmurs, kissing her again. 

“Two eyes.” Midnight says. “Don’t worry. Think of this as a learning opportunity.” 

She kisses Hunter one more time before slipping past him and heading for the ramp. She heads down the steps, Omega skipping happily after her. 

“What was that you were doing?” She asks before they even make it out of the landing bay. 

“What was what?” Midnight asks. 

“You and Hunter. I saw you and Wrecker doing it earlier too.” She says. 

“Oh.” Midnight blinks, trying to figure out how to explain it. “We were kissing.” 

“What’s that?” 

Midnight lets out a long breath. “Well, it’s something you do when you love someone. It’s one way to show it.” 

“Oh.” She says, going quiet for a moment. “What’s love?” 

Midnight laughs. “That’s a complex conversation for another time.” Midnight puts a hand on Omega’s shoulder, stopping her at an intersection. “Keep close. Don’t stare at anyone too long, and try not to make eye contact. We’re trying to be discreet.” 

Omega nods. “Right.” 

Midnight pats her shoulder. “Come on. This way.” 

She leads Omega down a street, walking slowly as she looks up at the sky. It’s visible between the buildings, starting to go yellow with the setting sun. Midnight smiles softly, dropping her gaze back to the street in front of her. “Reminds me a bit of home.” She says, skirting around a drunk weequay on the street. 

“Where are you from?” Omega asks, looking up at her. 

“I’m from Coruscant. Born and raised there.” 

“Is it a nice place?” Omega asks. 

Midnight laughs. “Well, depends on how you look at it. The entire planet is one big city.” 

“Wow.” Omega breathes. “There must be a lot of people there.” 

Midnight nods. “Close to three trillion, it’s estimated. Though, most of them are very poor and live in the lower levels. There’s lots of crime down there, since the police can’t and don’t bother to help. I grew up so far down, I didn’t see the sky until I joined the GAR. Spent my whole life in artificial sunlight. I’d never seen dirt or a real tree until I got off Coruscant, either.” 

“You’re like me.” Omega says. “I spent my whole life in a lab on Kamino. I didn’t get to wander often. I didn’t really want to, either.” 

Midnight snorts. “I don’t blame you. Some of those regs had some nasty attitudes.” 

“Yeah they did.” She laughs. 

They walk in silence for a few moments. “How did you know about me? When you approached us on Kamino, you knew my name.” 

“Well, you’re sort of famous.” Omega says sheepishly. 

“I am?” Midnight asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah. You’re a member of Clone Force 99 and you’re not a clone.” Omega shrugs. “They talked about you all the time. Tarkin asked about you too.” 

Midnight grimaces. “I’m sure he did. He really wanted me to join his squad.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Omega says. “They really care about you a lot.” 

Midnight nods. “Well, we’ve been through a lot together.” She nods. “I care a lot about them too.” She nudges Omega gently. “And you.” 

“Me?” She asks in disbelief. 

Midnight nods. “Of course. You’re part of the squad too.” 

Omega smiles. “I’ve never had a sister before.” 

Midnight blinks in surprise. Of course, the boys would technically be her brothers, as they were all clones. Even though Midnight’s not a clone, she had integrated herself into the squad rather successfully it seemed, to the point Omega had known who she was. 

“I haven’t had one either.” She says, slowing as they reach the shop selling medical supplies. 

She leads Omega inside, making quick work of grabbing what they need. They head on to the next store, picking up more personal items and some hygiene products, not that the guys would use them regularly. 

“We should get some food.” Midnight says as they pass by a few food vendors. “I know the guys have to be hungry.” 

Omega stares wide eyed at all the choices. “These look so much better than rations.” 

Midnight smiles. “They are.” She wraps an arm around Omega’s shoulders, leading her towards one of the stalls. “Maybe someday we’ll get to eat food like this all the time.”  

“Really?” Omega asks, blinking up at her. 

Midnight nods. “Someday when we can put this bounty hunter business behind us and find somewhere nice to settle down.” 

“That sounds fantastic.” Omega says dreamily. 

Midnight nods. “It does. It really does.” 

Taglist:

@amyroswell, @dangraccoon, @hunnythebee​, @lokigirlszendaya, @kriffingmeshla, @storm-breaker7  

[entomolog-t]

Hey! I’ve been a fan of G/T content for quite a while, but I’ve mostly stuck to Deviantart&Wattpad. Pretty recently I decided to create a Tumblr account in an attempt to find more content, and I’ve been amazed by how interactive the community is here! However, I noticed something that I find pretty weird, and just wanted to get an opinion from someone who seems to be a pretty active member of the community, at least from what I’ve seen.

In all the posts I’ve seen, I’ve never seen VR mentioned even once. I might just not be looking in the right place, but I just found it weird. I’ve been an avid VRChat player for a while, and having spent a large amount of time there I noticed the potential it holds for genres like G/T. I was expecting to find at least a single mention of it somewhere here, but I never have. I see lots of posts from both sides of G/T that mention something like, “I really wish I could just hold/be held by someone, etc.” and, well, I’ve had experiences like that. I’ve fallen asleep and woken up in a friend’s hands before. I’ve had friends sitting/standing on my shoulder. They don’t even know this community exists, these interactions just happen naturally. 

I just want to share some of the experiences I’ve had, and when I went looking, nobody here seemed to know it was even possible. So yeah, that’s what finally motivated me to interact directly with the community. To at least let someone know that it is possible, and far more accessible than most seem to realize.

I’ll also make a standard post, but considering the fact that I’m a very new account I don’t expect many to see it. Thus why I messaged directly. I know this was a bit of a ramble, I'm still a little nervous about finally interacting with something I've only passively watched for quite a long time. So thanks for taking the time to read through, and I’d love to hear your opinion on why it isn’t mentioned, or anything else you wanna say! Take care out there!

OH! This is quite the interesting ask!! I may not be the best person to answer as I am far from techie.

First off, that sounds incredibly fun! I've only ever tried VR with an escape room - which oddly enough had a silly sizey experience; There was an issue with the calibration or something on one of the headsets and a friend who's just a little over 5ft had their in game avatar show up ballpark around 7ft tall.

I love that g/t seems to happen naturally with your interactions too! I'd love to hear more!

Now for the meat of the question- why isn't this mentioned? Again, keep in mind, I'm no techie or avid gamer so this is really biased towards myself. In no particular order,

Age

Price point

Tech Difficulty

Privacy

Missing sensations

My first guest would be age. I myself am in my mid/late twenties, and just never really grew up with that kind of tech, so theres just a lack of knowledge and not more than a passing interest in it. I think with age there also comes issues with free time, though I'll speak on that more with privacy. I think in general there tends to be a perception that VR chat rooms have a lot of minors (whether this is true or not, I have no clue, but as an adult that is a concern).

My second guess would be price point. Now, again, I am not a tech wiz, so I really don't know too well what would be a good headset (if any ol' cheap one would work, or if the oculus is the way to go), but I know the well known headsets are not at all cheap, and do also require a something to run them on (from my understanding thats just a good enough gaming pc? I have no clue.) Basically, there is a monetary component at play.

Thirdly would be tech difficulty. Some people are just bad at technology, and don't want to learn a new form of it.

Now privacy is what I would think is a big factor- and not online privacy. Roommates, siblings, spouses, family- if someone lives with another person they may not be comfortable being seen interacting on VRchat (especially with how paranoid some of us get with g/t), and then finding alone time is just an absolute pain with work, school, clubs, responsibilities etc.

Lastly, I think some people are hesitant about the missing sensations. Essentially, "who cares if all I can do is see it, I want to feel it." I think for some people it may have the opposite effect, and the degree of realism mixed with the very obviously "not real" cues could be more upsetting- being so close to having something you fantasize about but being reminded its not actually real.

Those are just my thoughts- and I hope others will add some of their own! This is quite the interesting topic and I'd love to hear more about it! As I mentioned earlier, I have very limited experience with VR, but from what little experience I did have it was a ton of fun! I feel like VRchat could be something a lot of people in the community could enjoy if they knew more/had access to it.

[perexcri]

there’s nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you - [byler week - day 5]

yeah so i thought this fit the secret identities thing until i wrote it and realized it uhh. isn’t quite that. so enjoy whatever this is i guess - lots of miscommunication and a fun set-up for potential enemies to lovers

also it’s my personal headcanon that Will is a music snob, so if you don’t like that then uh,,,,i guess skip this one idk

title from: wilson (expensive mistakes) by fall out boy

dedicated to: the listening party for fall out boy’s new album that i went to last week in a city an hour away from me; i came up with this stupid idea on the drive there! indie record store in [city redacted], you were very nice, and thank you for having a decent selection of poetry i could pick from :]

Don’t ask Will how this ended up being his job, because he honestly doesn’t know. One day, they had a meeting for the university’s queer artists’ zine where he was complaining about everyone’s responses to the new U2 album (yes, it sounds different from other U2 albums, but obviously if you look at the lyrical and metatextual themes of Achtung Baby, it’s still very much U2), and then BAM–suddenly he’s in charge of doing the cover art for the zine and writing music reviews.

Sure, he could probably turn it down, but nobody else will take the job.

Also, he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t do it right, because, as much as he loves this group, their music tastes are…well…not everybody has an older brother like Jonathan Byers who makes sure they grow up with proper music opinions.

So, if anything, Will does this to keep the spirit of reviewing and recommending underground artists in New York City alive for the zine, and also because he doesn’t think anybody else could do it justice, no offense to them.

But Will is loathing this job for their upcoming edition. He’s sitting in that weird liminal time between class periods where people are in the chaotic throes of rushing around or throwing their notebooks open to prepare for the lecture; his elbows are pressed into the desk that’s just a little too small, and his head is in his hands. He’s staring down at the one submission he’s been putting off for precisely three semesters, because the president of the zine said it needed to be done before they moved on to new submissions, so could you please just lower your standards for one night and go listen to them play so you can write the damn review?

The Fellowship of the Ring, the submission card reads in faded pencil. Scratched under it in the slightly-fresher ink of the zine’s president’s pen, it reads: Thursday - The Purple Hall - 8 PM.

And, God, Will wishes this show was just gonna be a live reading of the Tolkein book. It would be so much better than what he knows it actually is.

The Fellowship of the Ring is a local, up-and-coming act in the underground venues of the greater New York City area that everybody loves because they sound like Nirvana and, you guessed it, throw out Tolkein references like they’re Led Zeppelin. They’re huge on college campuses, where students pass around live-recorded tapes of their supposedly-legendary performances all the time, gushing about how even the bass sounds, the peeling shrieks of guitars, the way the vocalist wavers between grumbles and ethereal, falsetto howls. They even gush about the lyrics and how they truly capture the experiences of Western youth in these first few years of the new decade: malaise, boredom, this sense that there is no great struggle for the future left for them, only an endless drowning in comfortable excess.

Will had even seen a girl with the band’s logo tattooed on her shoulder.

Which is…fine. He guesses.

If you like shitty music, that is.

See, that’s the fundamental problem here: Will likes doing these silly little reviews for live music around New York because half the time, the music is passably decent, and even if that doesn’t work, the lyrics can make up for it. There’s so much creativity in the air, and people are doing so much with it.

Not The Fellowship of the Ring, though.

Where everybody else sees innovation, Will sees reductivity; where everybody screams about the charm of the lyrics and the pop culture references they sneak in, Will sees a demeaning pandering to an audience. Every single time he has been subjected to the squawks and out-of-tune guitars of The Fellowship, he’s spent his time thinking he would be better off to save himself the time and just listen to Nirvana’s Nevermind for the millionth time, because that’s all The Fellowship’s trying to do, anyway, and at least then Will could listen to something good.

Yeah, Will hates The Fellowship of the Ring, and now he’s squeezing his temples so hard that the letters on the submission card are beginning to swim in his vision.

“Hey!”

Thankfully, Will is saved by his very friendly, incredibly good-looking neighbor in History of the American Constitution, Mike Wheeler.

“Hey!” he says, trying to gain back the energy that seeing The Fellowship’s submission card had unwittingly drained out of him.

And honestly, seeing that flash of Mike’s smile and how the fluorescents dance in his eyes, Will feels like he has enough energy to power the sun now, even if they are going to have to sit through yet another lecture about Article II–whatever the hell that means.

“What’s got you so down?” Mike asks, head tilted to the side, some of his hair tumbling into his eyes, and all Will wants to do is push it away–

But, no, he has to have a coherent conversation right now, so he shakes his head and tries his best to return Mike’s smile. “Oh, nothing…Just something for that zine I work on.”

“Oh, yeah!” Mike snaps his fingers, causing some of the buttons on his jacket to rattle together. He always wears a leather jacket no matter the weather or the rest of his attire, and today, paired with plaid pajama bottoms, held-together-by-duct-tape converse, and a baggy Care Bears shirt, it shouldn’t work, but in Will’s eyes, it does. “I think I saw one of those around! I wanted to grab a copy, but somebody else did before I could get to it.”

“I can bring you a copy of the next issue,” Will says, then, remembering the task at hand, groans and puts his head back in his hands. “That is, if I even survive it.”

“What, are they making you skip classes for it?”

“No, worse: they’re making me listen to a band I hate.”

Mike winces. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Right?”

“Can’t you just, like…push it off?”

“I did. For three semesters.” The professor wanders in with a mumbled greeting and a steaming cup of coffee in hand, and Will lowers his voice in anticipation of the lecture beginning. “That’s why I have to do it now.”

“Maybe it would help if somebody went with you?”

Despite having flirted with each other mercilessly all semester during this one shared class of theirs, they haven’t hung out much outside of it, so to be faced with the possibility of something that could potentially be labeled as a date between them is shocking. For a moment, Will can forget about the future torment awaiting him Thursday evening at The Purple Hall’s listening stage, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, having somebody to talk to over the drone of the lazily-played guitars could make the evening slightly more bearable.

“Yeah,” Will finally says, a grin stretching across his face. “Of course. Yeah, that’d be awesome!”

Mike returns the look twofold, and one of his legs begins to bounce. “Awesome! When is it?”

As the lecture begins, Will resorts to a torn piece of notebook paper, like he’s a kid passing notes in class again to survive the boredom. He scribbles The Purple Hall - Thursday 7 PM, then hands it to Mike, who responds with a quizzical look at the paper, scratches something out, and hands it back to Will.

The Purple Hall - Thursday 7 PM 6?

Will shoots him a thumbs up, prays it wasn’t too awkward, and then folds the sheet of paper up and sticks it in his pocket.

And if he carries it around there for the rest of the week, then that’s his business alone.

---

The pros: this is one of Will’s favorite music venues, there’s several bands to look forward to tonight, and Mike seems wholly invested in the idea of this being a date, if him leaning closer and the playful hand on Will’s knee mean anything.

The cons: Will has to listen to the fucking Fellowship of the Ring in approximately ten minutes.

He’s able to put the thoughts off for the first hour. After all, The Fellowship isn’t set to perform until 8–he and Mike had met at 6 as planned, and Will has spent the first hour and a half trying to be blissfully unaware of the torturous fate awaiting him.

Even as his skin begins to crawl at the thought of having to hear those plucky, out-of-tune guitars and the lead singer screeching about the Gulf War under the guise of Star Wars references, he does feel a little settled. Mike’s fingers are surprisingly warm, and the alcohol they’ve been nursing makes his chest glow with warmth. It’s easier to laugh, to be focused solely on Mike and these wonderful, looping conversations they’ve found themselves ensnared in.

“This one’s good!” Mike half-shouts over the drum solo of the current act, consisting of just a drummer and a bassist crooning over their heady rhythms. They’re called the Jazz Squares, or something like that. Whatever.

At least they’re not The Fellowship.

“The drink or the band?” Will queries. His own head’s spinning with the beer he’s been sipping on for the better part of an hour, and he already feels lightheaded, because he’s a lightweight, and Mike’s got something to do with these pulses of courage thumping in his chest, right?

“Both!” Mike takes another long sip from his Jolly-Rancher-blue mixer. Will had asked him what was in it earlier, and all Mike had responded with was Coconut-something and a whole lot of rum!

They’ve talked about so much already–their families, their majors, their hobbies. Mike comes here a lot, he reveals, and he mentions that he plays guitar, too. He keeps it a playful secret when Will asks for more information, though: how long have you played? Do you write, too? Are you in a band, because I could put you in the zine if you wanted–

It’s a surpriseee, Mike had drawled in response, a stupid grin twisting his mouth as his fingers had vacated Will’s knee momentarily just to ruffle through Will’s hair.

As the Jazz Squares’ set finally dies down to some spotty applause (this is more of an alternative scene, after all, but a gig is a gig), Will lets out a groan, melodramatically knocking his forehead into the table, and finally drags out his notebook.

“What’s that for?” Mike asks, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“For that review I have to do,” Will grumbles.

“But isn’t that act on in, like, two hours?”

Will blinks a couple of times. He supposes he hadn’t actually told Mike which group he was here for, but he thought the fact that he originally proposed a meet-up time of 7 would have communicated enough that it was somewhere around then. “Um, no? I didn’t say anything, I guess, but I think they’re up next.”

Mike’s fingers begin to nervously tap on what remains of his electric blue potion. As his and Will’s gazes snag together for several heady seconds, he purses his lips, then throws back the rest of his drink, swallowing the last of it in just a couple of gulps.

Will slowly draws his notebook out, flipping to the page he had specifically marked The Fellowship of the Ring with a disheartened, frighteningly life-like frowny face scrawled next to it. “Is something wrong?”

Mike drags his wrist across his mouth, smearing any remaining drops of blue onto his leather jacket’s sleeve. “So this band you hate that you have to review…It’s The Fellowship of the Ring?”

“Yeah.” Will taps the top of his paper. “I didn’t say anything, but…Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Um.”

Will quirks an eyebrow up. “I mean, do you like them? That’s fine, of course, I mean–people have different tastes and what-not. I’d just have to seriously question your judgment in all matters music-related, I guess.”

“Um,” Mike repeats, fingers now tapping a dangerously fast staccato against their bartop table. It makes the remaining beer in Will’s bottle slosh around. “Um…This is bad.”

“What? Are you a super fan or something?” Thanks to the alcohol, Will feels bold enough to scrunch his nose up with disgust. “I mean, fine, whatever. But seriously, if you want a second date, I’m gonna take you to a record store so you can hear some actually decent music. If you’re impressed by that fucking band’s reductive bullshit, you’ll be positively amazed by a group like The Clash or Smashing Pumpkins or–hell, even fucking U2–”

“Excuse me!” the MC calls over the mic; when the feedback whines, he takes a second to tap at the mic, then announces: “Calling everyone’s favorite up-and-coming group, The Fellowship of the Ring, for soundcheck–their set starts in five!”

The club erupts into raucous cheers. Will has to hide the involuntary groan of annoyance he lets out behind his hand.

Mike casts a nervous glance at Will, then pushes his chair out and looks like he’s going to walk away, the buttons on his jacket clicking together. He nearly trips over the saggy laces of his converse, and through the tears in his jeans, he almost looks like he’s shaking.

“Hey, wait!” Will says, reaching forward and grasping Mike’s wrist. It makes the other guy stop, a blush creeping up into his cheeks, and Will tries to push down his distaste for the band and lets out a sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry–I was being stupid. It’s just a band, after all. If you like them, that’s fine, and I will…” he swallows here, and it hurts, taking on this insurmountable task of trying to push his music-snob’s pride down. “I won’t make fun of you for it. I promise.”

Mike blinks a couple of times before a reassuring grin overtakes his features. “Uh…Nope. That’s okay, Will. It’s not for everyone. I wasn’t like…trying to run out on you or anything.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m still gonna be here.”

“Then why are you getting up?”

Mike points at the stage, where a drummer and bassist are setting up their instruments, their eyes scanning the room in search of their infamous guitarist and singer. “Didn’t you hear? We have soundcheck. The set starts in five.”

Will slowly nods. “Yeah. Then the next act starts, and I have to scratch down whatever notes I can think of for them, and then we can get back to our date.”

Mike stares at him for several seconds.

And then it all catches up with Will.

“Oh, shit–”

Mike’s grin turns into something playful, his eyebrows shooting up beneath his bangs. “Can’t wait to read your official review of my fucking band’s reductive bullshit!” he says with a two-fingered salute, then spins around to make his way to the stage. He’s bathed in the dim lighting of the stage, hunching over his guitar the second he straps it around his chest, and Will wonders how somebody who was brave enough to wander around in a leather jacket and a fucking Care Bears shirt and look that good could be involved in a band that’s just–

This bad, Will finishes for himself as Mike strums his first cord, its electricity shaking the walls of the club, and he begins yet another signature Fellowship song that’s nothing more than various John Hughes and horror movie quotes juxtaposed over warring drums and guitars.

Of course Will would be stupid enough to fall for the lead singer of his most-hated band in the greater New York City area.

[unusual]

I mainly engage with League through Arcane but I knew about Viktor before the show came out and enjoyed his design a lot and honestly your take is 100% correct

I've seen people say that Riot making Arcane the main canon wasn't a good idea and I'm curious about your thoughts on that since you know more about the lore of the game itself than me lol. From what I've seen while the idea of a unified canon sounds nice I think League lore works best because it's prime for "putting my favorite characters in a situation" kind of material

Thank you!! I agree with that, yeah. It’s sort of a weird situation, but more or less this is how I would sum it up:

League of Legends already has one large (more-or-less) unified canon — with the exception of a few champions who are old, uncared for and out of date, most everyone seems to have their own special place and niche within the “standardized” / mainline universe and some connections with (generally) at least one or two other champions. Arcane was originally conceived as an AU, which isn’t weird for League; Star Guardian, Heartsteel/KDA (aka musicverse), Spirit Blossom, etc all exist in canon alternate universes inside League of Legends because the multiverse and time travel canonically exist in League.

The issues mainly begin as a result of Arcane blowing up independently of League, leading to a lot of people who dislike League of Legends (for any number of reasons) functionally getting into League lore and treating it as a separate thing. Riot also has its own issues with being kind of ashamed of the world it’s created, but imo there was already a pretty solid and flexible canon that plenty of people were already happy with and playing around with

This is why people are upset — retconning the world lore and biographies for select champions who were in Arcane has weird, messy implications that make it so that right now everything is very disjointed especially around Piltover and Zaun. There are champions who technically “don’t exist” right now (Blitzcrank, Camille, Seraphine, etc) and champions in weird positions (Renata) and overall there is sort of a feeling that Arcane should have stayed an AU because it was maybe a bad idea to recenter the lore around a miniseries that had to cut and adapt a LOT of the worldbuilding for timing/pacing reasons. I’ve compared it in the past to Marvel’s attempts to make the MCU the “main” universe… it just kind of doesn’t work and messes things up

The changes they’re planning to implement are probably going to take years to fully integrate because now they’re putting everything into this whole cinematic universe of tv shows they’re producing (which takes time) so I don’t know what it’s going to look like fully realized but I’m pretty skeptical of its future at the moment :P this is just how I feel about it right now

I also am mourning old viktor and jayce lol 💔 I’ll get over it and am definitely not as upset as other people because I’m coping by pretending they still exist in another universe but I will definitely miss seeing them around

[misslisamiray]

Time for Chapter 5 of Down With the Rickness!

Quick note, this chapter has a minor emeto warning - there's no actual vomitting, but there is some brief discussion of it. It IS minor, I promise, but I just want to make everyone aware it's there so there's no unpleasant surprises if that's something you'd rather skip.

Now, without further ado, let's pick up where we left off last week! New chapter is below the cut.

“Almost forgot, I still need to take your temperature. Stick it under your tongue and try to not find a way to make this a problem too, please.” Morty sighed, handing Rick the thermometer.

“Well, I could *Cough!* *Cough!* say something about how outdated it is – seriously, do we not own a touch free model? Who doesn’t these days? Or point out that I have built-in sensors that can detect any changes in my body temperature.” Rick said, turning the thermometer over in his hands repeatedly. Noticing the glare that earned him from Morty, he added, “But I mean, even if it’s not exactly cutting edge tech, this thing is adequate for the job it’s designed to do. And I hate to admit this, but my sensors might not be working at the moment, so…” Without further stalling, he finally put the thermometer in his mouth.

“Let me see.” Morty said flatly when it beeped a moment later. Wordlessly, Rick handed the thermometer back to him.

“100° even. That’s not great, but I don’t think it’s too bad, either. Weird question, but your normal temperature is like, the same as anyone else’s, right? With all your implants and modifications, it’s not super high or low to begin with, is it? I just realized this might not be as useful as I thought.” Morty said, studying the thermometer. Rick alternated briefly between looking at Morty and down at his own hands. He hadn’t expected that question, much less for it to strike the nerve it had.

“Great. An existential crisis about my humanity is just what I needed right now. And since when do I give a fuck?... Ugh. Stupid fever, stupid cold. I really can’t think.” he mumbled. Then he realized Morty was staring at him worriedly – what the boy had been able to decipher of Rick’s muttering was both concerning, and not an answer to his question.

“In spite of all my modifications, Morty, yes. At the end of the day, for better or worse, I’m still human.”

“I wasn’t saying you aren’t…”

“’Worse’ including still being susceptible to bullshit like the common cold. *Sniff!* So yes, you can take the number on that thing at face value. Obviously, there’s some variation – some people’s baseline is higher or lower than the ‘standard’ 98.6° Fahrenheit, 37° Celsius. I *COUGH!* normally run low myself, but not to an inhuman degree.”

“Okay. That’s good. It means your fever isn’t that bad. Not like, dangerous or anything. Phew.” Morty said, still a little puzzled by Rick’s reaction to what he’d thought was a harmless question. No answer from Rick, who was both still lost in thought… and starting to feel the effects of having downed the nearly full medicine bottle, then chasing it with an also nearly full flask.

Finally registering the fact Morty had said… something to him, he mumbled, “Y-yeah.What *URP!* ever you say, Morty. Uhh, remind me, what did you just say?”

“I said it’s a good thing your fever doesn’t seem bad, and ummm, you doing okay? You don’t look so hot.” Morty answered, noticing how unfocused Rick’s gaze had become.

Rick struggled to reply. Morty’s voice was echoing all around the two of them, but also sounded far away. It didn’t help that the walls appeared to be spinning. And melting. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were just one or the other, but the combo was brutal.

“Shit. M-Morty, do the walls look normal to you? I know it’s hard to tell since they won’t stay still, but…” he slurred, closing his eyes and trying to fight off a wave of dizziness.

“The walls? *SIGH!* Rick, the walls look fine. You, on the other hand, look terrible.” Morty replied, realizing exactly what was happening.

“Gee, it’d be great if everyone could stop telling me that! *COUGH!* *COUGH!* I’m sick, okay? Let’s see you or Summer win any beauty contests while you feel like you’re being suffocated by your own snot.” Rick whined, punching the bed and opening his eyes just enough to glare at Morty.

“God, you’re a drama queen, Rick. You know what I meant. Or at least, you would if you weren’t seeing what, a dozen of me?” Morty said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t give yourself so much credit, Morty! There’s only 5, maybe 6 of you at most. Ohhhh. I think, I think I might’ve made a slight error in judgment with the, with the medicine there, Morty.” Rick snapped, forcing his eyes open the rest of the way to get an accurate count of just how many Mortys were lecturing him. That led to instant regret. The sight of 5-6 annoyed, eye-rolling grandsons, combined with the melting, spinning walls, made the dizziness multiple times worse. Rick quickly shut his eyes again and sat stooped over, cradling his head in his hands.

“Gee, you think? Easy, pal. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. You uh, think you need to hurl?” Morty sighed, rubbing Rick’s back with one hand and holding a small trash can in front of him with the other.

Rick thought it over once he was able to process the question, finally answering, “N-no. Ugh, maybe. No. I just, just think I need to sit down.”

“Rick, you are sitting down.” Morty informed him, still holding the trash can firmly in place.

“Really?” Rick, cautiously opening his eyes just a little to check, was clearly surprised by that information.

“Uh-huh.”

“In that case, I think *ACHOO!* I need to lie down now. Like, right now. Goodnight, Summer.” Rick groaned. With that, he fell forward on the bed, landing flat on his face, and was instantly out like a light.

“Seriously?! I’ve seen you barely get a buzz from huffing crystals that killed a guy made out of boulders and 10 times your size! Plus, you did twice as much as him, so he might as well have been 20 times bigger than you! I swear, if after everything, you’ve managed to OD or give yourself permanent brain damage with over-the-counter cold medicine…” Morty yelled, tossing the trash can aside and shaking Rick by the shoulders.

“Come on! It’s not even one of the kinds they keep locked up at the pharmacy. It’s shit you’d buy next to like, vitamins and deodorant! Pretending to be asleep so you don’t get a lecture you deserve isn’t funny. And I’m not falling for it, Rick! Rick?” Morty’s voice turned timid and a little scared when he realized Rick was still much too quiet and not moving. He was about to call for help, when the loud snoring started.

“Okay. You’re sleeping. Sleeping is good. You need to rest, and I could use a rest from, well, you.” Morty mumbled, clearly relieved. He let go of Rick’s shoulders, causing him to land face down on his bed again.

Morty stood there for a few minutes, observing Rick. He was not a quiet sleeper to begin with, and his snoring was currently much louder than usual due to his congestion. But he seemed to be breathing normally otherwise, so that was good. With minimal effort, Morty rolled Rick onto his left side so he wouldn’t choke if he did throw up. He also put the small trashcan in front of him, just in case. He tried fixing the tangled mess of blankets, which was easier said than done, eventually managing to get Rick mostly covered. Since his grandfather had passed out at the wrong end of the bed and the nightstand was by his feet, Morty placed the tissue box next to Rick’s head.

Listening to the increasingly loud snoring, Morty took a look around the room to see if there was anything else he could do, anything Rick might need. Nothing jumped out at him, but he saw something Rick definitely would not be needing today -the portal gun. Morty grabbed it tentatively, expecting an alarm to go off, or maybe a robot arm to snatch the gun out of his hand. Nothing happened, and the only sound was still Rick’s snoring. Before that could change, Morty hurried out of the room. 

Summer was standing in a mile-long line at the Space Wal-Mart just past Neptune.

“Seriously? Why is there only one register open?! This store is like, half the size of this whole planet! Seems like pretty terrible planning to me.” she complained. Similar sentiments were being echoed by various alien creatures throughout the line.

“Yep. It’s shitty, alright. This place purposely understaffs and overworks its employees to an insane degree, despite the fact it continually breaks its own profit records. It works – barely – when they’re ‘fully’ staffed. But then you get days where they have callouts, one cashier gets eaten by another, everyone else is busy either breaking up brawls or helping at the broken self-checkouts, and well…” Space Beth observed, tapping Summer’s shoulder and gesturing to the chaos.

“Mom! What are you doing here? Don’t tell me Grandpa had a list of bullshit errands for you to run, too.” Summer exclaimed.

“No. Well, I suppose technically yes… Your other mom filled me in on what’s happening, so I’m here to help.”

“Cool. This list is so long. And boring. And dumb. Clearly Grandpa’s had it for ages and has just kept adding more shit to it that he doesn’t want to do because this sucks.” Summer complained, pulling the notebook from her pocket.

“That sounds like him. So, I hear you won this charming prize by calling him out on his bs and figuring out he has a cold, not the scary sounding alien disease he told you he has.” SB commented. She grabbed the notebook from Summer’s hand and started flipping through the pages.

“I knew it! Did Home Mom figure it out, too, or get him to come clean after I left? Oh em gee, if it was Dad, Grandpa Rick must be furious!” Summer giggled.

“Actually, he sent her off to work right after you had to leave on this little field trip. She called me to ask what I knew about the terrible illness Dad supposedly has, and…” Space Beth explained with a shrug, adding, “As for Jerry and Morty, there is a very good chance they still believe Dad and are waiting for him to stop sneezing and break out in horns or some dumb shit. But it’s fine. The three of them can work all of that out on their own.”

“Totes. So, how do you want to divide this thing? Besides everything else lame about it, it’s not even in any sort of order. If we go from first page to last, we’ll be bouncing back and forth across galaxies for days. I mean, it says ‘Return books to First Library of Saturn’, followed by ‘Hardware store on Gear World for replacement finger screwdrivers’, and then ‘Martian cell phone store to dispute charges for calls to the Planet of the Apes’. Ugh. It makes no sense.” Summer complained.

“Yeah, deciphering this mess could be an all-day project in and of itself. Unless of course, I do this.” Space Beth agreed. She put on a visor and pressed a button on the side of it while flipping through the notebook pages. It scanned the incoherent mess that was Rick’s list, and a few seconds later, two smaller, neater lists printed from the device on her wrist.

“There. Now that everything that was written multiple times has been filtered out, and we don’t have to decipher the scribbles Dad calls handwriting, this is looking much more manageable. So, you wanna handle everything in this solar system, and I’ll take care of everything outside it? Looks like a pretty even split.” Space Beth said, holding the two lists out to her daughter. Summer grabbed one, along with shoving the original back into her pocket.

“Thanks, Cool Mom. Ugh, this line still isn’t moving. Any ideas for making this suck less?”

“Hey, I already cut your lameass chore list in half. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“That’s fair.”

The two of them looked around at the chaos. The line was now out the door and wrapping around the building. Several fights and at least one fire had started.

“Look, I wouldn’t normally encourage this sort of behavior, but if a major corporation like this can’t show enough concern for either its employees or customers to prevent all this from happening, maybe they deserve to, I don’t know, have a shopping cart full of random shit stolen from them?” Space Beth suggested.

Summer looked a little surprised by the idea, so SB continued , “Or maybe… it’s very important you get all of this back to your poor sick grandfather on Earth right away, and there’s no time to be standing around here.”

Seeing that her daughter was intrigued, but still skeptical, she quickly added, “And just think, if you get caught, you’ll be banned for life, so Rick can never make you come here again.” Those were the magic words.

Already charging for the exit, Summer shouted back, “Half of this is alien junk food, and the rest is stupid crap Grandpa saw commercials for and won’t even remember why he wanted. None of it is important at all, but everything else you said is spot on! Now come on, bitch! This was your idea! Run for it!” Space Beth immediately ran after her.

“Yeah! 10 finger discount, assholes! I am outta here!” a large, red alien with 10 digits per hand shouted, picking up his overstuffed cart with one arm while pumping his other fist in the air triumphantly. With that, all the customers who weren’t busy fighting each other or vandalizing things ran for the exits.

“No! Wait! Stop! Security! I need Security, NOW!” the sole cashier, a petite, blue-green alien with 3 eyes and long purple hair yelled. She was brandishing a fire extinguisher in each hand, one to actually put out a fire, and the other to club someone trying to sneak up behind her to steal cigarettes.

Three very muscular security guards, similar to the red alien but more orange in color, appeared and proceeded to be no help whatsoever. One grabbed all the candy they could hold -which was quite a bit, considering the large, 10-fingered hands – and made a run for it. The other two looked at each other for a few seconds, then jumped on the conveyor belt and started making out. Another fire started at the next closed register.

“You know what? Fuck it! I’m better than this job, anyway. I quit!” the tired cashier exclaimed, throwing her two fire extinguishers aside. She tossed her apron on top of the making out security guards, and easily picked up a vending machine several times larger than her small body. Then it was her turn to run.

At the exit, Summer paused to smile directly at the security camera, making sure to hold up her driver’s license for good measure. Space Beth didn’t do all that, but did wave at the camera. And then they were out the door, never to set foot in Space Walmart again.

[jordanradicalblog]

Radical Blog 2

Okay it’s been a hot minute since I’ve updated this, but here we go.

First, I got my story a lot more patted down. I’ve continued on the mind theme, though I’ve sort of evolved my story into being one that is more about childhood and the fear of growing up. The fear of growing up is something we’ve all felt before and I really want to capture that with this piece. The idea of your cozy childhood being taken away from you and having to contend with the real world is scary.

I spent about a few hours one night with another person in my class named Jora. Together, him and I plotted both of our Radical ideas out. We got a big white board and started writing down as many ideas as we could think of for each of ours and then attempted to streamline them as much as possible. After that I had some time to ruminate on my idea and start putting a script together, which isn’t done but is getting there. It was a very helpful exercise that helped contain a lot of our thoughts.

I’ve been very intimidated by the project and so I’ve been talking a lot with the people within my major who have more experience than me as upper classmen and have been asking them a LOT of questions. I’m trying to take this project day by day, and while it’s a little stressful, I’m trying to be on top of it. I’d like all of pre-production to be done by the end of September. I’ve also been reaching out to a lot of people to get them onto my shoots. It’s been very busy.

I’ve also had a pitch meeting recently and had to do a write up for it. Here is the write up below (the thumbnails might not appear. I have to figure out how to work through that):

Jordan Buterbaugh jab1066@rit.edu

Radical Cinema Workshop

Proposal Worksheet

Working Title: Kiwi

Software, Material, and Technical Needs: General film equipment, sound stage, art/makeup/wardrobe/props, lighting, adobe premiere,

Medium(s): Film, animation

Installation: If I did do an installation, I think it would be viewed in a little pillow fort on a standard screen.

Aesthetic: It will have multiple aesthetics going for it due to the film having different segments. I’d like one segment to be very colorful, light, and poppy as it is mainly in the imagination of a child. I’d like one of the segments to be very dark with a lot of reds used and weird imagery. One of the segments will have a series of random colors and “trippy” images. Finally, there will be a very calming final segment. I’m not sure what it will entail but it will be very soothing and serve as sort of the center of the mind.

Pick a theme(s): I’d like it to mainly be about growing up, with supporting themes like childhood, adulthood, nostalgia, fear, and time

The Written Proposal:

I want to explore the anxieties of growing up through the lense of the human mind. My film will capture the feeling of what it’s like to be a child and realize “I’m growing up.” The moment where your carefree and safe world is being taken away from you and you're forced to contend with the change of the world and how scary it can be. As adults, it’s easy to fall back into the comfort of childhood memories and it can also be depressing to realize we might not ever be able to go back to those comforting safe memories. The world continues to grow and it continues to get scary.

I would like to show this primarily through one character, but at two different ages. One will be a young child version and the other will be the adult version. The child will exist in the realm of imagination. The images will be very storybook-like and colorful. The audience will witness the child playing in a woods like environment. He will be surrounded by animated elements like spaceships and dinosaurs. He will also use his imagination to imagine his life as a lot more crazy than it actually is, like walking across a log over some mud, but having it look like it’s over a massive chasm. To create the crazy environments I plan on overlaying live action elements with digital images, sort of like matte paintings from older days of film. The child will eventually find a mirror in which he will see himself as an adult. The mirror will be the bridge between the adult and child world, in which the adult and child will be able to reflect on themselves through the same lense. 

The adult’s world will be much scarier, with dark visuals and intense imagery. This will be the stark opposite of the child’s world, with trippy imagery as well as graphic gory imagery. It will encapsulate the fear of being alone in the world and the lack of safety and innocence. It will be the dark side of the mind. I have a friend who loves doing gory makeup and is willing to help with this sequence. I also plan on using lots of shadows and red light. As for the psychedelic aspect, I’m not entirely sure yet, but I was thinking of playing around with kaleidoscopes and lights. Most importantly, the images shown will pertain to certain traumatic experiences that happen when people get older. Things relating to concepts like heartbreak and death. It will also reflect how the world seems to get more ugly the older you get, with cruelty found in many places.

As for the end of the film, I want the two characters to embrace each other both physically and metaphorically. They’ll be in the center of the mind, which I think will be a white void. I want the adult to physically hug his younger self and the younger self to embrace his older self. Their worlds will unite, mixing the scary adult world with the child’s world. The adult reconnecting with his younger self and the child embracing his future self. As an ending, I’d love for the two to hold hands and walk into a white light showing that the person is ready to embrace the future.

Moodboard:

Thumbnails:

[stevensaus]

Neurospicy Movie Triple Feature: Asteroid City, No Hard Feelings, And Corner Office

Spoilers for Asteroid City, No Hard Feelings, and Corner Office. I'd already realized the difference between The Big Bang Theory and Community by the time this scene aired: In the midst of an episode, Dean Pelton turns to Abed, who is a character clearly coded as neurodivergent. "Abed, you're ... special," the Dean says. Can't you just stand at the scene of the crime and see what happened?" Abed replies: "I see a man. Using a social disorder as a procedural device. Wait, wait, wait. Mildly autistic super detectives everywhere. Basic cable. Broadcast networks. Pain. Painful writing. It hurts." That was well before I realized that I was at least partially under that umbrella. And it seems like recent movies sure don't want me to forget it. {1} When I told a friend that I'd recently seen Wes Anderson's Asteroid City, he nearly turned up his nose. "I don't like Anderson. I don't get the whimsy." I replied. "I don't think it's whimsical at all. I think it might be neurodivergent." I've since seen a few other folks -- sadly, I lost the links -- comment on this as well. The plot of Asteroid City -- barring one fantastical incident -- is a bog-standard 20th century American "literary" story. Aside from Anderson's distinctive cinematography, the element that makes these films "whimsical" is that everyone says what they are thinking, directly, out loud, in near-monotones. Instead of a flirting wink and half smile, a character might say: "I suddenly find you attractive and would like to take you home tonight." The target of their affections might respond: "I am feeling the pang of loneliness, and hope to find some distraction from my own mortality in the pleasures of the flesh. I accept." Look at the trailer for Asteroid City or The Grand Budapest Hotel. The stylized behavior is demonstrated in both. If you're thinking something like "that sounds a lot like looking at the world through a kind of neurospicy lens," I'm right there with you. But twisting a familiar shape of story through that lens before it gets to me ... well, it's not whimsical. While there are benevolent violations left and right, they do not feel funny to me... just matter of fact. As a result, while I do appreciate the cinematography and style, I really don't know whether or not I enjoyed Asteroid City, or even if I experienced anything like Anderson intended. I stand by what I said about No Hard Feelings, but I want to expand on the footnote I put at the end. Andrew Barth Feldman’s character in No Hard Feelings — who sure came across coded neurospicy to me — adapts pretty suspiciously quickly to being out of his comfort zone in the final third. But I’ll forgive the film that due to the fact that it also does not demand that his character change and conform to "normal" society either. One of the clever things about this film is how it seems to steer right into some really problematic waters, but then quickly end up going in a direction I wasn't expecting. Feldman's character is one of them, a clearly neurospicy kid (and family) who is coaxed into being more "social" by the local hottie. Except that isn't what happens in the film. Lawrence's character might have been the hottie, but she's feeling age, hard living, and the weight of the past. Feldman's likewise sidesteps most -- not all -- of the easy jokes at the expense of the "weird kid." Instead of the tropes of either being rejected or conforming, the characters of both Feldman and Lawrence (who turns in an amazing performance) strike out to make their own ways, on their own terms. They must interact with the world, yes, but they are not defined by other's expectations of them, nor are they willing to put aside their own needs and desires for another's convenience. While Feldman's depiction of neurodivergence plays strongly into the stereotypical autistic traits that used to be called "Asperger's," and the character becomes more social suspiciously quick, I found his portrayal and the script both strongly empathic toward neurodivergence while still acknowledging how silly things can get sometimes. The trailer is NSFW. Which brings us to Corner Office. The film was adapted from The Room by Jonas Karlsson, which we'll come back to in a second. Rob Hamm's character is our neurospicy protagonist, again leaning fairly heavily into the stereotypical traits that keep getting portrayed as the only traits. The plot is fairly simple: Hamm's character arrives at a new job, and works to integrate himself with the strange new office culture. And then he discovers a room, a nicely appointed but unused office that only he can see or experience. But when he's in that office, suddenly everything seems to just work ... better. He's more efficient. His analyses and reports improve dramatically. Still, to everyone else, there is no door to the office, just a blank wall. When Hamm's character is in the office, all that anyone else can see is that he's standing and staring at the wall, practically unresponsive. At one level, it's pretty bog-standard magical realism. At another level, it's an elaborate metaphor for being neurospicy and working in modern office culture alongside allistics. Hamm's character is constantly trying to figure out what everyone else is thinking or doing -- and not-infrequently, getting it wrong. He is bothered by sensory stimuli. He knows that he has skills, and wants to use them. He is not particularly interested in power for power's sake. Arbitrary rules that make no sense are rationalized away. And when things get to be too much, he enjoys being able to get away to a serene place without the buzzing fluorescents and drop ceilings. There, he can collect his thoughts. He is more productive. He feels better after spending some time in this secret office, even if his actions look incomprehensible to the others in the office. Yeah, it's a metaphor for stimming, meltdowns, and shutdowns. It was very uncomfortable for me to watch. Hamm's character -- or at least his inner monologue -- is entirely too close to my own thoughts in the past. I recently saw a TikTok explaining part of why a lot of autistic folx have problems with employment. This is frighteningly close to my own experiences at a prior employer. While that TikTok explains in words what is going on, Corner Office ends up evoking what it felt like. That made the book review of The Room (the book Corner Office came from) all the more disturbing -- and makes the experience of Corner Office all the more necessary. Utterly convinced of his own superiority, is a know-it-all, entirely lacking in self-knowledge: he is the office weirdo, the outsider. “I worked out a personal strategic framework. I arrived half an hour early each morning and followed my own timetable for the day: fifty-five minutes of concentrated work, then a five-minute break. Including toilet breaks. I avoided any unnecessary socialising along the way.” -- Ian Sansom in The Guardian The disdain and derision is palpable. As Mad In America put it back in 2021 (linking to papers in Nature and The Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders: Allistic peers are less likely to interact with autistic people because of immediate and unconscious negative judgments that are based purely on social communication style, and not substance. Autistic people are also often perceived by neurotypicals as deceptive or lacking credibility. After watching Corner Office, Sansom's critique feels as though it is a critique of a neurodivergent protagonist who simply is getting through a strange and confusing environment as best he can. Perhaps the allistics will find Corner Office "whimsical." I hope not. To me, it is a claustrophobic exploration of what it feels like to be neurodivergent and working in the allistic world. I hope that rather than being held up as another Sheldon to mock and belittle, Hamm's portrayal will help some grok what it's like for us. {1} I'm still on that journey, figuring out what labels and terms are useful and which ones should be discarded. So -- along with the truism that if you've met one neurospicy person, you've met one neurospicy person -- these impressions are wholly mine and shouldn't be mistaken as if I'm speaking for any neurodivergent community. Read the full article

[mukamibabe]

i remember seeing a lot of your old richter posts when looking through his tag, so i’m so glad to see you posting again!! ><

and while i just read your rules, please feel free to delete this if you’re uncomfortable!!

could i request headcanons for richter with a male! servant that he’s slowly coming to terms with getting along with/eventually having feelings for? ( i know it’ll be so hard for him to get over cordelia, but i am the biggest simp for this man ><)

thank you so so so much, anon! thank you for your consideration, and thank you for this request that i am more than happy to answer! in fact, with how excited i am to answer this,,, it's concerning. i love richter for no good reason and he's got me in some sort of death grip fdjsdf

no tws, under a cut because again, long post. richter is my guilty pleasure so i kind of got a little lost during writing this, lol.

so, you're correct when you say it'd be difficult for him to get over cordelia. that’s very true, unfortunately but also not unfortunately because once he’s with you? he sticks with you like a leech

not very attractive sounding, but..

starting off, richter would probably feel an immediate pull towards the servant, which is super conflicting for him.

a servant, of all things? talk about a downgrade, especially when he’s already in, i guess what you would call a relationship with cordelia, someone who is literally a daughter of a demon king. 

now, i guess it depends whether or not he’s realllly into cordelia or is just in the early stages where he’s just pining for her a little bit.

in this situation, i’m thinking it’d actually be more likely for him to fall for someone else while he’s having his fling with cordelia. it sounds kind of crazy, but before he’s really fallen for cordelia, it’s less likely for him to even allow himself be drawn to anyone else because he has one goal; cordelia.

richter is a true romantic at heart. does he hate it? yes. he lowkey hates himself but that’s another story for another day. 

this is something he considers impossible, because how can anyone love him and make him feel as good compared to cordelia? anyone else but her just sounds impossible.

him being a romantic at knows cordelia’s way of showing love is completely off, even for vampire standards. i truly think richter is someone who has yearned for that sort of.. love where he can let his guard down and be the person he really is. a type of love where he doesn’t need to constantly feel like fighting to be good enough, the type of love where he can just be a homebody and write his poems, as he does.

being with cordelia, as we know, completely changes him and he convinces himself that everyone shows their love differently. while that’s true,,, it’s not the case for cordelia. but even if he knew that deep down, how can he get rid of something that makes him feel so.. needed? 

we know this man is willing to do anything for her, just for the sake of feeling that way. 

now, pushing all that aside, onto his first meeting with the servant-

as i said earlier, it’s like.. a tug that pulls him towards the servant. it’s weird, he has no idea why he feels such a strong attraction towards them. i think richter is the type to swoon for a bit if you compliment him once, but.. 

a servant.

a man. 

both would be firsts for him.

in fact, i don’t really imagine richter being experienced in any actual romantic relationships before cordelia. 

the first interaction is probably brief, and no matter who initiates it, richter only slowly becomes more needy and obsessive. because he craves actual intimacy, it won’t take long for him to realize cordelia isn’t what he wants. but, that doesn’t mean he can break away from her so easily.

the second interaction is probably more impactful, because it’s likely after his first impression (which was already kind of developed based on his somewhat random attraction towards the servant), richter will seek him out once more. 

he doesn’t like that he wants to see him so badly, but richter won’t go against his own wishes. he’s sneaky, of course, as yes, he does still love cordelia but he can’t help but be curious. also, at least he is willing to face consequences if cordelia were to find out.

once richter realizes that he actually feels good in the servants company, everything escalates a lot further. richter is an obsessive man and can be very clingy, but in this scenario he does have a few issues, that being:

himself, cordelia, and the fact that the person he is attracted to is a literal servant. the servant thing is one of the biggest issues for him because he’s so tired of living in his brother’s shadow. he wants to be as good as karlheinz, and dare he say, better. him having relations with cordelia made richter feel superior because of how ‘high class’ she was considered. it’s unfortunate, but richter has to get over his own pride first, as well.

eventually, he does, after waiting for his attraction to hopefully disappear, which doesn’t happen. he could have expected such, but refused to. he tries to blame it on things like, perhaps he’s just lonely, or something along the lines of that. 

it isn’t until richter completely zones out, practically daydreaming about his new interest while in the presence of cordelia. it should be impossible, but it happened.

that is what kind of pushes richter to the edge, or at least near it, in a sense.

when cordelia is finished with him and when richter is left with some time for himself, he seeks the servant out immediately and hastily. it’s a bit reckless of him, especially considering the fact that he whisks them away to somewhere private.

while that sounds quite passionate, it’s not. richter is quick to accuse him without any hesitance.

“what game are you playing at, servant?”  

naturally, the servant probably responds in a confused manner- sure they’d interacted more than twice at this point, but.. what game is he playing at? what does that even mean?

to richter, if he denies any of it, richter gets a little more.. frantic. 

“no.. you’re no ordinary servant. you must have done something, i know it.”

poor servant at this point is like ??? um?

richter is as quick to leave as he was to bringing the servant to that little secluded spot. he needs some time to collect himself because he truly is distraught and confused as to why he even feels this way. and to do it in cordelia’s presence? something was definitely wrong.

spoiler alert richter, it’s called attraction. 

it might take some time, but eventually richter comes to peace with the idea, with the help of his creative outlet of : poetry. and writing. 

he likes to explore his feelings, and this isn’t exactly one he’s used to. he almost feels free, free from cordelia’s hold on him. it’s not completely gone, he still can’t deny his feelings for cordelia, but he’s gotten to the point where he can’t refuse his feelings regarding that servant for any longer.

because cordelia frequently occupies his time, moments with richter are rare, and i think that’s why, for the brief moments richter has had with this servant, makes richter feel more strongly towards them.

after richter kind of went insane in front of the servant, regret builds within him. richter knew why he did it, and he knew he did it to just push them away. yet, it was a fail because the servant still remained close in his mind.

in true richter fashion, he seeks out the servant when they’re alone. whether he’s finishing up work for the or whatever, richter swoops in. a nervous richter, at that. 

he hates to admit it, but he is putting down his pride just to apologize to the servant. the scenario he’s in currently has ran through his head hundreds of times, and he is nervous about the outcome.

“i apologize for intruding, even more so for showing my face after our previous interaction...”

“allow me to apologize. i did not mean to lash out and act so rashly.” 

eventually, assuming the apology is accepted, richter asks him to follow him. for whatever reason, i’m picturing them wandering off to a quite forest, maybe with a pretty lake or something-

during the walk, richter uses this as a way to get to know the servant. and it doesn’t help his case in wanting to pursue.. whatever this is.

expect a lot of private, secret meetings. he wants to avoid being seen interacting with the servant, not only for his own sake but also for the sake of anyone else finding out. he, at the very least, would like to keep cordelia at an arms length, at least in terms of love. he’s not falling out of love with cordelia because he was never in love with her in the first place, just obsessed with the attention he got from her. 

that being said, richter wouldn’t fall in love with the servant quickly, but he does get obsessive quickly. even before and after cordelia’s death, i think the situation would be relatively the same, with the exception of not having to fear cordelia from physically finding out about his little rendezvous.

the servant will start getting little gifts and letters, which are intended to be anonymous but the servant will pick up quickly that their secret admirer happens to be richter himself.

richter often regrets it afterwards, but in the end, he indulges in his own wants, at least a little bit. he knows it’s a little careless, but his infatuation with them grows heavier day by day. 

richter doesn’t ever fully ‘confess’, either, but oh does he wish he could just abandon everything to go live somewhere peaceful and quiet with them. but his life does not call for that. cordelia does not call for that.

honestly, i can even see richter taking in the servant with the excuse of : haha they’re my servant now. 

or, haha this is my new personal assistant.

something like that lol 

is it a risk? yes, but this provides richter with the chance to be close to the servant more. he really wants this unsaid unofficial relationship to work, and he’s willing to make arrangements. things just have to be a bit discreet. 

also, it could get risky too because even cordelia herself might notice like.. richter getting a bit more flighty than usual, so..

honestly ngl this sounds like an entire fic idea at this point. a good one too

despite this, richter’s infatuation with them goes far and wide. he’s slow in courting, but is smart about it. he’s not selfish, though because he is doing this for the servants sake as well.

in short, it’s a slow burn - ish, because once richter realizes he has feelings for someone, it becomes a quick pursuit and richter dives in headfirst.

we know he’s a very devoted man, and this would apply to anyone he’s interested in.

long story short, it could definitely work out, especially once cordelia is dead. if she is dead already, that’s even better and makes things a lot easier for both parties. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

I'm absolutely delighted your prompts are open! Your writing is amazing and always makes me smile, it's the best way to start the day along with a cup of coffee!

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are given another chance at raising a child after a family is killed leaving only a young child behind. Lan Sizhui is delighted to have a baby sibling. Though everyone is more or less nervous about it (mostly be Wei Ying is a gremlin) but also there isn't any other options.

ao3

“It’ll be fine,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “Hanguang-jun raised Lan Sizhui, didn’t he? And he turned out fine.”

“I did,” Lan Sizhui said agreeably, then frowned. “I think I did, anyway.”

“Not to be a spoilsport, but, realistically speaking, how much raising did Hanguang-jun actually do with you?” Jin Ling asked, and held up his hands when Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi both glared at him. “I don’t mean any offense or anything! I’m serious. We know he was in seclusion those first few years, right? Who raised you then?”

Lan Sizhui thought about it. “Back in the beginning? Well…that was mostly Teacher Lan, I guess.”

“Teacher Lan’s the best,” Lan Jingyi said loyally, then added, “Well, other than that fondness he has for surprise quizzes. But that’s not applicable to parenting, is it?”

Lan Sizhui made a face that suggested that maybe it was, in some weird way, shape, or form.

“Teacher Lan, really?” Jiang Cheng asked, clearly getting drawn in despite his best intentions – as was often the case. There was a reason their little group swung by the Lotus Pier nearly as often as they did the Cloud Recesses and Jinlin Tower, despite Jin Ling not living there part of the year any longer. “Wasn’t he mostly in recovery for those injuries he got during the war? I would’ve figured Zewu-jun would’ve been more involved, wouldn’t he?”

“He was around sometimes, but no, it was mostly Teacher Lan,” Lan Sizhui said. “Zewu-jun was often busy – he was rebuilding the Lan sect –”

“I was rebuilding the Jiang sect! So what? I still raised Jin Ling, and he wasn’t even supposed to be here – I had to fight the Jin sect for months just to get the opportunity – ”

“Yes, jiujiu, we know!” Jin Ling said hastily. “You don’t have to tell that story again! You didn’t have to tell everyone that story in the first place!”

Jiang Cheng huffed. He was probably going to tell the story again whether they liked it or not.

“I think I see what you’re saying, Jin Ling,” Ouyang Zizhen put in, always a good fellow for throwing himself on a conversational sacrificial sword. “If Lan Sizhui was already a few years old when he was adopted, and then Teacher Lan raised him for the next three years, then he would’ve been old enough to be entered into the Cloud Recesses’ official junior classes by the time Hanguang-jun took charge of his education, right?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant, that’s it exactly!”

“What does it matter?” Lan Sizhui asked.

“Yeah! Hanguang-jun still raised him the rest of the way,” Lan Jingyi put in, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. “Gave him lessons and tips and all that!”

“Isn’t that something he does as a sect senior anyway?”

“Well, yes, but it’s different for Sizhui, okay?”

“I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with that. After all, the person who teaches the most is the same as the parent, and being the person raising them is what matters no matter when they’re adopted,” Jin Ling said, with an eye on Jiang Cheng, who looked begrudgingly pleased. He looked begrudging all the time, though, so it was probably just pleased. “But my point is – once you were part of the lessons, even if he was raising you the rest of the time, you still already mostly had your personality down by then, right? We’ve never seen what someone raised entirely by Hanguang-jun from birth would be like.”

They all stopped to consider that.

“More than that,” Jin Ling continued. “This kid’ll be raised not just by Hanguang-jun, but by Hanguang-jun as he is now – after he and Senior Wei got together. You know?”

They did know.

“And of course, that’s all putting aside that the kid will be raised by Senior Wei himself, too…”

“Maybe we should start investing in defense talismans,” Jiang Cheng mused. “Because everything is going to explode. Everything.”

-

“Everything will not explode,” Lan Wangji said calmly.

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Because I’m not sure, and I’m more likely to be involved in these hypothetical explosions than you are.”

“Mm. I’m certain.”

“But…”

“Wei Ying will be an excellent father,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice left no room for doubt.

“It’s easy for you to say,” Wei Wuxian whined, though he was smiling now. “You already have the experience of it! They say that it’s easier the second time, when you know what to expect…”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren said mildly. He was looking over some of Wei Wuxian’s notes – he’d insisted on any new inventions passing through a sanctioned approval process before they were put into practice and had volunteered himself to review them, a matter that had caused Wei Wuxian no end of stress until he realized that Lan Qiren really did intend to approve anything that met his standards and, moreover, understood musical cultivation enough to understand what he was driving at with most of them, even the esoteric ones, at which point Wei Wuxian gotten extremely enthusiastic about the whole thing.

This didn’t mean that they were friends or anything, but they’d at least formed some sort of tentative truce.

Most of the time, anyway.

Wei Wuxian squinted at his old teacher suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying that it’s not easier the second time?”

“I am only saying that I have experience in raising a child not my own,” Lan Qiren pointed out, and Wei Wuxian nodded, slightly abashed; he knew that the old man had basically raised Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, of course, although sometimes he forgot. “The first child I raised was Xichen and his personality as a child was much as it was as an adult: gentle, amiable, friendly, obedient.”

That made sense. Wei Wuxian nodded.

“The second child I raised was Wangji,” Lan Qiren said. “He bit people.”

Wei Wuxian burst out laughing.

Lan Wangj virtuously ignored them both, continuing to write a letter without the slightest hint of embarrassment – even his ears hadn’t turned red. What a shame!

“I can testify to that myself,” Wei Wuxian giggled, leering at his husband in the hopes of getting a rise out of him. “He’s still a biter – for certain lucky people.”

“He was a lot less discriminating when he was younger,” Lan Qiren said, and Wei Wuxian winced, abruptly remembering that Lan Wangji’s uncle was, in fact, still in the room. Luckily it was pretty easy to flirt around Lan Qiren, who didn’t seem to notice most of the time, but it was still a bit awkward. “And I once succumbed to temptation and gave him mixed messages, which I believe made it worse.”

That sounded like a story.

“He gave me a candy after I bit Sect Leader Jin,” Lan Wangji clarified, which made Wei Wuxian start laughing again. “He did not expect me to remember. I remembered. Nor did I allow him to forget about it.”

“It is easy to make mistakes while raising a child,” Lan Qiren said, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s cackling. “But if one means well, and tries hard to do the right thing, children are very forgiving – usually.”

Despite his best efforts to remain neutral, Lan Wangji’s eyes curved slightly in a smile. Wei Wuxian felt his heart go all warm and melty all over again.

“This is true regardless of whether it is the first or second child,” Lan Qiren added. “I have confidence that you will both do fine.”

“We will,” Wei Wuxian proclaimed. “With parents like me and Lan Zhan, how could the kid go wrong? And we’ll even try to avoid too many explosions!”

“Please do. One Lan Jingyi is enough for the Cloud Recesses.”

“You know, I was wondering – how did you end up with him being quite so…hmm…”

“Oh?” Lan Qiren said, and Wei Wuxian noted to his amusement that Lan Wangji straightened in back in sudden alarm despite Lan Qiren’s extremely nonchalant tone. “Have you not met Lan Yueheng yet? I must introduce you when he returns –”

“Perhaps not,” Lan Wangji said, sounding a little worried.

Worried, in this case, meant fun.

“No, I think I definitely need to meet this person – Lan Zhan, stop batting at me! I know exactly what I’m doing…”

-

Wen Ning looked down at the baby with which he had been entrusted.

“I don’t have any idea what I’m doing,” he confessed.

The baby gurgled.

“I think Wei-gongzi may have been thinking more about ‘babysitter that doesn’t need to sleep and has inexhaustible energy’ and less about ‘is this person qualified to take care of a baby’.”

More gurgling.

“I just wanted to apologize in advance.”

The baby yawned.

“…right then.” Wen Ning straightened up. Someone was going to have to raise this child, and based on how distractable Wei Wuxian was when he was around Lan Wangji and visa versa, it looked like it was going to have to be him. “Let’s do this.”

[revenge-of-the-shit]

Writing Chinese characters set within Western worlds

If you don’t want to read it on tumblr, go check this out on medium or go follow me on instagram at @annessarose_writes!

Alright. You know what. I’ve seen plenty of stereotypes in fiction (and in social media) that are so incredibly pervasive I’ve seen many Chinese people within the western world internalize it themselves. So here’s a rough guide on writing Chinese characters in an English-speaking Western setting, written by me, a Chinese Canadian woman.

If you’re here to say something racist fuck off. Otherwise, welcome! This is not a comprehensive guide by any means. This is merely a brief overview based on my own experiences. My experience (as someone in North America) will differ from someone living in, say, Europe or South America. I’m not representative of every Chinese person because everyone’s experience is unique. So here were are.

1. Our names

Chinese names are usually written as follows: [family name] [name]. Let’s take a Canadian historical figure as an example: 黃寬先. In Chinese, it’s pronounced “Wong Foon Sien.” On Canadian documents — which are written [First name] [Last name], he’d be called “Foon Sien Wong.” He went by “Foon Sien” for most of his life. That’s his full “first name.” Nobody would call him Foon because that’s just half of his name (unless given permission). It’d be like meeting a stranger called Alex and calling them “Al” right off the bat. Sure, they could go by Al, but you don’t know that.

For those of us living in the Western world, some of us have both a Chinese name and an English name. In these cases, our Chinese name becomes our middle name in English (e.g. a character could be called John Heen-Gwong Lee).

For some people who immigrated to the Western world but were born in China, their legal name would be their Chinese name. Some choose to keep that name. Some choose an English name as their “preferred” name but keep their Chinese name on legal documents. It varies.

2. Parents & Stereotypes

There’s two stereotypes which are so pervasive I see it being used over and over in jokes even within Chinese (and, to a larger extent, asian) communities:

The [abusive] tiger mom and the meek/absent dad

Both parents are unreasonably strict/abusive and they suck

I have yet to see any fiction stories with Chinese parents where they’re depicted as kind/loving/supportive/understanding (if you have recommendations — please do send them my way). Not all Chinese parents are tiger parents. Chinese parents — like all parents — are human. Good god. YES, they’re human! YES, they have flaws! YES, they are influenced by the culture they grew up in!

That isn’t to say there aren’t parents like those tropes. There are. I know this because I grew up in a predominantly Chinese community where I had many a friend’s parent who was like this. Parents who compare their kids to the best kid in class. Parents who force kids into private lessons and competitions that the kid despises because the parents think it’s for the best. Parents who have literally called their kid a disappointment because they didn’t get 100%.

But please, also consider: there’s parents who support their child’s goals and who listen. Not all parents force their kid into the stereotypical trifecta of lawyer/doctor/engineer — I know of a good number who support their child in choosing the path they want. There’s parents who make mistakes and learn and try their best to support their child. So please, for the love of god, if you write a Chinese character, don’t reduce their parents to stereotypes.

3. Language & Learning

When I first read The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan, I was so excited to see a Chinese Canadian character in Frank Zhang. Finally, there was someone like me. Finally, there was representation in well-known western media.

While I do appreciate that RR added in Frank Zhang, it’s pretty obvious that he didn’t really know how to write a Chinese Canadian character. One of the most glaring examples: in The Son of Neptune, Frank reveals he can’t really read Chinese. In like, the next book (I think — it’s been a while since I read it), Frank is suddenly able to read Chinese because he “learned” it in two week’s time.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Learning Chinese is a pain, let me tell you. There’s thousands of different characters and it is something you need to devote a lot of time to learning (especially if you’re progressed past the best childhood years for learning a language). So if you’re writing about a Chinese character living in the western world, here’s what you need to know:

A character who was born and raised in the western world does not necessarily know how to read/write in Chinese.

If they were raised by their own family, the character would very likely know how to speak their own dialect. They’d be able to understand the language used in movies/TV and they sound like a native speaker, but they may not know how to use language outside of certain contexts (the term for this is heritage speaker).

They probably went to Chinese school. They probably hated it. Chinese school is usually universally hated and does not teach you jack shit other than a hatred for the place and a vague memory of learning how to read the language without actually retaining knowledge of what you learned.

Most of my friends who know how to read/write in Chinese learned from tutors, parents, or were born in China.

There’s two main types of written Chinese: Traditional (used by Cantonese speakers) and Simplified (used by Mandarin speakers).

There are MANY other dialects (which I don’t know much about). The most common ones are Mandarin (usually spoken by people from the mainland), then Cantonese (usually spoken by people from Hong Kong).

4. Fitting into the community

Usually, the story is one of two things: they’re the only Asian kid in the entire school, or they grew up in a predominantly East Asian community. Things to consider for both of these when you’re writing:

Growing up the only Asian kid

They’re “that Asian kid.” They’re different. They walk into a class and feel weird and out of place.

They bring food from home (usually ethnic cuisine) to school. Other classmates stare at it, make fun of it, demand what that strange food is.

“Where are you from?” “Here.” “No, like, where are you really from?”

“Your name is funny.”

People literally never getting the character’s name right.

And that horrible, horrible feeling: wishing that they were white so they could avoid all of this.

Growing up in a predominantly East Asian community

It’s not uncommon for Chinese cuisine to mix with other east Asian cuisines. For special occasions (or just for a casual night out), your character could very well go out to get some sushi, or go for some KBBQ, or get some Vietnamese noodles.

Screaming “AIYAA” at/with their friends unironically if they’re annoyed (I’ve done this a lot with Cantonese friends. Less so with Mandarin friends).

Slipping into Chinese for like, two words, during a mostly-English conversation to talk about food or some other topic that can’t be adequately conveyed in English.

Reading books by white authors and learning about white history and growing up thinking white names, white books, and white history is the norm and standard even though the community is surrounded by East Asian people.

When the character leaves this community, there’s a brief culture shock when they realize how sheltered they’ve been.

Things in common for both of these:

The character has grown up on ethnic cuisine. Yes, Chinese people do eat rice with many of our meals. Yes, boba (bubble) tea is extremely popular. No, rice isn’t the only thing we eat. No, not all Chinese people love boba (though as a Chinese person I admit this sounds sacrilegious to say…)

The character likely grew up watching film/TVthat originates from East Asia. It’s not uncommon to watch Studio Ghibli films. It’s not uncommon to watch Japanese or Korean shows with canto/mando dub (examples: Ultraman, Kamen Rider). If you want to see a classic Chinese film from Hong Kong that’s fucking hilarious, watch Kung Fu Hustle.

The character has felt or been told that they’re “too westernized to be Chinese, but too Chinese to fit into the western world.” They’re torn between the two.

5. General portrayal

It’s quite simple, really. We’re human. We’re regular people. We have regular hobbies like all people do. We’re good at some subjects and bad at others. We have likes and dislikes like all people do. So here’s a list of stereotypes you can avoid.

STEREOTYPES TO AVOID BECAUSE WE’RE REGULAR HUMANS AND WE DON’T FIT INTO A SINGLE COOKIE CUTTER SHAPE, DAMMIT.

The character is a maths whiz and perfect at all things STEM.

The character is a straight-A+ gifted/IB/AP student.

The character is the next coming of Mozart and is amazing at piano/violin.

The character’s free time is spent only studying.

The character is insanely good at martial arts.

The character is either meek and submissive or an explosive, dangerous force.

I’m not going to mention the other stereotypes. You know, those ones. The really obvious ones that make fun of and demonize (sometimes through multiple untruths) how we look and how we live our lives. You should know.

Of course, there are people who fit into one or more of these. That’s not the point. The point is: molding all Chinese characters to these stereotypes (which white media tends to do) is harmful and reductionist. We’re more than stereotypes.

—

6. Conclusion

We need more diversity in portrayal of Chinese characters. Reducing us into one-dimensional caricatures has done nothing but harm us — look at what’s happening now. This guide is by no means comprehensive, but I hope it has helped you by providing a quick overview.

If you want to accurately portray Chinese characters, do your research. Read Chinese fiction. Watch Chinese films/TV. Initiate a conversation with the community. Portray us accurately. Quit turning us into caricatures.

[pies-writes-and-more]

HIHIHI I HAVE A REQUEST IF YOURE UP FOR IT KASJHDASKD i was wondering if you could do tsukishima, akaashi, and kageyama (you dont have to do all of them if you dont want to) with a s/o who loves giving affection but doesn't really take it *seriously* when they recieve it? like they think that the character is joking bc they could never actually be that amazing? (sry if this made absolutely no sense just ignore it if you want kaskjasd)

Warnings: potentially some swearing, Akaashi saying “good girl” which I do think deserves a warning, Y/N having some insecure moments, but all fluffy endings promise!

Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Akaashi Keiji, & Kageyama Tobio, all with a fem!Reader

A/N: okay @lucyheartfilias-wife i know this took foREVER for me to finish and I’m so sorry xD but i kept going back and forth between ideas so this is what we ended up with! I hope they’re decent enough!! <3 Not of the following gifs are mine! Creds to the original creators :)

Haikyuu Masterlist

Tsukishima Kei

If Tsukishima knew one thing, it was that he was a lucky boy. Somehow he had managed to make a girl who was probably made of sunshine and rainbows, like him back and somehow figured out how to keep you around.

Although he always had an annoyed look on his face when they did, anytime the team asked about you or mentioned you to him, he was always happy to subtly brag about you.

“Our little Tsukishima has grown up hasn’t he?” Sugawara laughed, slapping pats to the back of the tall first year. “You’re not blackmailing her are you?” Tsukishima just rolled his eyes in response.

“It must be nice to have such a pretty girl around!” Noya whined loudly, punching the wall angrily.

“It is,” Tsukishima smirked, enjoying the immediate anger that Noya tried to turn on him. Daichi held the wild libero back with an exasperated smiled, shaking his head.

“She’s really smart too isn’t she?” Hinata gaped, having only really heard of this girl that Tsukishima was dating but Yamaguchi said it was a girl in their class so she had to be smart.

“Anyone’s smart compared to you,” Tsukishima scoffed but shrugged. “She’s the top of our class.”

Everyone made sounds of excitement and surprise, the upperclassmen nodding in approval, “Who knew this salty bean pole could find someone smart and pretty to like him back?” Tanaka snickered and Tsukishima just rolled his eyes.

You hadn’t meant to overhear the conversations happening in the club room but you were just waiting for your boyfriend against the railing. To say you were a bit embarrassed was an understatement. And that embarrassment was probably written all over your face because when Tsukishima finally came out, his cheeks turned pink seeing your expression.

“What?” He asked after a beat, avoiding your eyes as he started to walk towards the stairs.

“You know you don’t have to lie to your teammates right?” You asked him eventually, giving him a small smile. “I’m sure they know you’re just being nice.”

For once, you had actually surprised Tsukishima. Normally he could tell exactly what you were thinking but this time, he actually stopped in his steps and looked at you like you had grown a second head in the last few moments.

“Lie?” He asked, tilting his head up in thought before scoffing a bit, “What part of what I said was a lie? For that matter, how much of that nonsense did you hear?”

The word nonsense rang in your ear repeatedly, echoing all your insecurities further into your subconscious, “I dunno, how much were you saying?” You retorted, glancing at him with a shrug. “Come on, I wanna get home before it gets too dark,” you decided when he didn’t answer right away. The two of you started walking, Tsukishima clearly deep in thought because for once on your way home, he wasn’t complaining about the boys or listening to music. He was just… walking.

“When did I lie?” He finally asked at your doorstep, as if realizing if he didn’t ask now, he never would. He grabbed your wrist before you could turn away and leave without answering him, tugging you closer so he could look right into your eyes (he could always tell when you were lying to him).

“What?” You squirmed a bit. You knew exactly what he was asking but did you really want to admit it?

“You said I lied to my teammates. What did I lie about?” His frown was tight, eyes as serious as ever. “I’ve been thinking about everything I said to them and I can’t think of a lie that I told. Was it about everyone being smarter than Hinata? Because I really was telling the truth.” The little smirk at the end made you feel like he was trying to keep this lighthearted. But the topic weighed so heavily on both your shoulders.

You could feel Tsukishima keeping your gaze right on him, and knew if you looked away, he might just get more upset. So you were forced to just look at him awkwardly, as if he was looking through your very thoughts.

“I asked you out didn’t I?” He continued when you didn’t respond right away. “Doesn’t that make you my girlfriend?”

You let out a little laugh, surprised that that’s what he had come up with after that very silent walk home. “Yeah, I suppose so,” you smiled, finally pulling your eyes away from him and staring at your hands as you fiddled with your fingers.

“So what-”

“They’re just being nice,” you tried to tell him awkwardly, cutting him off from asking one more time. “I’m not… I’m not everything they’re pretending I am. And you don’t have to keep up the charade with them.”

Tsukishima’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what charade could you possibly be talking about.

“I know I’m not as pretty as your managers,” you explained quietly. “And I’m sure being surrounded by them all the time has got you having some high expectations and standards for girls. That’s why I was surprised when you asked me out… but I know it’s probably just cause we’re always together and we study together. I know I’m pretty helpful when it comes to schoolwork so-”

Tsukishima started laughing. Like genuinely, throwing his head back, from the bottom of his belly kind of laugh. Your eyes widened as you watched this normally cool and collected idiot snicker himself practically to death.

“T-Tsukishima?” You blinked, poking him a little to make sure he wasn’t just having some sort of weird seizure.

He finally ran out of breath, standing back up straighter than ever and hitting the top of your head (not as gently as he should’ve, how rude), “Listen here, shortie,” he huffed, leaning down slightly so you were forced to look at him. “I have high standards for anyone I even keep around me. The only one who’s exceeded my standards for dating though, is you.”

You watched him, blinking nervously as if he was going to laugh in your face again and tell you it was a joke.

“I didn’t lie to them, idiot,” he shook his head, flicking your forehead. “You’re way too pretty to be as self-conscious as you are.”

Words would never solve your self-consciousness, you knew this. But if there was ever a moment that would ever come close - it would be this one.

“Go inside alright,” he grinned at you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and shoving you closer to your door. “And the next time I compliment you, you better accept it.”

You couldn’t even retort anything back before he ushered you inside, gave you a cheeky wink, and started to head home.

You were still very bad at accepting Tsukishima’s compliments and almost felt tortured with how much he could try to get you to understand how much he loved you. So naturally, Tsukishima just did it more and more.

Everything you did became a compliment, just to make you all hot headed and make him chuckle. He would praise you for being one of the smartest people he knew after a test or assignment, he’d say you were the cutest person up on the stands after his volleyball games, would just shower you in aggressive amounts of affection (well aggressive for him).

And then one day…

One day you day you didn’t fight back as much. And Tsukishima just smiled because he would never say anything to you he didn’t mean.

Akaashi Keiji

Akaashi was literally an embodiment of everything that someone could want. He was calm and wonderfully humble, his voice was like a mellow song that you could fall asleep to and he had the most amazing biceps that just made your heart flutter every time you saw them.

He was everything you could ever dream of which was both incredible… and not at the same time. It almost hurt to know that he was this unobtainable boy standing near you. Sure, you were dating - but how long until he realized you were beneath him? How much longer would it take him to realize that there was better.

You couldn’t hide these thoughts from Akaashi and more often than not, he’d give you a look like I know what you’re thinking, stop that, and then tell you he loves you before you just nod and smile and try to focus on something else. He’d let it go there, but he’d probably spend the rest of the day with you trying to convince you he really meant it.

But today he wasn’t next to you to read your face. Today, he was going to be down on that court, showing off his incredible reflexes and sports ability, and you would be up here. Blending in with the crowd. You were a filler character - something to fill the stands with and not be noticed. Unoriginal. Boring.

“Y/N!” Bokuto ran to you, grinning as wide as ever. “Look what I brought you!” He held up Akaashi’s jacket happily, waving it over his head as he jumped up and down in front of you.

You tried to put on a smile, as if you hadn’t just been spinning in your insecurities a few seconds ago. Your eyes focused on the jacket that Bokuto was trying to put on you, blinking as you came to the realization that he had 100% stolen this from your boyfriend without his knowledge, “Bokuto, won’t he need this?” You offered with a small laugh.

He shook his head with a grin, “He practically discarded it somewhere. I thought I’d come bring it to you! It would probably make him super happy to see you in his jacket! And you look so cute in our colours!” Bokuto declared, patting your head. You tried to start telling him that he should bring it back and that you weren’t really sure Akaashi would want you wearing it, but suddenly you could hear his coach on the court screaming from him to get his ass back down there. “Whoops! Gotta run! Cheer hard for us!” Bokuto gave you a thumbs up before running down.

You stood there for a moment, face feeling hot as you start to smell Akaashi’s scent on the jacket. How did he manage to smell this good all the time?

You could hear whispers from people in the stands, some people wondering who you were or if you were Bokuto or Akaashi’s girlfriend, since it was Bokuto who gave you the jacket.

All the ruckus from his coach made Akaashi actually look over, smirking a bit while Bokuto was getting scolded. He sheepishly made his way over, trying to seem all innocent to his best friend.

“Where the hell even were you?” Akaashi asked, throwing him a toss as the boys warmed up.

“Oh! Just dropping something off to Y/N for you!” Bokuto grinned, nodding in your direction as he received the ball nice and high.

Akaashi shouldn’t have looked over. But he did. His eyes locked onto you and saw you in his jacket and for a moment, he definitely spaced out. His whole brain was just thinking about you and nothing else and he didn’t knock himself out of it until Bokuto’s pass knocked him right in the head.

“Akaashi! Are you okay?” Bokuto laughed, knowing the pass had been pretty soft. Akaashi’s cheeks turn a bit pink as he shook it off, running after the ball.

You were wearing his jacket. And you looked so good in it.

After a complete win for the game, Akaashi was so hyped up to see you. You had worn his jacket the whole game and he had to avoid looking at you because you were just so distracting.

But now that it was over, he wanted nothing more than to swoop you into a hug and admire you. You gave him a huge grin when you caught up with the team, excitedly cheering them for their win and giving Bokuto high fives.

Akaashi watched you with a small smile on his face. You glanced over at him and gave a nervous sort of smile, noting there was a difference in how he was looking at you. “Oh! Here, you’ll get cold soon when your adrenaline stops pumping,” you said, pulling the jacket off.

“It’s alright,” he insisted, smirking a bit down at you. “You look gorgeous, I don’t want you to take it off,” he admitted with a smile, patting your head adoringly.

Your face gets all hot again, avoiding his eyes quickly, “Alright alright, Mr. High Off Of A Win,” you laughed nervously, poking at his chest gently. He raised an eyebrow at your dismissive behaviour.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t go spreading stuff that isn’t true,” you shrugged, shoving your hands in the jacket pocket. Sure, you liked the jacket but there was no way you were as pretty as he was making you out to be. Gorgeous? No way.

Akaashi’s eyes darkened slightly hearing this, taking your chin into his fingers and tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him, “You think I’d lie to you?”

The question made you shrink inside, noting his hardened expression. He didn’t like it when you were hard on yourself, always made you notice all the little great things about you. But this wasn’t a private conversation, and people were starting to stare, which just made your face go even warmer. “N-No,” you mumble out shyly, trying to look away but he kept your gaze.

“Good girl,” he smirked at you, tapping your nose gently, “Now take the compliment. And wear my jacket more often, alright?”

You couldn’t help but nod at that point, Akashi smiling in his satisfaction before dragging you off for the team’s celebratory meal. The pit in your stomach that liked to tell you you were a filler character was slightly less intense now, after talking to your boyfriend. Akaashi had such an effect on you and there was no denying it. How could a guy like that be with a girl like you, you would never understand. But there was such an honesty in his eyes, and he was right after all, he wasn’t the type to lie about these things… so maybe. Just maybe. There was some truth to it.

Kageyama Tobio

Kageyama wasn’t the best at noticing hints and subtle things, and honestly, he’d rather if people were just blunt and to the point with him. But with you, he knew that he would have to learn between the lines. It wasn’t because you weren’t great at communication (and let’s be honest, even if you were bad at it, Kageyama was in NO place to call you out on that), but rather, Kageyama understood that at some point in relationships, it was important to see what the other person wanted.

So when he started really trying to read you, he found himself almost discouraged by a reoccurring instance.

It was real subtle at first, and in that moment, Kageyama probably wouldn’t have noticed. But he probably just smile at you and press a kiss to your forehead, thanking you for always thinking of him.

“You’re always so thoughtful, Y/N. I appreciate what you do for me,” he told you, almost like he was thanking a teacher for their help on homework which just made you laugh.

“Don’t be silly, Kageyama, it’s just a milk box,” you insisted, giving a little wave to his teammates before he left.

But it wasn’t just a milk box and even Kageyama could see that. He had forgotten his lunch today and you had shared yours with him. But he always had a milk with his lunch and you didn’t have one, but he didn’t have the chance to actually buy one before he had to head back to classes. He didn’t think he had mentioned anything about the milk, or even hesitated to eat without it. But you had still gone out of your way to buy one for him and bring it to him after classes.

You had even apologized that it was later than he usually had his milk, as if you should’ve known to get it earlier. Kageyama was amazed that you even went and bought him one. He held the box in his hands for a moment before getting called over to start practice, promising himself to have the drink right after practice.

It wasn’t just that you brushed off his appreciation for what you did for him. Kageyama always felt something was wrong when he complimented you. So much so, he had to awkwardly ask his upperclassmen for help.

“Oh our little Kageyama needs help with his girlfriend hmmm?” Tanaka laughed, hands on his hips like he was some sort of relationship expert.

“I dunno why you’d come to us,” Daichi admitted with a smirk, leaning against a nearby wall as he considered the question. “It’s not like any of us are really all that experienced with girls.”

“But you know how to… communicate,” Kageyama explained, playing with his fingers as he shyly stared at the floor. “I’m just worried I’m… doing that thing that Hinata says I do. Where I think I’m complimenting her but I’m actually hurting her.”

Sugawara chuckled and threw his arm around his first year’s neck, fluffing up his hair playfully, “Aw! Little Tobio is growing up!”

“What kinds of things are you saying to her?” Asahi asked, offering Kageyama a smile as the blueberry boy tried to fix his now messed up hair.

Kageyama thought about it for a moment, not having to think that far back to remember an example. “This morning, she was wearing her hair differently,” Kageyama told them, gesturing towards his hair as if to act out how her hair was. “And I told her she looked very pretty.”

The boys just looked at him, as if expecting for there to be more. “Okay and?” Noya piped up, shrugging.

“That’s it,” Kageyama blinked. “Should I have said something else?”

“Why would you say something else, Kageyama?” Daichi raised an eyebrow, noting the distress in the setter’s eyes.

Kageyama huffed, remembering how you awkwardly turned away, as if he had said something brash, “She just said ‘you don’t have to do that, Kageyama’ and changed the subject. But I don’t know what she meant. Was… Was I not supposed to tell her? She did look very pretty but should I have kept that to myself?”

Sugawara gave him a sympathetic smile, “I think you did fine, Kageyama, don’t worry! Maybe she was just embarrassed.”

The others agreed, Tanaka explaining to him that some people were bashful when it came to their appearances.

“But she’s the most perfect being in the whole country!” Kageyama burst out, his forehead creased with concern. “Why shouldn’t I tell her?”

“Just in the country?” Asahi chuckled and Sugawara smacked his arm.

“Don’t tease him, I don’t think Kageyama has ever left the country!”

“Maybe she’s just not used to you complimenting her. Like how you weren’t too used to holding hands with her at the beginning of your relationship,” Daichi offered, remembering how red the boy’s face was you first took his hand at a tournament. He didn’t even know he had to hold your hand back and just had his hand staying there stiff.

Kageyama nodded slowly - he could understand that. It just took some time and then he was okay with it eventually. Now he would grab your hand out of instinct and it wasn’t something foreign to him.

After talking to his upperclassmen, Kageyama felt a little better. Perhaps it wasn’t his words then, maybe he just had to do it more.

But after a week of trial and error, Kageyama still couldn’t understand why you still seemed so uncomfortable. The day after consulting the second and third years, Kageyama had told you he really liked the way you hummed and that you had a really nice voice (he really did like it, it was his favourite thing to listen to).

But you just flickered your eyes away from him, offering a nervous laugh, “It’s nothing,” you mumbled before quickly asking him about his practice schedule.

So Kageyama thought maybe you just didn’t like talking about your singing. So when the two of you were studying, you noticed his laser focus wasn’t on his work but instead on you. His eyes were so trained on you, it was like how he was on the volleyball court.

“Kageyama?” You blinked in surprise, catching him staring at you. “Are you alright?”

“You’re really smart, Y/N!” He blurted out, a firm nod afterwards like confirming what he was saying. “I appreciate you always coming to help me work!”

But you just squirmed in your seat, turning your eyes back to your work, “I really don’t know all that much.”

It had been a week of this back and forth, Kageyama desperately trying to find what was going on. Was it him? Was he just not using the right words? Could he actually be being really rude and didn’t realize it? Was it his face? Was he supposed to smile more?

Finally, Kageyama felt like he was at the end of his rope. He didn’t know what to do now.

“The sunset is really pretty today!” You beamed as the two of you walked home from his practice. He glanced over and noticed the brilliant colours in the sky. It looked nice sure, but how could you understand that that looked pretty and you didn’t?

“I think you’re prettier.” He stated simply. Kageyama didn’t really know what lines were cheesy and what weren’t. But you did and your face just overheated immediately in response.

“K-Kageyama, don’t say things like that!” You insisted, staring to walk ahead.

“Wait!” Kageyama yelped, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you back to him. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked you desperately, his eyes wide and searching yours for some sort of answers.

You stared at him for a moment, confused by his words, “Wrong?” You repeated softly, noticing how upset he looked.

“I…” Kageyama’s voice faltered as he watched your eyes. “I keep trying to tell you how amazing you are. You do all these things for me, you help me when I’m upset and you always help me train. You throw balls for me and Hinata, even when you’d rather be at home. You call me during my jogs just to keep me company. You bring me milk when I forget mine. And you always compliment me when I’m feeling like I’m not 100%… so what am I doing wrong? Because everything I say to you… it doesn’t seem to work.”

Something in you clicked. Is this why Kageyama had been acting so weird this week?

“Kageyama… I do all that because I like you and I want you to be your best,” you explained softly. “And I compliment you because I mean it! Not because I’m trying to make you feel better. Or try to boost your self-esteem.”

There was something in your tone that Kageyama couldn’t place. What was that in your voice?

“Why are you sad when I try to tell you things?” Kageyama was practically begging you for an answer. He didn’t understand how to read things from your tone, he wanted to desperately to understand but he just couldn’t grasp it. “Sugawara told me that complimenting people on things makes them feel good… am I doing it wrong? Please just tell me, I’ll be better! I’ll be the best boyfriend!”

Your smile was almost sad and Kageyama’s heart tugged a little in his chest, “I don’t want you to say things because you feel like you have to say them,” you sighed softly, now avoiding his eyes. “I know my hair is a mess most of the time, I know that my singing isn’t some professional level shit, and I know I’m not the model kind of girl or those gorgeous girls who come to your games. I don’t need you to try and convince me otherwise…”

Kageyama’s mind felt like it was blowing up. What were you talking about?

“Don’t be so stupid,” Kageyama whined, huffing at you and poking your forehead, “You think I’m lying about these things? You think I say them because I feel like I have to?” Kageyama shook his head, taking your face into his hands. “I’m not the best with words, I know this. But you are…” Kageyama’s face twisted into a funny expression as he tried to find the words he wanted, “the most perfect thing. You’re like when I make a perfect set and the spike goes right past the blockers!”

You couldn’t help but smile as he went on talking about volleyball. You weren’t surprised - he often related things to volleyball to understand better.

“You… are the perfect jump serve. Seeing you is like I’m winning full sets at Nationals!” He expressed, looking at you with wide eyes in hopes you were understanding. “I’m not trying to make you feel better about yourself, Y/N. You are everything I could possibly want. You make me feel like volleyball isn’t the only thing that matters anymore. I want to hear you sing all the time and I love your hair no matter how you think it looks.”

Your eyes were welling up with tears as he spoke dramatically, looking up at the sky as if that would help him figure out his sentences better. When he finally looked back at you, he jumped back almost immediately in fear.

“N-No! Don’t cry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought up volleyball again! I-”

You laughed and quickly shook your head, grasping his hands in yours, “Happy tears, Kageyama,” you explained softly, almost immediately burying your face in his chest as you drew him closer for a hug. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Kageyama wasn’t really sure what you were thanking him for but he hugged you tightly anyways. He hated seeing you cry and he would squeeze them all out of you until there was none left if he had to. “You are very pretty.” He stated, pressing a kiss to your head.

And this time, you didn’t argue. You just stayed there in his arms, and listened to the genuineness in his voice.

Haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)

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[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[volleychumps]

Ok finally (my last one) a scenario where the Karasuno boys (I will always trade Kenma for Tanaka) are at a Halloween party and their crush comes in wearing the sexiest/hottest costume that boy could ever wet dream of (they’re crush lost a bet and had to wear it). I’d love to see what each boy would want their crush dressed as and to see them flustered when their crush comes over to chat them up. Again you’re an amazing writer and I hope you see these! I’m crossing my fingers.

This request was suuuper fun to write and I chose the costumes off the personalities of these nerds, I hope you enjoy!!!

I wrote for the ones I chose in the mix of our boys considering they’re scenarios, hope that’s okay!!

Karasuno Boys (+Kenma) w/ a Crush in a Sexy Halloween Costume 

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

Daichi (lmao don’t blame me for the choice of costume Dai is a simpleton)

“Consider yourself lucky I even came.” 

“Boo, no fun, Dai!” 

The captain narrows his eyes at his vice-captain as Suga shares a knowing grin with Asahi and Kiyoko as the first and second years run about through Kuroo’s abnormally large house. The shared halloween party hosted by the Nekoma captain himself consisted of the teams of Fukurodani, Nekoma, Aoba Joshai, and Karasuno along with their managers- a party in which Daichi Sawamura was not informed of the magnitude. 

The Karasuno captain was decked out in a pirate costume, chosen to match with Sugawara, a costume Daichi would have never agreed to wearing had he known the party would be consisting of people outside the team he trusts. 

However, there was no purpose in pouting. Before Daichi could scold Hinata and Kageyama for perpetrating a challenging game of Just Dance against Lev and Yamamoto, Yachi tugging on an arm of someone who had yet to emerge into the entrance caught his attention. 

“Y/N~, come out!” 

“I said I would wear it, not that I would show myself in it.” Your voice snaps, and Daichi involuntarily feels heat rise to his cheeks as he realizes: as a manager-in-training for the Karsuno team, the invite also obviously extended to you.

Daichi looks away from his conversation with his fellow third years to gape at the sight. He had definitely wondered what the girl he liked would look like in one- 

he just wasn’t expecting to see it. In person, and not out of his late-night fantasies of seeing you in his jersey with nothing underneath it. 

Yachi, dressed as a simple princess, giggled as you attempted to pull down the volleyball shorts that clung to your legs so tight almost like a second skin, a Karasuno jersey just barely covering your ass with low in behold-

The number one gracing your back. 

Instead of the standard ponytail or braids, your hair fell in delicate waves down your shoulders, your goregous makeup out of place for the volleyball player costume you wore. You glare at Kuroo’s wolf-whistle and manage a small grin to the first-years that rush up to you- 

“Y/N-chan, you look soooo pretty!” 

“Shut up dobe, it’s not like our uniform is anything special-” 

“It’s still a costume. She doesn’t play volleyball.” 

“Thanks for the analysis, Tsukishima.” You laugh a little, moving through them to get to try and get to your seniors as you glare at the one who made the bet with you. 

“Why Dai’s number, Kiyoko?” You whine, leaning on Daichi with totally platonic intentions as the captain feels himself stiffen. In more places than one.

Daichi keeps his lips sealed shut at the wink from Kiyoko as said woman shoves both Asahi and Sugawara along, claiming she needed their help with getting more drinks with the intention of leaving the two of you alone as Daichi bites back a groan. The usually steady captain leans against the wall, looking away nervously. 

“U-Uhm y-you look-” 

“Nice costume, Daichi-senpai.” You wink once they leave, moving to lean against the wall as well while running a hand through your hair. “Guess you could say I’m you, huh? It’s weird being in the uniform, not being a player and all-” 

“Y/N.” 

You arch a brow at the crack in the captain’s voice, surprised at how flushed the captain’s cheeks were before realization dawns on your features. 

“You look really really nice tonight. The jersey suits you.”

“You think?” You fiddle with the hem of the jersey, noting the darkened expression on the captain’s face: either one of restraint or lust, you couldn’t tell. You smile through a bitten lip, finger tracing up his chest as you glance around, making sure no one could see as your breath tickles the captain’s ear in a surge of confidence. 

“I think I’d look better without it, don’t you think?” 

Daichi’s jaw slackens as you giggle, walking off to watch the Just Dance battle emerge with a sway to your hips, feeling the captain’s eyes bore into you from afar. 

Looks like he could consider himself very lucky he had come tonight. 

Sugawara

“Y/N, I will drag you. Don’t doubt I won’t.” 

“Nooo Bokuto, You never said anything about actually coming in to the party.”

 “You’re making a commotion, sweetheart.” 

Suga frowns, raising the rim of his cup to his lips at Bokuto’s choice of names for you as the Fukurodani captain attempts to drag his manager into the party. Although the vice-captain knew damn well you would never make the mistake of going for the playboy known as Bokuto, Sugawara still felt an itch of jealousy at the close bond the two of you shared, hence the slightly tightened plastic cup in his hold. 

Bokuto smirks at the stare from the gray-haired boy, thinking that the vice-captain should actually be thanking him, as a final tug pulls you into the party. 

Suga chokes on his juice. 

“A-Are you a sexy nerd, Y/N?” Akaashi manages out at the sight of his manager, heat flooding his cheeks at your knee-high socks and short school girl skirt, a pair of frames resting on your nose as your white button up only had two of the bottom buttons buttoned. Your hair had been pulled back into a messy braid, complete with a pair of open suspenders as you groan at all the eyes on you. 

Sugawara moved his damn eyepatch just to make sure what he was seeing was the real thing, feeling sensual emotions wash over him at the unexpected sight. 

The vice-captain remains shocked when you move through the herd of your boys to make your way over to him, a pout on your lips that was so unnecessarily attractive Suga had to gulp as you cross your arms over your chest, covering your red exposed bra with both arms. 

“You’re the only sensible one here right now, Suga.” You sigh to your friend, plucking the cup out of Suga’s hand and drinking from it. “Is this capri sun? You know me so well.” 

Snapping out of his trance, Suga clears his throat before chuckling lightly, tugging you out of the common area of the living room and into a more secluded, yet not completely empty room. Karui and Saeko point at the two of you excitedly, before leaving the room quickly as Suga takes even breaths through his nose- amazed he’s able to keep his composure. 

“This-” Suga pulls you forward by the two sides of your exposed button up, fingers buttoning up the rest of the buttons, covering your bra. “Is dangerous in a house full of men.” 

“Oh tell me about it.” You sigh as your close friend finishes closing up your top. “I lost a damn bet to Bokuto and-” 

“You exposed yourself to these boys because of a bet?” 

You blink at the raspiness and irritation now prevalent in Suga’s voice, suddenly at a loss for words as the look in his eyes makes your knees slightly weak. 

“U-Um...yes? Is there a man to show it to only?” Your tone is teasing, but Suga’s burning stare makes your mouth go dry. 

Suga clicks his tongue, eyes tracing over your figure one more time possessively as he suddenly turns, hand on your wrist. 

“I have extra clothes in my car.” 

He doesn’t have to turn around for you to see the redness on his features as a smile tickles the corner of your lips. 

“Only if you want them.” 

“Oh I do!” You chirp, letting him guide you out of the house as all tension drains out of the atmosphere, and Suga smiles to himself-

his hand moving to clasp in yours just a little tighter with his heated skin. 

Nishinoya

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a ninja. Duh.” 

Nishinoya huffs, wondering why he had to explain it for the third time as Asahi laughs heartily, decked out in a sailor costume that exhibited the definition on his arms vividly. The shorter boy goes to pull his mask back up until the sound of your groaning voice catches within his hearing, the libero’s heartbeat automatically picking up. 

“No! Oikawa, don’t be more of an asshole than you usually are-” 

“Rude. A bet is a bet Y/N-chan~” 

Pulling up his mask can wait. 

Your sexy devil costume was tight in all the right places as your cheeks matched the shade of red your attire adorned as you stepped into the party, a steady silence settling around the room at your entry. Bokuto broke the silence with a sharp whoop from his spot next to Noya, who still had his jaw on the floor as you shyly pull at the leotard that resembled basically a red bikini, your attempt being futile. 

Shoving out of Oikawa’s hold, you rush over to to Kiyoko, pouting all the while as the woman dressed as an angel giggled and adjusted your devil horns as she strokes your hair in a there there motion, making Noya’s heartbeat skyrocket even higher at the sight. 

“N-Noya-san are you alright? You look faint.”

“I can die now. As a happy man.” The libero sniffs, not noticing you come over to the drink table and startling him from his position in front of the coolers. Now suddenly the most timid boy at the party, Noya blinks once to see that Asahi had left with the purpose of leaving him alone with his crush. 

The shorter boy gulps when your finger presses at the bottom of his chin, shutting his dropped jaw as wide brown eyes gape at you, pink dusting over his features. 

“You’ll catch flies.” You say simply, smiling a little through your bright red lipstick as Noya’s cheeks suddenly match your costume. 

“HahAHAH flies. Right.” 

You arch a brow, pulling at your stockings- oh god you were wearing stockings- as Noya tries to find steady ground, thinking that if any deity was ever giving him a sign- this was it. 

As you throw back a drink, Noya does as well, the sound of the shot glass hitting the table. 

“You look extremely sexy tonight, Y/N. I’m saying that in the least pervy way possible.” The words come out rushed as an amused tilt to your lips makes the libero calm a little, hand over his heart as if he was swearing something. 

Your devilish attire had sent a rush of confidence through you as you find yourself playing coy. 

“Well,” you take another step forward, Noya gulping when your fingers find the cloth of his mask. “I suppose this costume did make the guy I wanted to see it most find it that way.” 

Noya remains frozen in shock as you pull down his dark ninja mask to place your lips over his cheek sweetly, winking once before escaping back to Kiyoko right as the adrenaline could rush down-

Noya soon following in your escape path soon after, your scent filling his nose as he wonders if he would be sinning tonight. 

Kenma

“Your parties are lame.”

“Says the guy who didn’t even wear a costume.”

Kenma rolls his eyes as he relaxes more into his seat on the couch, the console in his hand sounding with beeps and the like as he mildly points a finger to the top of his head to an annoyed Kuroo through the heavy music and beer pong. 

“This is a costume.” 

“A pair of dollar-store cat ears is not a costume, Kenma!” 

Kenma blinks at the foreign voice, looking up once to not only see a smirking Kuroo, but you-

your sensual cat costume hugging your figure amazingly along with drawn whiskers, a pair of more appropriate cat ears resting on your head than his as your sheer tights seemed to show even more skin than without them. 

Subconciously, Kenma turned off his console right away, wondering just when the team manager of Nekoma he just so happened to have the biggest crush on walked into the party, much less up to him.

“Great party, Kuroo!” You beam innocently as Kuroo shrugs with an I-told-you-so expression to his childhood friend, Kenma glaring at him with flushed cheeks as the setter tries to find the right place to look. Anywhere else to look, please. 

“What are you drinking, Y/N?” 

“Juice. For Kenma too- and you better not be drinking alcohol Mr. Underage-” 

“You’re not a manager tonight, remember?” Kuroo grins cheekily as you take a seat next to Kenma, ignoring all the pairs of eyes on you. “That was apart of the bet~” 

“I’ll shove your bet right up your ass if you keep it up~” You respond in kind as Kuroo barks out a laugh before taking his leave, leaving you with the brain of Nekoma in the middle of a Halloween costume party. 

Kenma clears his throat, setting his console down before looking off to the side shyly, a hand on the back of his neck. 

“W-What bet did you make with Kuroo?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know- I came here in this cat costume and that’s that.” You giggle, crossing your leg over the other as Kenma’s eyes slowly trail towards the movement, looking quickly away again before shyly looking down at his lap.

“Can I take a turn?” You nod over to the shy boy’s console as Kenma mumbles a barely coherent yes, before handing it over, giving him an opportunity to calm his racing heartbeat as he watches you take it excitedly. 

“Parties really aren’t my thing.” 

“...Same.” 

Kenma feels a quirk to one side of his lips as he watches you- something out of a wet dream- excitedly fight against a computer in his game as he suddenly becomes glad he came to this lame-ass party.

“Are you gonna watch all night or play with me?” 

“I suppose beating you once or twice won’t bite.” 

“Did the Kenma Kozume just give me sass?” You raise your brows at the challenge as Kenma brushes some of his hair back, shrugging confidently as the man of the hour breaks your little moment. 

“How are my two favorite kittens doing?” 

“Go to hell, Kuroo.” 

You and Kenma look at eachother before laughing at the simutaneous reply, the Nekoma captain biting back a comment at the fact that they were bonding over insulting him-

honestly glad that his plan had worked. 

Tsukishima

“I really let Saeko help Y/N get ready for this halloween party.” 

“...and why are you telling me this?” 

“Oh you’ll see.” 

Tsukishima spares Tanaka’s shiteating grin another moment of wonder before shrugging and going back to watching Hinata and Kageyama try to outdo each other in a (furious?) game of Cards Against Humanity, finding it wonderfully hilarious that neither of them seemed to be very funny at all as Bokuto won every round. 

“And so she arrives.” 

“Tanaka-san, why are you telling me like I care?” 

“Cut the shit, Tsukishima! The whole team knows you’re a big softie for her.” 

Before the cynical blonde could absolutely deny that claim, the loud cheer of Saeko grabs his attention before doing so. Tanaka’s older sister pulls you into the party with a knowing grin on her face as you embarassedly comply, stepping into Daichi’s house party timidly. 

The nurse costume your body adorned was unreasonably tight, highlighting your upper and lower body parts amazingly, matched well with a nurse hat atop your head innocenly along with knee-high socks that seemed to make your already short skirt even shorter. You wave with a shy grin to the players from Karasuno as Tanaka has to hit Tsukishima to get his attention. 

“I-I’m sorry-what?” 

“I knew it, you softie.” Tanaka snickers, eyes widening when he sees Hinata and Kageyama making it a race towards you to compliment your costume, shoving Tsukishima before he can think about it. 

“Go! Before those two can!” 

Tsukishima goes to deliver a snarky rejection to the wing spiker only to find himself bumping into you, crude words falling on silent lips as your chest presses up against his frame in the process. 

“Oh crap, Tsukishima-Kun, I’m sorry!” 

The blonde moves to speak, but no words come out- only a blush coming instead to involuntarily spread across his cheeks.

“D-Did I hurt you?” You squeak out, and Tsukishima finds it extremely hard to meet your eyes when literally every aspect of your body he had admired from afar before-

was simply magnified with your costume. 

“No.” The blonde rasps, taking his glasses off to wipe them at the bottom of his shirt. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you really? Do you need a check-up?” You joke, doing a little jazz hands pose that the blonde couldn’t help but think was absolutely adorable. 

“Sure.” Tsukishima finds himself saying before he can stop himself. “Give me one. You’re supposed to be a nurse, right?” 

You blink, surprised, as Tsukishima glares at the crowd of Karasuno players looking on from behind you, suddenly wishing he could whisk you away somewhere private as a majority of them giggle like little schoolboys. 

You timidly take out a prop stethoscope, looking down at it and fiddling with it. “I don’t really know where your heart exactly is, much less if this thing works at all-” 

Tsukishima takes the device gently from your hands, moving to put it into both his ears and the circular part over your chest, trying his best to be as gentlemanly as possible. 

“Here.” The blonde arches a brow. “Your heart’s beating out of control.” 

“R-Really? Oh crap, you can tell?” Your eyes widen as Tsukishima continues to pretend to listen, a smirk overtaking his features as you had fallen for his trick.

“Nope. But I now know that it is.”

You squeak when Tsukishima returns the stethoscope to your nurse pocket, leaning down to mumble in your ear, 

“It’s just a prop, but you’re cute for trying.” 

So, as you stood there with a dazed look in your eye and reddened features to match the red cross on your hat, Tsukishima shoved his hands in his pockets before turning and walking off, looking pleased with himself as Tanaka and his sister high five from a distance.