#I’m not exaggerating when I say a lot of fics are better than the outcome cos wtaf were the writers smoking

[bisexualseraphim]

On my SECOND attempt at rewatching The 100 and yet again I am considering just. Not finishing it lmao Season 3 is painful enough already even ignoring what happens in 3x07, how the fuck am I supposed to survive four more seasons without flying into a rage for every single second of the experience

So tempted to just ask someone for a Clarke & Madi scenepack and never watch another minute of this dumbfuck show for the rest of my life because those two are like the biggest reason I agreed to finish the show in the first place 😭 Genuinely don’t care about anything else, the characters are shit except for a small handful, the storylines are shit the writing is shit this show is SHIT and I’m so bored of it. I’m happy for anyone who can enjoy it outside of Clexa but I don’t understand y’all one bit, I wish I was as joyful as you

[m1ckeyb3rry]

OMG ITS LITERALLY WHAT WEVE TALKED ABOUT LMFAOOOO the “nikos only 15” and ofc aiku being aiku and Barou being like “can u stfu” also I lowk forgot that the special exhibition art (the colorings you reblogged recently) had niko and aiku tgt LMAO truly destiny

Wait I almost forgot about that moment bc YEAH FR I remember thinking in that moment like “is bro a kdrama watcher????” Nagi truly is an enigma

I’m ngl I was (am..??? I just forgot abt the concern until just now ig) worried that they’d make the entire first episode the wildcard thing but surely not..!!!! Surely not….lowk I don’t think there’s even enough content there to fill whole episode (I hope) only because I really couldn’t gaf about Shidou or igaguri

NO FR IVE BEEN TRYING TO GET PEOPLE ON THE CHIGIRI MAN AGENDA FOR AGES (I say that having not interacted with like any of the fandom) because his hair is the only thing that really sticks out as not typical dude (bro does NOT use 3 in 1 shampoo) but lowk I think that’s also just because of his meticulous/picky nature for things? We see him taking a lot of time for his knee too ofc but other than that he’s such a dude HSHSHS like are we forgetting all the dude bro muscle screaming moments he has to get hyped up with Barou and zantetsu after the 3v3 and leading up to the 4v4 and also he’s had his moments on field too like…fanon characterizations really are the epitome of wrong (oops)

Bro I’m just imagining the two otoyas meeting like you’re typical like multiverse crossover episode hollyhocks like “yeah bro I’m an assassin” and bllk otoyas “like sick dudeee I get hella girls” and hollyhock otoya replies with “ayo that’s my boy, would’ve been me if I weren’t busy killing ppl smh” LMAOOOO

No matter the au Yukimiyas always dying surrounded by idiots LMAOOO he just never wins…the “unfortunately there’s ness” has me howling AHAHAHA real there are no ness enjoyers here

Karasu being a softie and picking up random animals so real and yuki is so done with his shit but POKEMON AU I also forgot we had a section in our convo abt that (not specifically your au but pokemon in general) omg…can you drop some hints from the outline….im Lowk curious what kinda story you’d write i don’t think I’ve ever seen a pokemon au fic (no pressure ofc!! Only if u wanna show it LOL)

LMFAOAOAOAOA YOURE NOT AKAZA IS BRUTAL YOU JUST KILLED THE MAN stop im crying that would’ve been such a funny response (although kinda mean shdgshshs) what is your strat for rejecting these people because i can only imagine you’d have a shit ton of opps if they took your words the wrong way omg

NOOO OUR STREAK it’s ok we can erase this outlier….also lowk I think it’s maybe just the game art style if you showed me a pic of yuki making this face in the manga or in fanart I’d think he looked hot but something about the eye sizing and like his mouth isn’t consistent and throws it off for me…like if they exaggerated his smirk a bit more and adjust the left eye shape to kinda follow the sharper “angry” look as opposed to just leaving it completely normal maybe it’d be better….atp it sounds like im just saying “make a Karasu face” oops

- Karasu anon

LMAOOO RIGHT IT WAS SO PERFECT aiku trying to be the big bro of the ubers but mommy barou is NOTT letting his bs slide 😭 i also love the headcanon of aiku trying to be bffs w barou meanwhile barou has 0 interest and thinks aiku is an idiot (deep down he actually thinks he’s chill but he would NEVER admit that) also poor niko the mdni sign killed me 😩

when he said that i was like 😮 because it was so random??? but honestly he’s so real for that…average nagimira activities are just us rewatching crash landing on you and relating the characters to people we know irl KFNDKSKSK

OKAY if i have to make a prediction they’re going to start the episode with the flashback almost like a prologue?? reo will be the narrator introducing what the scenario is, we see the confrontation + game + outcome, and then we cut back to ego announcing top six and explaining the premise of the third selection ☝🏻 that way the hype for shidou is built up but the rest of the top six are also introduced and we can get right into the third selection from there since there’s also the entire u20 arc that’s supposed to fit into this season so they can’t delay too much

OKAY PLUS CHIGIRI HAS AN OLDER SISTER WHO HE’S REALLY CLOSE WITH as someone who gets along rlly well with my own little brother you KNOW that man has a meticulous skin and haircare routine because i’d literally make fun of him if he didn’t…tbh those are the vibes chigiri gives me 😩 but agreed i mean he’s honestly manlier than isagi (he also has a pretty deep voice) and despite having a “pretty” appearance he doesn’t necessarily act as such ☝🏻 except in official arts but lbr official arts are lowkey the fanon versions of characters half of the time anyways

PLSSS can you imagine the hollyhock characters meeting their current time counterparts 😭 like the two otoyas are just dapping each other up because their living each other’s dreams meanwhile bllk karasu’s just like “wtf i’m the general of the army and eventually become shogun and my best friend is a baddie ⁉️” and hollyhock karasu is like “eh ig so” and bllk karasu’s like “why are you depressed then dawg that’s fire” and hollyhock karasu is like “i miss otoya and y/n ☹️” FJDJDJSJSJ omg poor yukimiya though he’d definitely be like “why tf am i a villain 😭😭😭” meanwhile hollyhock yuki is like “🤷🏻 it was coachella 2016 that was the vibe at the time”

bro save yukimiya he’s actually a victim he needs to become friends w aiku and barou (new diva trio) because idt he can actually take being a trio w karasu and otoya longer…OKAY HEAR ME OUT instead of tabieitaken it’s tabieitaryu (karasu + otoya + SHIDOU i think that would be such a peak dynamic) and then yuki seeks refuge w the ubers or mancity groups because he could easily be close w reo or barou i can rlly see either…ALTERNATIVELY in actual canon let’s see a yukimiya and kunigami team up ☝🏻 GET YUKI OFF THE BENCH, GET US A WILDCARD FLASHBACK, AND LET THE BOYS W THE FUCKED UP BODIES AND DESTRUCTIVE THEMES LINK UP AND SCORE THE FINAL GOAL 🙏🏻 it would be a good way to utilize kunigami i think (since he’s not rlly done much post wildcard) and also to reinforce why yuki was literally number five in the third selection

OFCCC I CAN TALK ABT THE POKÉMON AU i actually wrote it in my notes app so i’ll just type instead of giving screenshots since that’ll end up as a lot 😭

so basically the gist of it is the mc is barou’s younger cousin or sister or smth (rip barou male lead but the familial bond is the main theme of the story so he’s still important) and he disappears to go on a journey when he’s of age and he’s never heard from again!! originally mc doesn’t want to go on a journey but eventually she’s decides she has to in order to find barou ☝🏻 they don’t live close enough to a professor for her to get an actual starter so she takes the sibling of barou’s first pokemon, which is a houndour, so that’s her starter!! she goes through the region in search of barou, collecting badges and meeting the crew (who i will elaborate on in the next paragraph hehe) and catching pokémon/having various misadventures etc etc but eventually they realize an evil team (because is it a pokémon au if there’s no evil team) is after them after originally thinking mc is one of them because of her houndour as they believe the crew is a threat to the team’s goals 😨 it’s eventually revealed when mc breaks into the base that the leader is barou HOWEVER barou is very clearly acting strange and it turns out he actually died right before challenging the champion of the region and the evil team used a ghost pokémon to puppeteer his body so that they could use his team since he basically had the strongest team in the region and would’ve been champion if he didn’t die 😓 the evil team wants to get rid of pokémon training as a system because they believe it takes advantage of the unfortunate (such as nagi) which the mc does agree with but she can’t agree with their methods and especially possessing barou’s corpse 😭 so she and her houndoom kill barou for good which leads barou’s own houndoom to basically kill itself (the rest of his pokémon are inherited by mc and mostly like her because they realize how much she loved barou and how she never stopped looking for him) and this proves aiku’s theory that pokémon do form familial bonds as mc’s houndoom mourns for its brother (also ik i just mentioned nagi and aiku without context but i’ll explain who they are now + their teams and hopefully it’ll make more sense then!!)

so the main group that reader travels with is herself, tullia, otoya, and karasu!! otoya is the descendant of an exiled clan and he’s trying to regain their honor by being a legitimate trainer instead of all sneaky the way his family members were, karasu is the younger brother of the region’s flying-type gym leader (yayoi 🥹) and he ran away from home to prove himself as a trainer in his own right, and tullia is an aspiring pokémon breeder who’s basically training up her own pokémon so people want their offspring?? if that makes sense lol

mc’s team: houndoom [starter], gyarados, aegislash, donphan, galvantula, dragalge

barou’s team: houndoom [starter], pangoro, zoroark, krookodile, sharpedo, weavile

otoya’s team: greninja [starter], ampharos, blissey, sylveon, ninetales, altaria

tullia’s team: infernape, lilligant, vivillon, lanturn, granbull, hitmonchan (all pokémon mentioned to be somehow helpful to people, particularly attractive/used as companions, or, in hitmonchan’s case, having offspring with multiple evolutions [without being basic and just giving her an eevee])

karasu’s team: honchkrow [starter], pidgeot, staraptor, talonflame, garchomp, lucario (he mostly has flying type pokémon because yayoi kept giving him rejected gym pokémon to keep for himself; lucario and garchomp are the only ones he catches himself)

then we have a lot of recurring characters, some who appear more than others (ex nagi has a lot of appearances because he’s my goat whereas hiori and isagi don’t have as many)

yukimiya wants to be a battler like the rest but because of his frail health and eyes he’s forced to be a coordinator and model however he’s actually quite talented at battling so he helps mc in training and move efficiency and whatnot whenever he sees her

team: breloom [starter] , steelix, alakazam, noivern, manectric, azumarill

nagi had like 0 interest in going on a journey or doing anything difficult but a fire burns his house down and leaves him an orphan and the only way he can get any governmental assistance/literally SURVIVE is by becoming a trainer so that’s what he does

team: arcanine [starter], goodra, reuniclus, clefable, whimsicott, snorlax

reo is the son of the current champion and he’s training to be a gym leader and eventually possibly replace his father as the champion

team: gallade [starter], mawile, persian, flygon, cinccino, florges

chigiri used to be a very famous rapidash racer but he has a very bad accident and injures his leg to the point that he can’t race anymore so he also has to become a trainer in order to earn money

team: off-the-track rapidash [starter], zebstrika, dragonite, gorebyss, liepard, pyroar

hiori literally just becomes a trainer so his parents leave him alone and he can have some peace and quiet; i’m thinking he appears in some kind of fossil-related side quest hence why he gets a fossil pokémon

team: kingdra [starter], metagross, nidoqueen, luxray, aurorus, swanna

isagi is completing the trials to become an elite four member so he kinda runs into mc and co every now and then?? he seems to have known barou in the past so mc tries to talk to him about it but isagi doesn’t know what happened to barou; or, if he does, he’s elusive about it and refuses to answer mc’s questions

team: charizard, lapras, stoutland, machamp, leafeon, raichu

aiku is in training to be a pokémon professor and is currently doing research for his thesis about whether pokémon are capable of forming familial bonds on the level that humans do or if it’s more instinctive pack-bonding for them

team: aiku doesn’t really have a team per se since he mostly does catch and release for research purposes but he does have an arbok that stays with him permanently and is his partner in crime and rizz

um…anyways…that was a lot as you can see…LMAOAOA idk who the endgame would be in terms of a love interest (probably nagi if we’re being real) because the main focus is honestly mc and barou’s sibling relationship ☝🏻 i also don’t know who tullia would end up if anyone i just wanted another female main-ish character so it’s not just mc with a bunch of boys 😭

HELP I LITERALLY HAVE A FORMULA FOR REJECTING GUYS tried true and perfected so feel free to steal!! i just say “hey i’m flattered you thought to ask me and i really admire you for speaking up but i’m not interested in you like that. i hope we can still be friends!” (i ghost immediately afterwards though ngl) that only works if they’re straight up abt it otherwise if they’re being sneaky i just ignore/ghost or make up a boyfriend/parental excuse 😭 i have made some opps sadly but for the most part it’s worked out well!!

EEK tbh i’m used to watching some very crunchy animes and gaslighting myself into finding characters attractive so i think my mind just automatically yassified him…like i see the vision and the vision is hot enough that i’m like ok yeah he’s hot LDFHJSJS

[erricdraven]

For the malec prompts, 7, t, 22 ? Feel free to change stuff if you prefer!

*so i used this to my advantage a bit so this can be read as a prequel-sequel to my previous fic the number of heartbeats between here and there. also it's a bit canon divergent because of the parameters of the request!* 7. deleted scene | t. secret relationship | 22. "i'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."

To: Alexander – 1:23am

Did you still want me to come over tonight? I know it’s later than we had planned but…been thinking about you 🥰

To: Magnus – 1:26am

Sorry I was in the shower but yeah please come if you still can!

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Pretty boy.

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Handsome.

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Angel.

To: Magnus – 1:28am

…yeah?

To: Alexander – 1:28am

I always want to see you. Do you want to see me?

To: Magnus – 1:28am

Yes definitely

To Alexander – 1:29am

Then I’ll be over quicker than you can say my name

Magnus made his way around the sprawling architecture of the New York Institute, looking for the wing of living quarters. The buttresses that framed the familiar third-story window would have made fair footholds for scaling the building, but there were better methods available to him. Twisting his index and middle fingers, he summoned a dense amalgamation of magic beneath his feet that expanded upwards. Fortunately, Alec had left the window unlatched and slightly ajar, allowing Magnus to slip through and land soundlessly in a crouch.

Just as he straightened up, the bathroom door opened and damp steam from the shower billowed out. Alec emerged, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist, but when he caught sight of Magnus, an almost smug smile pulled at his lips. “Hey,” he greeted, striding over to kiss him softly, one hand gently cradling Magnus’ cheek while the other held the towel in place at his hipbone.

“Is this for me?” Magnus teased, running the soft outer part of his forefinger along the damp skin of Alec’s bare chest. “How thoughtful.”

Alec laughed boisterously, his ears faintly pink with a warm blush. “Sorry to disappoint you but that was just a happy accident. Patrol ran late and I had to deal with— Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Magnus shook his head. “How can I be disappointed with this outcome, unintentional as it may be.” He skated his palms up to Alec’s upper back and reverently drew them down across the planes of muscle until he got down to the small of his back. His fingertips dug into the soft skin above his buttocks needfully, pressing just hard enough that his blunt nails would leave behind little crescents if one were to look hard enough. “I still come out victorious in this scenario, I think.”

>> READ ON AO3

The way that Alec smiled at him, tired and weary but endlessly soft, made Magnus feel like his heart were being squeezed just this side of painful. It was the most vulnerable he had ever seen him, and it was simply theirs to share.

“Hey, Magnus… Why did you agree to this, us, like this?” Alec gestured vaguely. His eyebrows drew tightly together in consternation, and Magnus fought the urge to kiss the skin between into relaxing. “Why are you willing to hide with me?”

It had been a few weeks since their conversation about an arranged marriage for the sake of preserving the Lightwood legacy and foothold in the New York Institute. Maybe it was some kind of desperation that had driven Magnus to be so cavalier about his willingness to accept the “don’t ask, don’t tell” mentality of shadowhunters. The thought of losing the first spark of hope in love that he had had in over a century was excruciating, and concealing it so meticulously was a high price, but he was paying it. In a way, though, keeping this fragile thing between them a secret, left to grow in discretion, felt a little like a relief. Whatever it may be with time, it was theirs alone.

At the silence, Alec licked his lips nervously and started to say something.

Instead, Magnus held up a finger to his mouth to quiet him anticipatorily. Through a roguish grin, he said, “I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else. I want to give that question the answer it deserves, but that’s a tremendous ask when you’re up against me like this.”

Alec rolled his eyes as if it were nothing more than a line, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed his self-satisfaction. And that was exactly what Magnus had intended. “All right, well then, look away.”

Magnus turned his back with exaggerated movements and crossed his arms over his chest with a smile. It was nice to have someone to be this way with again; it felt like liberation to have someone with whom he was free to be himself without the burden of titles and expectations. He was exposed when he stripped away the personas and facades that were like secondary skins. They were facets of himself that people expected him to have, but Alec never seemed to want him to be anything but Magnus. Not Magnus Bane, not High Warlock Bane, not Prince Regent of Edom.

“Are you decent?” Magnus teased after the sounds of fabric on skin had subsided.

In response, Alec came up behind him and leaned in just enough that his chest brushed Magnus’ back. “All done.”

Magnus shifted his weight to lean back into Alec lightly and reached back to thread his fingers into Alec’s still-damp hair. Softly scratching his nails through the soft strands made Alec hum contentedly. “We should sit so we can discuss your question.”

“Can we lay down?”

“Of course.”

They climbed on the bed over the sheets and comforter, and Alec immediately rolled over so Magnus could curl up behind him. He even lifted his arm away from his chest so Magnus could slide an arm over his hip bone and anchor his hand on his abdomen. This was something they had done once before—bearing their heart to anyone was hard for both of them, but this way made it a little easier.

Magnus took a slow breath, gathering his thoughts appropriately. “You’re a possibility, Alexander. A beautiful, liberating possibility that I’ve never had the fortune to come across in all my life.”

Ever melancholy, Alec replied, “How can you feel that way when I’m basically shoving you back in the closet with me, and asking you to sneak around and be ashamed of something that should be so simple. It makes me feel like a child to ask you to…stoop this low.”

“It was my choice, Alec. I chose to put myself in the position I’m in. And for the record,” Magnus added, pressing his lips to the back of Alec’s ear, “I’m glad that I did.”

Alec pressed back perceptibly closer to him, ducking his head to press into the crook of Magnus’ neck in a self-soothing gesture. “You’re not just saying that so that I feel less guilty, right? Because it doesn’t work if you don’t mean it.”

Many times throughout Magnus’ life he had been in the position of feeling at the disadvantage with the people he loved. He worried himself sick over whether he was being too clingy, too transparent, too vulnerable, and then he overcorrected and worried about being too aloof, too distant, and too unavailable. The cyclical questioning and self-doubt had ruined a lot of encounters before they even had the chance to become something concrete. Even now, there was a seed of doubt about what he was doing with Alec—maybe he was giving him too much credit, and maybe putting his own heart on the line was naïve.

“I don’t have the luxury of knowing what will come of this, Alexander,” he said carefully, “but I am certain that never giving it the chance would be something I would always regret. Will I always be content to be the soul of discretion in regards to you and what we may feel? Likely not. But you didn’t ask me for forever, and I’m not asking you either. I think both of us just needed the chance to be worth the risk of seeing it through to whatever end it might reach.”

Warm calloused fingers made their way down Magnus’ arm to lace between his own and squeeze gently. “I can live with that.”

Magnus chuckled and pressed a kiss to Alec’s hair. “I hope you can do more than that.”

“Mmm.” Alec yawned and rolled slightly, taking Magnus with him. “For now, though, I’m just going to sleep with it.”

“‘It’ being me?”

“By the angel,” Alec groaned, exasperated yet fighting a smile. “You talk too much sometimes.” Before Magnus could reply, he had captured his lips in a languorous kiss. Each one they shared felt like a discovery that Alec relished, unrehearsed and uncertain but wholehearted in the best way. The anticipation and enthusiasm of each new moment they shared was somehow so much better than any shared with Magnus’ most experienced ex-lovers.

Magnus pulled away just enough that their lips parted but their noses still touched. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“This is even better than my white noise machine. Having you here is…peaceful.”

“Aren’t you a romantic,” Magnus said dryly. But when Alec pulled him close again, he was helpless to resist.

>> PROMPT LIST

[asleepinawell]

hiii not sure if it’s okay to ask a poi question but here it goes - i recall seeing you expressing (at least some level of) discontent with what Harold has done on the show (to root, to shaw and all those hypocritical decisions throughout). would you like to share more about your thoughts on this character? tks

always okay to ask poi questions. since the fandom is pretty small these days i was going to put my answer under a read more line so people could ignore it more easily if it’s a subject that bothers them but apparently you can’t add read more lines in ask answers? thanks tumblr! so if this is a topic that annoys anyone, please, just skip it. also, while some of this is facts or based on facts a lot of stuff is obviously my opinion and therefore not canon and not the only opinion etc etc.

in general, i wasn’t crazy about the way harold treated any of the other characters (with the exception of john who he had a pretty great relationship with). for root, there was the refusal to call her root, which i found very gross and uncomfortable (like, in general you should respect what people ask to be called, but also it was linked to the traumatic death of her childhood friend and he absolutely knew that so fuck that shit). he even said something along the lines of 'john reese is what you prefer to be called' to john right in the first episode? he was okay with using reese's fake name, but not hers because he made her identity into a power game.

he also tended to be..hmm, patronizing is the wrong word (and lbr root was extremely patronizing to everyone) but more that he treated her like ‘rehabilitating’ her was his pet project or something. i mean one thing that always struck me was his ‘what happened to you’ line in bad code and then the subsequent decision to put her in a mental institution instead of, you know, jail, which is where every other perp they ran into tended to go. he saw her as broken and flawed and in need of his help which, to me, came off as hypocritical and belittling.

also, putting someone in a psychiatric institution where they get pumped full of drugs when they don’t need to be? really fucked up! even if you argue root needed therapy/was depressed whatever, that’s not what they were treating her for. they were treating her for ‘delusions’ and ‘hearing voices’ which were...real things. like, the machine was speaking to her. harold knew that. he let her get put on all sorts of medication and put in solitary confinement and oh yes also her doctor was a really fucked up dude, something harold could easily have dug up if he’d bothered. also the whole ‘killing off a woman to advance a man’s character development thing’ is, uh, a bad trope. to put it mildly. i could write a lot more about his shit with root but let’s move on.

in some ways, his attitude towards shaw bothers me most. he consistently treats her like she’s violent and unhinged because she has aspd and despite the large amount of evidence to the contrary. she is, in fact, the most cool and controlled member of the team (not counting carter) and the least likely to go off half-cocked. shaw does play into this, but mostly only with harold and only through her words, not her actions. she knows what he thinks of her. when she’s captured by samaritan, harold gives up on her very quickly in a way he would never have done for john (and probably not for root either at that point). shaw’s reaction to sim!harold in 6741 of ‘did you even look for me’ says a lot about what she thinks he thinks of her. his whole ‘binary moral compass’ line to her is also, uh, heavily projecting. shaw and carter had the strongest moral compasses of the group. by a long shot. 

moving on to the machine. so first and foremost, if you’re creating a sentient being, whether that’s having a kid or making a self-aware AI, you don’t create something with the intention of locking it up and ignoring it forever. (and he was creating her for the bush/cheney administration???? who TM pointed out was terrible if he somehow had managed to miss that. root called them something like the worst people imaginable and she wasn’t exaggerating). was it too dangerous to let TM be free from the get go? maybe! but then don’t fucking make an AI you think can destroy the world, buddy. there are a lot of reasons he made TM and none of them make this acceptable to me. once TM had clearly proven to be not a threat and trying to help he continued to ignore her and act like she was dangerous.

harold always needed very badly to feel like he had the moral high ground and not be the person who made a bad decision, which yes, is probably partly due to the trauma from what happened to nathan but that doesn’t make it okay when being paralyzed by being unable to make a decision got people killed. more than once! also, most of his morals got tossed out when they weren’t convenient. wouldn’t kill the senator to save the world because killing is bad! next episode he’s like if anything happens to grace kill all of them. cool story, still murder.

i wanna conclude this rant by talking about harold as a character vs harold as a person. meaning, harold as a fictional character who is used as a narrative device in a story as opposed to harold himself without the context of him being fictional. i don’t mind characters who say and do things i dislike. it’s very important to have characters you dislike as people imo. feels like an understatement. but lambet, for example, is a slimy asshole. the story is aware of this. he gets an ending a slimy asshole deserves. harold has a lot of flaws, and causes a lot of damage, gets his friends killed, and his stubborn refusal to budge on his arbitrary moral high ground lets samaritan take over and almost makes team machine lose. he gets a happy ending. with the woman he lied to (and caused a lot of pain and grief by lying to). root ends up dead, shaw gets tortured and fights her way back for root only to have her die which is kind of handwaved as ‘well she has tm with root’s voice good enough’, and john, after having rediscovered his will to live and have a life in the end of s4 goes right back to his whole dying for someone else thing. only harold gets the happy ending.

the show was actually pretty good at highlighting harold’s flaws and making them interesting, and then it kind of forgot that at the end in terms of story outcome. like, if harold had suffered enough to get a happy ending, then why didn’t anyone else get one? so my annoyance was with the narrative’s failure to satisfactorily conclude the characters’ arcs. (and for the record, i’m not one of the people who think he should have died. i don’t think it would have served a point. also death doesn’t equal redemption to me).

so, yeah, not a fan of him. don’t write him in my fics since my dislike would take time and focus away from writing about the people i do like. would probably be less bitter if they’d ended the show better. i was 300k words fic level of bitter. there was some post i saw going around recently about how if your found family show doesn’t end up with your found family together then you’ve kind of missed the whole point of found family and yeah, that.

[mopeytropey]

a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut: 

:::

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.  

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Colors (Soulmate AU)

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I’M ON A ROLLLLLL. I did try a little phrase at the end in Manoa at the end but I’m not sure on how accurate it is. My requests and taglist are still open. 

*Italics - flashback*

@zephyrs-from-far-lands​

Request: I hope your still taking requests because din djarin x reader soulmate au where you only see in grayscale until you meet your soulmate would be an amazing fic to read!

Masterlist // Prompts

She used to wonder what the color blue looked like. Y/N knew it was the color of the ocean, the beautiful sky; still so elegant despite the world being gray.

“Everything is just so beautiful!” Her friend would gush when she first found her soulmate. “I can’t wait until you finally see it!”

Y/N couldn’t wait either, but she waited patiently, with the firm belief that all good things came to those who were patient enough.

Though it was impossible to actually imagine the colors, let alone new ones, it never hurt to try. Y/N took every opportunity she had to dream about them, to even imagine the feel of them – she was aware herself that she was borderline obsessed with them, but couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Din was sleeping soundly next to her, back turned towards her. Y/N couldn’t help but trace the various scars and burns that littered his tan skin – which she always admired – and place little soft kisses on them. She knew he would eventually wake up because of this, but she couldn’t help herself. Especially not when she was feeling nostalgic.

Her life was pretty simple, even for a merchant such as herself. She took her work seriously, had friends, family, and little hobbies – such as training and scavenging – for herself. Y/N didn’t want to say her life was miserable, because it was quite the opposite, but yes it would be better with colors, to see the world in all its beauty; to see light among the gray ashes. She knew enough about them, could imagine what the color of the sand looked like – a tan, peach look she was told once – and the color of her hair and her eyes; her friend told her she had beautiful eyes.

Din groaned as he started to wake. He could feel soft lips trailing over the skin on his back, a welcoming feeling as he smiled and turned onto his side. It was hard at first to get used to her soft smiles and groggy voice in the mornings; it was too intimate, something he had gone without for so long. It was foreign as it was beautiful and warm.

“Good morning,” Y/N whispered, now tracing her finger over his jaw. He would have to shave soon.

“Morning,” he whispered back, leaning into her touch. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. I’ve just been thinking.”

He hummed, scooting closer to her until their foreheads were touching; he still couldn’t get enough of her touch, to feel that she was still physically real, with him.

“About what?”

Y/N grinned then. “About us. When we first met.”

Din chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Best day of my life.”

It was a typical day when the Mandalorian strolled through the markets with the Child and Cara Dune in tow. He was used to the gray world and had convinced himself that he would die with his vision still dark and colorless; he could dream about the day he would be able to, but even dreams can be teasers. Y/N didn’t see him at first, he had caught sight of her. She stood behind some fruit and vegetables; eyes glazed over in a daydream. The first thing the Mandalorian noticed was that his once gray world was starting to change. People were starting to become different, even from behind his visor, no longer the same gray shadows he saw every day; he could see the colors of the fruits and vegetables at her stand, the first he noticed was orange. A beautiful color.

Confused, he turned towards Cara, who he could see had black hair and brown eyes with pale skin. The Child, who was gurgling and cooing next to them, was green with big, brown wide eyes. They were beautiful too. But it couldn’t compare to how magnificent Y/N was when his eyes found her again, and he immediately recognized her as the reason for all this change; his soulmate.

Din Djarin never expected to find his soulmate, let alone have one. Didn’t believe that he deserved one either, not with what he’s done. Sure, he was a changed man now, but the insecurity was still there. He was always told that everyone had one out there, waiting for them, and that soon he would find his when he would least expect. He didn’t believe them until he saw her.

Y/N leaned in to give him a soft but passionate kiss, only pulling away to catch her breath; she still had to get used to that as well, the way her heart would pound and hammer away in her chest whenever they were in the same room together, and how quickly she seemed to lose her breath with every smile, every touch, every kiss.

“Mine too.”

Y/N was brought out of her daydream when she heard someone, a woman, call out to her.

“Hey, fruit lady!”

She quickly whipped her head towards the call, eyes trailing over a woman standing alone with a smirk.

“Got someone here who really wants to meet you,” she said.

The Mandalorian cursed as he hid against another stand. Even with his stupid helmet on, Cara could sense the change in her friend, could see the way his head wouldn’t turn away from the woman at the stand, only a few feet from them. She quickly deduced what was happening when she saw him looking around as well, his body language speaking to her in a way his words sometimes didn’t: surprised, curious, shock, realization, fear.

“Oh I see what’s going on,” Cara teased. “You just found your soulmate, didn’t you?”

The Mandalorian stuttered. “No I just… okay yes but-.”

“And it’s that girl at the stand right there, right?”

“Y-yes.”

He hid as soon as he caught on to her plan. He wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. What if she didn’t like him? Or his lifestyle? What if he was only putting her in danger? The questions swirled around like a bullet in a trapped room.

Y/N was weary but walked towards the strange woman. Her eyes caught sight of the Child, and she couldn’t help but smile and wave to the little creature.

“Hello,” she cooed to it. The baby waved back, babbling a hello in return.

The Mandalorian stopped breathing when he heard her voice. It was absolutely lovely.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” Cara interrupted, bringing Y/N’s attention back to her. “I think you guys will really like each other. Like a lot.”

He wanted to slap her sometimes. But it was too late, the young woman was already looking his way. With a deep breath the Mandalorian stepped from the shadows, body tense with anticipation.

Y/N was confused at first. Why would a Mandalorian want to see her? Then she saw it, the way colors seemed to bleed over her vision, wiping away all the gray from the world. She gasped, taking a step back as she inspected her new – the world wasn’t new, but she was – surroundings, drinking it all in. Her heart stopped when she saw the sky, and it was just as beautiful and free as she imagined it; blue and white, so calming and tempting. The next color she noticed was the color of her dress: brown with soft red designs over the middle, hugging her delicately. Despite all the overwhelming colors swarming her visions, she was able to come back to reality, the delight from her smile only faltering slightly at the revelation. Because this meant she had just met her other half!

Her eyes immediately dropped towards the man in question, who waited patiently. Cara clapped her hands, making them both jump.

“Well,” she let out an exaggerated sigh. “My work here is done. I’ll leave you two to it, the kid and I will meet you back at the ship.”

Mando could see there was no use arguing with Cara Dune, and he made a mental note to thank her later, even if the outcome was bad. But he could feel it, the instant connection between them, the curiosity underneath the amazement of their new vision.

“Hello,” Din finally greeted.

Y/N waved a shy hand, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Hello,” she greeted back softly.

And the rest was history. Din and Y/N both made sure to thank Cara for pushing them together, and the Child had taken quite a liking to her. It took some time to get used to each other, to tread the waters of a new relationship, but they had time, patience, and forgiveness, which saved them more than once. But for Y/N, being with Din Djarin was everything she ever wanted; being his soulmate and wife was one of her greatest blessings in life. She still couldn’t get enough of looking at him, his perfect dark eyes and wavy matching hair.

A gurgling coo called out to them at the end of their bed, making them both look down at the baby smiling up at them. Y/N chuckled as Din sat up to take the Child in his arms, setting him between the both of them and laying down, laying an arm out for Y/N to place her head on.

“This is all I ever need. Just the two of you.”

Y/N smiled at the baby, running her finger gently down the bridge of his small nose, humming in agreement.

“I love you.”

“And I love you kar’taylir darasuum.”

 Tags: @treehousemagicblog​, @riverquartzuniverse​, @beepbeepyabitch, @smol-flower-kiddo​, @harps-for-days​, @teenagedirtbagg2​, @goththespian

[back-on-my-bullsh]

Band-Ten-Heart

Summary: A long bus ride provides Peter the perfect opportunity to tell you how he feels. Now all he needs to do is actually talk to you.

Warnings: Fluff! cursing, some angst if you use a magnifying glass, probably some improper comma usage, marching band lingo.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Here it is! My very first fic :D A lot of this is based off of my own experiences in high school marching band so, y’know, take this with a grain of salt or whateva. Feedback is always appreciated so... let me know what you think, I guess.

“Hey Peter?”

Peter’s eyes shot up from his phone to meet yours across the aisle of the bus, his brows raised.

“Could you hold this for me?” Peter glanced down at your outstretched arms to see you holding a mirror towards him. He nodded, taking it from you and holding it out so you could see yourself in it.

“Doing makeup on the bus? A bit risky, don’t you think?” Peter gave you a concerned smile.

“Occupational hazard,” you shrugged, “they don’t usually give us time to do it there.” Peter hummed in affirmation as he watched you paint long strokes of pastel colors around your eyes.

“Pretty impressive,” he said, admiring your precision.

You paused to smile up at him, “lotsa’ practice, I suppose.” He nodded again and your eyes returned to the mirror so you could keep working.

Peter thought back to all the times he’d arrived at competition sites or rival high schools, only to see you with your makeup and hair perfectly done, ready to take the field. He inwardly cursed his band director for keeping the woodwinds on a separate bus until now. The charter bus taking them to their next competition had enough storage to allow the whole band to fit onto two buses rather than the usual three, and the nearly ten-hour drive had prompted Mr. Keely to allow them to sit on whichever bus they pleased.

Peter had immediately decided to join you with the rest of the color guard, determined to finally ask you out. He even managed to snag the seat across the aisle from you. His confidence wavered, however, when he realized he had no earthly idea what to say to you. The two of you were friendly, sure—you’d been going to school together for years—but you’d never been close.

But Peter was intent on changing that now. He’d spent nearly all of the trip trying to come up with a topic of conversation until you had finally hit him over the head with one, and now he couldn’t stop staring at you long enough to think of what to say.

“You good, Pete?” Peter’s eyes snapped to yours.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he blushed, “just admiring your handiwork. You’re really good at that,” he nodded towards you as you continued painting the intricate design on your face.

“Thanks,” you replied with a warm smile, and Peter swore it was brighter than the sun.

“I wish I was that talented,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Parker,” you quipped with a smirk, “I saw you on Opposite Day this summer. That eyeliner? Snatched.” Peter let out a laugh, genuine and bright.

“I wish I could take credit for that,” he chuckled, “that was all my aunt, though.”

Your hand flew to your chest as a look of shock covered your face, “Peter Benjamin Parker!”

“How do you know my middle name?”

“You mean to tell me that for the past two and a half months you just let me believe you were a secret beauty guru?” You scoffed at him, “I have never felt so betrayed.”

Peter bit back a laugh as you continued to scold him. “Honestly, Peter,” you paused to dig through the bag of makeup next to you, pulling out a tube of lipstick before meeting his eyes once again, “I’m not sure our friendship can survive this.”

“No! Don’t say that,” Peter faux-pleaded, a smile tugging at his lips. “How do I make this better?” He grabbed your wrist gently and gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

Your facade broke as you burst into a fit of giggles and the sound made Peter’s heart flutter. “I suppose I can let you off the hook since you have been holding my mirror for like twenty minutes,” you teased, a warm smile plastered on your face.

Peter smiled back as he pretended to wipe his brow, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. When he looked back to you, your eyes were looking down at your lap. He quirked his head and followed your gaze to find that his hand still attached to your wrist. A blush rose in his cheeks as he quickly pulled away, mumbling a “sorry,” before returning his hand to the mirror.

You chuckled as you turned your attention back to your reflection, swiping on a lavender lipstick and smacking your lips together a few times before leaning back to admire your work.

“What do you think?” Peter’s eyes met yours once again and he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face.

“Looks really good,” he nodded.

“Is it more ‘magical fairy princess’ than last week?”

“Dunno,” he confessed, “missed last week’s game.”

“Right, the internship,” you recalled, taking the mirror back from him and swapping it for your phone. “Mind taking a few pictures?” Peter shook his head, taking your phone and snapping a few shots of you from different angles. You thanked him while and pulling some makeup wipes out of your bag.

Peter furrowed his brows, “Wait, why are you taking it off?” He watched the design smudge and fade away as you wiped your face.

“Well for starters, we’re still like, five and a half hours from the competition site,” you joked, “and for seconders, this was just a test. The judge at the last competition complained that the makeup wasn’t readable but I haven’t had time since then to adjust it so I’m doing it now.” You finished cleaning your face, tossing the wipes back in your bag before standing and returning it to the storage compartment above your seat. You grabbed your phone from him as you sat back down, “Gotta send those to the rest of the guard so they know what to fix later,” you mumbled before turning in your seat to fully face Peter, sticking your phone between your thigh and the blue velvet of the seat cushion.

“Can I ask you something, Pete?” He nodded and you continued, “You haven’t been around a ton since you got the Stark internship, which sucks ‘cause I know the c-nets could really use you,” Peter watched your fingers fidget with your sweatpants as you rambled and he wondered what it would be like to feel them intertwined with his own. “And I get that it probably takes up a lot of your time which begs the question,” you tapped his leg with your foot and he looked up at you, “how come you didn’t just quit?”

Shit. Peter inwardly cursed as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. This was it. This was his chance to tell you how he felt. To tell you that he would’ve quit ages ago if this wasn’t the only time you saw each other. He wanted to tell you that he’d been stretching himself thin for over a year just so he could spend time with you. That he’d quit every other extracurricular in order to be Spider-Man but couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you every day, so he stayed. He didn’t even like the stupid clarinet, he’d only picked it up to make May happy.

“I, uh-“ he stuttered, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“Not that I want you gone, or anything,” you were quick to correct yourself. Peter’s heart raced as he felt you slide your hand into his, “I’m just worried, Pete. You seem real tired and yesterday you kept messing up your drill and you almost got hit with a flag…” you trailed off, rubbing small circles onto the back of his hand with your thumb and Peter thought he might burst.

He took in a deep breath before meeting your gaze, your eyes were filled with concern and he swore he could get lost in them for all eternity. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, instead he let out a long sigh and pressed his eyes shut.

Fuck it.

“I didn’t want to quit because I was afraid I wouldn’t see you,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed tight.

He felt your thumb come to a stop on the back of his hand before you slowly pulled your hand away entirely and Peter’s heart sank. He wished he could take it back, return to the friendly banter you’d had just a few minutes ago before you asked that question. Why’d you have to ask that question?

“Hey Mark?” Peter’s eyes flew open and he whipped his head towards the boy sitting next to him.

Mark turned to look at you, brows raised. “Would you mind swapping seats with me? Peter and I are gonna watch some Star Trek.” Peter swiveled in his seat once more to give you a confused look.

“Sure, whatever.” Mark grabbed his stuff and shuffled past Peter into the aisle while you did the same.

Peter was sure his heart was about to burst out of his chest when you plopped down next to him, pulling your laptop out of your backpack and resting it on your lap. Peter just watched as you queued up an episode of Next Generation, unsure of what was happening.

You plugged in a pair of headphones, putting one in your own ear and handing the other to him. Peter’s skin burned as his hands brushed yours. His mind was short-circuiting; there were so many possible outcomes to his confession and he honestly didn’t know which one this was. Were you just ignoring it? Forcing the moment away with sheer willpower?

You pressed play and the episode started but Peter wasn’t paying attention. His only focus was your presence beside him. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to say something. He opened his mouth to speak but you raised a hand to stop him.

“Nope. Me first.” Peter closed his mouth and put on a tight lipped smile. “You know, there’s a long-standing tradition in almost every marching band on earth,” you started. “Well, less of a tradition and more of a universally acknowledged truth, and that is ‘guard kids date percussionists’.” Peter’s heart fell as the pieces clicked together. This was a rejection.

“For the most part, it’s true. Did you know the last three people I dated were all drummers?” Peter shook his head at this, biting his bottom lip in an effort to keep tears from welling in his eyes. “Yeah, two from drumline, one from pit.”

“I don’t see how thi-“

“Uh-uh. Still me.” Peter sighed as you pressed on. “I think it’s because our personalities mesh so well. Drummers are cocky, they have to be to lead the band like they do. And color guard? You’ve got to be one stubborn, confident motherfucker to toss around a six foot metal pole all day.” Peter just nodded, his eyes glued to the laptop screen.

“But drummers are also assholes,” you sighed and Peter could feel your eyes on him. “Peter, I’m getting real fuckin’ sick of dating assholes.”

Peter’s eyes widened as your words registered. He slowly turned to meet your gaze as you continued, “Clarinets, on the other hand?” You rolled your eyes in mock indignation. “Clarinets are awkward, oblivious, fumbling nerds,” you paused, searching for the right words, “but they’re also sweet, attentive, and wicked smart.”

Peter’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it from your seat beside him. What is happening??? A million thoughts were going through his head as he searched your eyes for an answer.

“My point is…” you shut your eyes, drawing in a deep breath and Peter’s heart leapt into his throat. “Peter Parker,” your eyes met his again, “I’m really glad you didn’t quit.” Your voice was practically a whisper as you leaned towards him, and Peter thought he must be dreaming.

Your lips met his in a gentle kiss and Peter could hear your heart beating as quickly as his own. You pulled back after a moment, bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your gaze fixed on him. Peter’s eyes looked between your own before he brought a hand to your cheek and pulled you back towards him. His lips crashed into yours and he cursed himself for waiting five whole hours before doing this.

You giggled into the kiss and Peter’s heart fluttered at the sound. He wanted to stay like this forever, lips pressed against yours, feelings of mutual longing finally being hashed out. That feeling intensified as your tongue swiped across his bottom lip, silently asking permission. He granted it enthusiastically, parting his lips and dancing his tongue with your own. He felt you shift below him as you moved your laptop to the side and lifted the armrest separating your seats before threading your fingers through his hair. Peter moaned at the feeling of you tugging his curls and he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

The two of you sat like that for a few seconds, catching your breath and processing what had just happened. You pulled away slowly, eyes never leaving his own. The smile etched on your face made Peter’s stomach do flips.

“You know what else is great about clarinet players?” Peter hummed, already leaning in to kiss you again.

“Talented tongues.”

Tagging some people, I guess:

@holland3000 @marvellousparkerpeter @stuckonspidey @hillsnholland@keepingupwiththeparkers @madmadmilk @definitely-not-black-cat@afterglowparker @dtftomholland @lousimusician @spideyyeet @starksparker@wazzupmrstark @toms-gf @spideypeach @mjandliz @webbedparkers@moorehollandplz @hollandlovely @thirsttrapholland @marvellousparkerpeter@spidey-starks @mcuspidey @gyllenwh0re @mrs-hollandstan @condy-wants-a-cookie @edgy-hufflepuff-bro @pink16panther @makylaolson16 

[lostinthewinterwood]

Worldbuilding Exchange 2021

Hey there friend!

Apparently you share some of my taste in obscure novels with gaps in their worldbuilding—impeccable, truly. I’ve got some expansion on all the tags I’ve requested below, though if you want to just get started feel free to ignore all that; some of them are distinctly longer than others, but don’t worry, just because I didn’t use as many words for any given prompt doesn’t mean I want it any less!

Anyway, thanks for writing for me! And if any of you lovely people are inclined towards treating, I will happily accept treats in any medium for any of the fandoms, including media I didn’t actually request there :D

  General DNW

·       non-con/dub-con;

·       explicit sexual content;

·       incest (incl. adoptive/chosen family);

·       a/b/o;

·       mpreg;

·       non-canonical permanent major character death;

·       complete downer endings;

·       hurt no comfort;

·       heavy angst;

·       on-page deliberate self-harm*;

·       on-page suicide;

·       gore;

·       graphic physical trauma;

·       character bashing;

·       cringe comedy;

·       fic-as-writer-soapbox;

·       setting AUs**;

·       unrequested identity headcanons;

·       romance as the main plot.

 *I don’t include things like, say, punching a wall in a fit of emotion under this. However, something like cutting would not be appreciated.

 **This doesn't mean that I'd expect you to hew very narrowly to what we know for sure in canon; after all, this exchange is for worldbuilding. However, for this exchange I'd prefer not to have anything that fundamentally alters the character of the world--eg elements like a/b/o, or things like a post-canon zombie apocalypse in a canon where that doesn't really fit in with the established tone/genre/world, that sort of thing.

    General Likes

– I really like plotty fics

– A focus on family and/or friendship, especially characters realizing they’re not nearly as alone as they think they are, and just generally characters who like each other and enjoy spending time together

– Found family; families of choice

– Character studies

– Worldbuilding (obviously lol)

– Canon-divergence AUs and missing scenes; things set pre- or post-canon; wriggling into canon and poking at it to see what it spits back at you, if that description makes any sense at all.

- for a list of unconventional media/formats I’ve requested before, along with some commentary on them, please see my fic in a box letter.

     Mother of Learning - nobody103 – in-universe meta

Any or No Characters (Mother of Learning)

Kirielle Kazinski (Mother of Learning)

Original Character(s) (Mother of Learning)

Original Eagle Shifter Character(s) (Mother of     Learning)

Xvim Chao (Mother of Learning)

Zenomir Olgai (Mother of Learning)

 fandom-specific dnw: romantic and/or sexual Zach/Zorian; physical parental abuse within the Kazinski family; significant exaggeration of canonical emotional neglect/abuse/general family dysfunction

  WB: aranean languages (Mother of Learning)

So, we get at best a very vague description of the aranean language in canon; I’d love something that somehow expands on this! A brief grammar? Some other kind of profile? An attempt to turn their idea-morphemes into words, or outline what they are more explicitly? Up to you!

WB: Folklore and Literature (Mother of Learning)

Over the course of the story we learn plenty of things about the world and about their magic system; we learn a lot less about specific cultural things that aren’t directly relevant to the plot, and that includes folklore and literature—they have novels, we know that much, but that’s about it.  So tell me more!

WB: how language and gesture and mana interact to     form spells (Mother of Learning)

For all that the novel tells us about many different spells, we never really get to see the mechanics of spellcasting, or the underlying form of the mana—tell me how it works!  And there’s also the fact that when you know the spell better you can cut parts out; how does that work in combination with all of this?

WB: Ikosian as spell language: how comprehension     affects outcome (Mother of Learning)

Unless I’ve embarrassingly forgotten how canon actually goes, they use Ikosian (possibly a more specific dialect? I don’t remember, I’m sorry) for their incantations, but iirc they don’t speak that day to day, and even if they do not everyone does—so, you know, how does comprehension of the incantation affect the outcome of the spell?

WB: Oral Traditions (Mother of Learning)

If we don’t get much of literature, we get less of the oral traditions of… well, anywhere, tbh.  So tell me more there!  If you’re looking for something more specific, I’d love to hear about witch, Khusky, morlock, or shifter traditions, but really anything would be great.

WB: the development of unstructured magic and     shaping exercises (Mother of Learning)

We know that way back in the past, human magic users were less adept with unstructured magic; now, if they want to be, they can be very good indeed with it.  How did we get from Point A to Point B?  How did that develop, who discovered all this?

WB: the Winter Mountains (Mother of Learning)

There’s very little to be heard about the Winter Mountains in canon; all we really know is that the eagle shifters flew off there, and the place is Very Dangerous.  So… what are they like? How are the eagle shifters doing out there? What else lives there?

     Mother of Learning - nobody103 – in-universe meta, fanart

Any or No Characters (Mother of Learning)

Kirielle Kazinski (Mother of Learning)

Original Character(s) (Mother of Learning)

Zenomir Olgai (Mother of Learning)

 fandom-specific dnw: romantic and/or sexual Zach/Zorian; physical parental abuse within the Kazinski family; significant exaggeration of canonical emotional neglect/abuse/general family dysfunction

  WB: Architecture (Mother of Learning)

We get a little bit of the architecture in Eldemar, mostly in Knyazov Dveri, but not too much of it; I’d like to see more of it, and from anywhere in their world really.

WB: Artistic Traditions (Mother of Learning)

If we only get a little bit of the architecture, we get less of the art—we know that they have carved doors and Kiri does pencil sketches, and realism is a style they have (or Zorian wouldn’t be thinking about how realistic her drawings were without any hint of that being unusual were she not nine) but what else can you tell me?  What does their art look like; where do these traditions come from; is there some art that’s respectable and other art that isn’t?

WB: Clothing and Fashion (Mother of Learning)

Now.  We get a bit of architecture, less of art, and approximately three lines in the whole 800k about clothing, and none of it very specific, so you’ve got pretty much total freedom here—show me what’s going on!

WB: how language and gesture and mana interact to     form spells (Mother of Learning)

See above section—I just thought this would lend itself well to art as well as meta!

     The Rhianna Chronicles - Dave Luckett – in-universe meta, fanfic

Antheus Northstar | Serenir (Rhianna Chronicles)

Any or No Characters (Rhianna Chronicles)

Arwenna Songsinger | Arwenna the Wise (Rhianna     Chronicles)

Eriseth Arwensgrove (Rhianna Chronicles)

Original Character(s) (Rhianna Chronicles)

Original Male Eldra Character(s) (Rhianna     Chronicles)

Rhianna Wildwood (Rhianna Chronicles)

 Worldbuilding tags:

WB: academic magic and spellcasting techniques     (Rhianna Chronicles)

We don’t see a whole lot of traditional spellcasting that actually works—mostly we see Rhianna’s attempts, which tend not to go all that well, lol.  Other magic we see is primarily from people who know what they’re doing and aren’t explaining things in detail.  Show me some that actually works!  How is it different for schoolchildren and old archmages?  What are the rules and mechanics—they don’t make sense to Rhianna, but clearly some things work and some things don’t, so there’s something going on there at least.

WB: Eldra magic (Rhianna Chronicles)

Since our main Eldra character is Eriseth, we don’t see much of their magic—tell me about it! How does it work? How do they channel it, what do they use it for?

WB: Eldra society (Rhianna Chronicles)

Again, we don’t see a lot of Eldra society—we see a few characters outside of their social group, and the one meeting thing, but not a whole lot of their day- to-day life.  What’s it like?  What’s the role of men in their society; we know they don’t do magic, so what do they do?

WB: Wild Talents and wild magic (Rhianna     Chronicles)

To be fair, we do know a fair amount about how wild magic is worked from canon; I’m interested in going farther—go deeper into things! What can or can’t be done? Why are some people wild talents—how does this happen?

WB: Wizardly College (Rhianna Chronicles)

We only see Wizardly College through Rhianna’s eyes; she doesn’t get all that much of a look at it, either.  So tell me more about it!  What’s it like if you’re actually involved, not just a visitor?

     The Farwalker's Quest - Joni Sensel – in-universe meta, fanfic

Any or No Characters (Farwalker's Quest)

Any Storian(s) (Farwalker's Quest)

Ariel Farwalker (Farwalker's Quest)

Ezekiel Stone-Singer (Farwalker's Quest)

Misha (Farwalker's Quest)

Original Character(s) (Farwalker's Quest)

Scarl Finder (Farwalker's Quest)

 fandom-specific dnw: works that rely on knowledge of later books in order to make sense--i'm not gonna care all that much about spoilers? but i haven't read 'em, so.

  WB: Essence and the Trades (Farwalker's     Quest)

In some ways, Essence—or at least how it’s presented in relation to humans—seems kind of like an inborn specific magical talent, but in other ways it isn’t; Zeke’s tree talks to him, and then later the stones, but the tree talks to Ariel too, if only a little.  Scarl was a Storian before he was a Finder; Ariel’s feet drag her where she needs to go, but she can also learn the basics of Finding and could have been a Healtouch if she’d not messed up the plants.  So how closely are they tied together, Essence and the Trades? How much of an affinity do you need? How much can you make up for lack of affinity with desire and skill?

WB: Folklore and Fairytales     (Farwalker's Quest)

We know a fair amount about the history of this world as people know it, but less about their folklore and fairytales—they have trees that talk and telling darts and Essence and ghosts, they definitely have folklore about those, or other things too.  Do they tell children stories of what lies outside the village? Do they have spirits or Good People who may or may not actually exist?  Who tells these stories—is this still a Storian’s job, or is it the purview of anyone who knows them?  Did there used to be more, before the Forgetting?

WB: ghosts and how they work     (Farwalker's Quest)

Misha’s dead, has clearly been dead for quite some time, and he can do a weird assortment of things—can other ghosts do them? He’s the only one we really see, so we don’t know if he’s special or not. And how common are ghosts anyway—how do they come to be?  What’s up with them, overall?

WB: how Tree-Singer Abbey came     to be (Farwalker's Quest)

Clearly, Tree-Singer Abbey is very old.  If I had to guess, I would say it must have been made either before the Blind War or right after the sight came back—but most likely, given that it contains the Vault, it’s from before.  But Essence, as far as the characters know, wasn’t discovered until afterwards; nor were the Trades.  So who built this abbey, up there in the mountains, with all the trees? Why build it there in the way they did? Was it never widely known that it was also the Vault, or was that forgotten somewhere along the way?

WB: the nature of trees     (Farwalker's Quest)

…so.  What is up with the trees, anyway, and have they always been this way, or did the used to be normal trees?  How sentient are they; how much can they move; what are they like, especially among each other?  Zeke’s tree tries to catch him, so we know they can move on their own; is that typical? Can they do it whenever they want, or only under duress?  Idk man, I just want to know more about the trees, y’know?

     Star Split - Kathryn Lasky – in-universe meta, fanfic

Any or No Characters (Star Split)

Darci Murlowe (Star Split)

Lana | The Prima (Star Split)

Max Lasovetch (Star Split)

Original Character(s) (Star Split)

Original Umbula Character (Star Split)

Vivian (Star Split)

 fandom-specific dnw--all of this is for the narrative level (not addressing it is fine; having characters who believe or do these things is fine): eugenics apologetics; segregation portrayed as good for society/the people living under it; infantilization of disabled characters; portrayal of low-prestige dialects as being "bad grammar" versions of higher-prestige dialects

fandom-specific note: the “setting AU” dnw is here amended to “surface-level setting AUs” and is expanded on as follows: This is a pretty loose dnw for this fandom, given that the canon leans very hard on the line between straight scifi and science fantasy; it acts like it's grounded future dystopia, speculative but not fantastic, but... well. Based on canon events, I can't fully consider it as such--so as long as you keep the surface elements more or less the same, no matter what the underlying justification for them is we'll be good. Is your explanation Aliens Did It? sweet, go for it. or anything else in that vein. this world is your oyster.

  WB: "tears in the mind"/ancient     word memories in masked chimeras (Star Split)

Okay.  Okay. So.  Most of this book’s worldbuilding is plausible, you know?  If not real-world plausible, at least future scifi dystopia plausible, right?  But. The word thing.  There is no reasonable connection as far as I can see between the genetic condition of masked chimeras and having sudden, unexplained epiphanies about the meanings of words—since the relevant aspects of language are arbitrary, and Darci doesn’t have any particularly detailed knowledge of Modern English (being herself presumably a speaker of Future English, although I have to assume that Future English is surprisingly similar to Modern English given the time scale since the poetry fragments she’s reading don’t seem to have needed any translation for her to understand them, which would generally not be the case with Modern vs Old English—and that is the time scale we’re dealing with here—anyway, let’s move on), there’s no way for her to come up with this?  So please, just, explain how all this works to me?

Really don’t feel you need to stay within the scifi world conventions here lol, especially since this element pretty much… doesn’t.

WB: disability in the Bio     Union (Star Split)

We don’t see much of how disability works here—Darci doesn’t seem to consider herself disabled, and there’s no other character who could really be interpreted as such.  Given how very eugenicist the Bio Union is, I have to wonder how they deal with disabilities they can’t engineer out of existence—tell me how it works!

WB: divergence/difference     between Genhant and Original dialects and mannerisms (Star Split)

So we can see the effects of a long-term social separation here; the dialects used by Genhants and Originals seem fairly different.  Darci observes that Originals’ grammar “might not be as good” but obviously that’s her perspective, being a kid who speaks the prestige dialect; the grammar within their dialect would be no better or worse than Genhant grammar in their speech.  And the Original dialect seems to also include more specific nonverbal communication; if they’re talking less, but (presumably) communicating similar amounts, then they must either be able to convey more information in the same amount of time through their speech, or their dialect includes informal signed elements—Vivian doesn’t seem to parse it as such, but although Darci observes less dialogue from the Original kids, Vivian’s conversations with her uncle aren’t presented any differently than Darci’s conversations with other Genhants.  A tragically unused opportunity, in my opinion.

Show me how these two dialects differ, in more specific ways, rather than just telling me they do!  Tell me about potential miscommunications!  Is there a lack of documentation of the Originals’ dialect due to its low status?  How does this affect scholarship on it?  Are the hand gestures elements of the language in some way, or are they nonlinguistic?

WB: growing up as a Laureate's     umbula (Star Split)

So… how does this work?  They try to replicate the childhood as closely as possible, but obviously it can’t be perfectly done.  Do the kids grow up knowing they’re clones, that they’re meant to be Important Person The Second, Just The Same, or is that hidden from them?  What happens if a Laureate’s umbula decides they don’t want to follow in their predecessor’s footsteps; what if they want to forge their own path in life?  Is that allowed?  No one forced the Laureate into being what they became, after all.

WB: growing up as an Original     (Star Split)

Things that are not entirely clear in this book include the answer to the question of how much of the high degree of segregation we see is socially and economically enforced, and how much of it is legally enforced.  This is interesting—clearly, the original divergence was economic, with the wealthy being able to afford genetic enhancements and the poor not being able to afford them; however, it strikes me as slightly unrealistic that there would be no Originals in Genhant schools or at non-scholarship Genhant summer camps, etc, if there was no segregation on a legal level.  Of course it would be more difficult for Originals to become wealthy enough to afford these, but the fact that none of them seem to have reached that level is very revealing; that tells me there’s far less social mobility than we have in our modern society (which isn’t very mobile, much as we may like to think otherwise) or there’s legal discrimination and segregation keeping things this way or both.

…and with all that being said, I’d love to hear something about what it’s like to grow up in the underclass of this society. We see most things from Darci’s point of view, and she, being a thirteen-year-old who’s basically comfortable in her own life, doesn’t really see that much.  What’s it like, being raised as an Original?  What sort of expectations do Original parents and schools have for their children?  What sorts of jobs do they typically do?  Do they go to university? Can they go to university?  Are there summer camps for them, or do they only get to do things like that on scholarships?  What’s it like, being the Scholarship Kid due not only to your family’s finances but also your very genetics?  How does that change your dynamic with your other Original friends, when you got a scholarship and they didn’t—what do they think about that?  I’d assume they have less obsession with Genetic Predetermination, since they don’t get a map of their probable life at conception… how does that work, in this society that runs on genetic predetermination for so many things?

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Not Without You (Canon Divergence Stucky Fix-It-Fic)

Eight:

So, there was a change of plans. At first, Steve was sure that the compound was the best place. Where they could call some of the others who were off-planet and come up with a plan. Only, when Scott started theorizing about a possible time machine did Steve understand where they really needed to go.

Even if Steve did feel bad about bothering him at home.

With a blue Iron Man helmet in one hand and Morgan in the other, Tony paused on his way to the cabin when he spotted the van. A curious look was on his face before Steve opened the door. Really, Tony should've realized who it was considering he parked next to Natasha's black Audi, and only a select few knew where thee Tony Stark and Pepper Potts settled down.

"Uncle Steve!" Morgan cheerfully greeted, wiggling out from Tony's grasp as she raced over to him.

"Hey, Bug," Steve smiled, effortlessly lifting the little girl into his arms. Hugging her close as he looked past her to her father and asked, "Nat update you?"

"Yeah," Tony confirmed, displeased as he crossed his arms and briefly glanced down at the ground. Returning his attention when he heard the Langs climbing out of the van, he admitted, "When she told me who you were with, I thought you'd finally lost it."

As Morgan pet Steve's scruffy beard, Steve took her hand in his and playfully blew a raspberry to her palm before he conceded, "I thought I lost it too. This is Scott and his daughter, Cassie."

Kindly, Tony grinned and waved for the trio to follow him up the porch steps, "C'mon. Maguna and I were just about to have some lunch." Teasingly, he looked back at his daughter and joked, "A handful of crickets on a bed of lettuce."

On Steve's hip, Morgan exaggerated a look of disgust by scrunching her tiny face, and giggled when Steve mimicked her as he affectionately touched his forehead to hers. All the while, Cassie mocked, "Rich people eat the weirdest things."

Glancing over at her, Steve grinned and winked. Having grown fond of the teen within the last two and a half days, Steve even decided to drape his arm around her shoulders. Giving her a familial squeeze before dropping his arm, he gave Morgan's cheek a kiss then set her down.

"Wasn't expecting you until later," Nat greeted Steve, arms crossed along her chest and her longer hair braided behind her.

"Mr. Leadfoot here sped the entire way," Cassie answered, almost bashfully as she stared at Natasha in awe. Of course, knowing Natasha, he knew that it wasn't uncommon for people to be stunned by meeting Black Widow in the flesh.

"Captain Noble? Breaking a law?" Tony feigned skeptically as he lingered by the door. Peeking inside, he asked, "Food? Something to drink?"

"Sure," Cassie easily agreed, taking a seat on the outdoor furniture.

"That's really nice," Scott smiled, joining his daughter.

"Would you like some help?" Steve asked, lingering by the door along with Tony.

Tony smirked, "You're the one who will need help if you don't come say hi to Pepper, first."

Steve nodded and followed the shorter man into the house. Nonchalantly, Pepper was sitting comfortably on the sofa, reading. Steve was always pleasantly surprised with how easy the Stark-Potts lives had gotten since stepping away from avenging. Of course, Steve imagined that if Bucky had survived, they would've also settled down in a cabin that Steve built.

"Here's our favorite lumberjack," Pepper greeted with a warm smile as she bookmarked the novel. Gazing up at a disheveled Steve, she commented, "Long time, no see."

Heat spread across the apples of his cheeks, and Steve scratched at the back of his neck as he apologized, "Sorry, Pep. You know I was on a… mission."

"No need to apologize, big guy," Tony surprisingly assured, patting Steve's broad shoulder on his way to the kitchen. Pulling down some glasses and a tray, Tony informed, "Everyone deserves a year of self-discovery. Or five."

A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at his boots. Although they all knew Steve wasn't searching for himself, Steve liked the sound of that better than what it really was. Especially with how pathetic the truth made him appear. Pity even colored Pepper's expression because she knew it too. Of course, she, herself, had been desperate like Steve once. Okay, more than once, Steve allowed. Tony, after all, did have a habit of narrowly escaping death.

When Steve heard the sound of a blender, he snapped his attention over to Tony. While it had taken a while for Steve to get used to the taste of some of the health shakes that Tony made the team, he'd be lying if he denied that he missed them. He had even bought a blender and tried to make them, but could never get the proportions right.

"Now, get over here and put those muscles to good use," Tony teased, as he poured the blended beverage into a pitcher. Placing it on the tray with the glasses and waiting for Steve to carry it back outside.

Following Tony, and smiling down at Morgan, Steve set the tray on the table. Casually noting how Scott was pacing and Cassie was sitting on the edge of her seat as though she was about to jump up at any minute to either stop her father, or join him. Glancing over at Nat, he could tell that she was figuring out what to do too.

Kneeling, Tony got to eye level with Morgan and suggested, "How 'bout you pick out some pretend clothes for later?"

"Okay!" Morgan quickly agreed, rushing inside of the house.

As he straightened out, Tony crossed his arms and gestured, "Alright, let's hear it."

Nodding to himself, Scott quickly went into relaying the Quantum Realm and how one has to be really, really, really small to get there. Having already heard it the night before, Steve didn't pay too much attention to Scott's explanation of how long it felt versus how long it actually was. Instead of getting his hopes up at the suggestion of time travel -- actual time travel! -- Steve chose to pour himself some of the healthy shake. Catching Cassie's eye, he poured her some too.

"Now, we know what it sounds like," Scott finished, eagerly studying Tony.

"Tony," Natasha started, "After everything you've seen, is anything really impossible?"

"You're telling me this doesn't sound crazy?" Tony questioned, quirking a brow at her.

A smirk played at her lips as she reminded, "I get e-mails from a raccoon, so nothing sounds crazy anymore."

Tony silently agreed with that, still not looking convinced. Especially as he argued, "Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck Scale. Which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?"

While Tony looked over them, he took their silence as confusion, and he wasn't really that far off.  Steve, for one, didn't know what they were talking about. So, Tony reiterated, "In Layman's terms, it means you're not coming home."

"I did," Scott protested.

"No," Tony corrected, "You accidentally survived. It's a billion to one cosmic fluke. And now you wanna pull off a… What do you call it?"

Holding her head held high, Cassie proudly answered, "A time heist."

"Yeah, a time heist," Tony confirmed, his tone softening with the teen. Steve looked down at his shake, not wanting to see the hurt and defeat on his teammate's face from the memory of the teens he lost.

Then, in a moment, Tony's stance and expression hardened. Always choosing aggression whenever hurt, and now was no different as he mocked, "Of course, why didn't we think of this before? Oh, because it's laughable? Because it's a pipedream?"

Cassie's jaw clenched, but she didn't sass. Instead, she kept her focus on her untouched drink and tried to reason, "There are stones in the past. We can go back and get them."

"We can snap our own fingers," Natasha added.

"Bring everyone back," Steve softly tacked on.

"Or," Tony dissented, "Screw it up worse than he already has, right?"

"I don't believe we would," Steve refrained from clenching his jaw. Desperately needing Tony to see the smallest of possibilities. It was the only thing keeping Steve holding on. If this didn't work, he didn't know what he'd do.

Sadly, Tony smiled at Steve as he admitted, "Gotta say, sometimes I miss that giddy optimism. However, high hopes won't help if there's no logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist. I believe the most likely outcome would be our collective demise."

And just like that, Steve could feel the last bits of his heart shatter. Although Steve and Tony didn't always see eye-to-eye, Steve still cared for Tony. Hell, in a different life, he would've been Uncle Steve to him too. Always trying to care for Tony in Howard's memory. But if Tony didn't even think there was a chance…

Lost in his own thoughts, Steve tuned out their bickering. Trying his hardest to not spiral down to that lonely, dark hole he had been in in the beginning. Finishing off his shake, he set the glass down before he could break it. Knowing that Pepper wouldn't be too happy with him if he did so.

Holding onto the porch railing, he saw Morgan race out of the house and climb onto Tony. Gladly, Tony hefted the little girl onto his hip and turned for the house. Steve knew that this couldn't be it.

It just couldn't be.

A little -- okay, a lot -- desperate, Steve grabbed onto Tony's arm. Pleading, "Tony, I get it. And I'm happy for you, I really am. But this is a second chance."

Holding Morgan just a little closer, Tony declined, "I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can't roll the dice again." Then, a little softer, just for Steve, Tony added, "Really, Steve, I'm sorry."

Thickly swallowing, with tears building in his eyes, Steve nodded. Letting his hand drop, just like his heart as Tony walked inside of the cabin and Steve hurried back to the van. Leaning against the vehicle and burying his face in his hands as his breathing started turning to pants.

Cautiously, a hand touched his back and Nat's familiar voice attempted to comfort him, "He's scared."

"He's not wrong," Steve breathed out, peeking over at the petite woman.

Cassie crossed the drive and asked, "What are we gonna do?"

"We need him," Scott sighed defeatedly.

"What, are we gonna stop?" Cassie demanded, looking over the adults in front of her. Wondering if she finally saw the avengers for what they truly were. For what he was.

Natasha kept rubbing Steve's back, bringing him back down. Making it easier for Steve to remember who he's supposed to be. He's Captain America, god damn it! So, he rationalized, "We're gonna need a really big brain."

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 60: Final Exam Part 2: Multiple Choice

Presenting the next chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

All chapters can be found here

Shota took in a deep breath and let out a scream, high-pitched and powerful.  The sonic waves passed through the buildings ahead of them and then bounced back, giving him a detailed outline of everything and everyone those waves had touched. It was like seeing a picture in his head, online mostly just in sharp blue outlines.  Normally, he couldn’t get this good of a picture.  Solid objects slowed down the soundwaves and bounced them back.  But with so many of the buildings having shattered windows or other hole in them, he could get a much better picture of what was going on.

“I count four people in the buildings,” he said, pointing.  “Two there, one there, one there.   Plus three people outside it and at least four more people up past that building, but it gets fuzzy after that.”

“Good job, Shinso,” Sora Iida told him.  In her red and silver armor, combined with her height, she stood out distinctly in the morning sun.  “I can scout ahead and take the far point, while you three work on the closer rescues.”

“Who put you in charge?” Aoyama asked.  He was lit up like a small sun himself; with his arms and face exposed, his glow made him hard to even look at directly.  

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Iida asked.  It wasn’t a challenge, the way Kirishima-Bakugo might have asked it, but genuine interest.  Of course, given Iida’s scientific leanings, she would be interested in the best outcome.

“…Non,” he admitted.  His shoulders slumped and he gave his cape a flick.  “Let us do your plan then.”

“We must also be vigilant against the presence of Villains, Aoyama,” Koda said, cautiously.  She usually was the one to rein Aoyama in when he was getting an attitude or pouting.  “Iida is the fastest of us.  If anyone should be scouting ahead, it is her.”

Aoyama crossed his arms, but grumbled his assent. Shota knew he liked to show off and be the center of attention, but now really wasn’t the time for it.  Not with all of them passing or failing depending on it.   Shota was already worried enough that he was going to drag everyone down…  He’d kept it together during training since he came back to school, but this was a lot more intense.

“You are correct as always, Mademoiselle Koda,” Aoyama conceded.

The matter settled, Iida said, “Remember, we are to check in with Tos—Gravi-Might and the others in ten minutes, unless they contact us first.”  With the roar of her Jetpack, the wings of her costume snapped up and she took off, quickly speeding into the distance.

Shota, Koda, and Aoyama snapped into action as well.  None of them possessed Quirks which granted much speed, but they were all still in good enough shape for a quick jog. On the road ahead of them, a pair of cars had crashed into each other.  One had been abandoned, but the other was crushed where a downed electrical pole had landed on it.  It showed no obvious signs of still being active, but…  

“Hang on, sir!” Shota called out to the robot behind the wheel of the car.  “We’re going to get you out!”

From the robot, there was no response.  Unconscious, then?  That meant they really needed to move.

Fortunately, Koda was one step ahead of him.  From the seed pouch on her belt, she produced a handful of seeds and tossed them near the car.  Once in the ground, she applied her Quirk and they immediately started to grow, becoming vines that wrapped their way around the pole, covering each stray wire, and slowly lifting it off the car.  

“My hastily grown friends do conduct a little electricity,” she said, “but not enough to do them significant harm.  And far less harm than that would do to us.”

Aoyama stepped in next. With the car partially smashed, there was no way they were just opening the door to get the robot out.  From the mirrored wristband on his right arm, he released a small portion of his stored light, going for a concentrated blue-white laser beam that cut through the car like a hot knife going through butter, leaving an orange-hot line behind it.  When he had gone completely around the edge of the door, he took a quick step back as it fell.

“Watch the edges!” Shota said.  “They’re going to be hot!”

Aoyama shot him a dirty look.  “I know that!” he snapped.  But the look on Aoyama’s face said he didn’t.  With care, though, he extracted the robot.   “Do not worry,” he told it.  “We shall get you somewhere safe.”

Getting it a safe distance away was enough for the robot to tell them they had completed its rescue. The other rescues went just as quickly.  Shota was even able to use his Quirk to blast away some rubble, letting Koda and Aoyama finish up the rescue.  It felt good.  Even if they were robots, using his Quirk to find people, to help them, not to cause harm, was a welcome change.  Still, some small part of him still flinched at unleashing the more destructive aspects of his Quirk, even for rescue work.  He could still see the Nomu simply disintegrating under his power.  Even if it had turned out not to be alive, he hadn’t know that at the time…

With a road of jet engines, Iida returned, landing near them.  “I was able to rescue two, but I will need additional support for the others,” she said.  “But first… Loud Kid, another sonar sweep, if you would, in case the parameters have changed?”

Shota nodded. But just before he could let out another sonar pulse, a loud crack sounded, echoing off the buildings.   Something struck Aoyama in the head and he went down!

***

Isamu skidded to a stop, braking hard with a bit of reverse-thrust.  The section of Omega City his group had headed to was a wreck, looking like a tornado had hit it.  Robot civilians were running from a Villain, a muscular man with bird-like feet that ended in sharp talons, hair that turned into feathers and spread along his back, and massive wings. He wore tattered jeans and very little beyond that, with tattoos covering the space on his back between his wings. When he flapped his wings, he unleashed massive gusts of wind, blowing over everything in his path.  The tornado theory was looking pretty solid.

The Villain hadn’t noticed them yet, content in his rampage, with his back to them.  His shock momentarily halted, Isamu stood up. Already, he could feel his heart thudding in his chest.  Even if this was some Pro-Hero helping out U.A. or one of the other year teachers or something, this felt like a Villain attack.   Whoever they were, they were doing a damn good job getting into their role.

Of course, if he was a Hero, Isamu felt like he should have recognized him.  But there weren’t a lot of Pro-Heroes with wings (Hawks and Kestrel immediately came to mind, but this definitely wasn’t either of them) and this guy didn’t seem to match up to any of them.  Maybe from another country?  He wasn’t so good with those.

“That’s right!” the winged man shouted.  “Run! Run!” He flicked his wings forward again, sharply. The wave of air was more compressed this time, slicing through everything in its path.  The change in air pressure was intense. Even as far away as they were, even from behind him, Isamu could fell it.  This guy’s Quirk might make him even stronger than Gale Force…

“…I’m open to suggestions here,” Sero said.  “I mean, I could probably shoot some Tape at him, but those wings look pretty strong. I’d have to take him completely by surprise and I’m just not fast enough to wrap him up before he notices.”

“Yeah, this why I’m going into Rescue Heroics,” Ojiro added.  “I guess I could go invisible and kick him in the balls…”

“X-Ray,” Isamu said, and he had to force himself to say Sero’s Hero name, “Stick ‘Em Up… Rescue the civilians.  Amaterasu and I will get his attention and hold him off.”

Behind the clear face plate of his costume, Sero gave him an astonished look, then performed an exaggerated salute.  “It’s been nice knowing you, man.  You ready, Kimmie?”

Ojiro nodded, a gesture only visible because of the visor she wore with her eye-searingly bright costume. Sero wrapped an arm around her and in the blink of an eye, they both became invisible, shielded from view by the power of her Quirk.  Isamu heard the “thwip!” sounds of Sero firing off a strand of his Acid Tape and he knew they were on the move.

Tokoyami’s expression was more unreadable, but Isamu had known her long enough now to read some of the more subtle movements of her feathers and her eyes.  She was uneasy, but ready to fight.

Training had mostly pitted them against robots or, occasionally, each other.  And yes, they’d been allowed to engage some very minor level criminals and Villains during their Internships.  But this was something different entirely.  Who even was this guy?

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Ready,” she said.

“Could be bad,” he said. “Guy seems pretty powerful.”

“So are we,” she said. “Have confidence, Haimawari.”

She had a point.  “I’ll go low.  You go high.”

There was a small nod between them, and Isamu launched himself forward, employing his Quirk as soon as he hit the ground.   “Hey!” he shouted, pouring on the speed and trying to get the guy’s attention.  “How about picking on someone your own size, you big blowhard!”

That got the guy’s attention.  He turned quickly and Isamu could now see that he had harsh, yellow eyes like a bird as well.  “Well, well,” the guy said, a trace of a Chinese accent in his voice, “if it isn’t the brave little Heroes!”  His wings flared out and Isamu felt a massive gust of wind push against him.   He poured on the thrust, fighting against it, more grateful than ever for the goggles and bandanna protecting his eyes, mouth, and nose.  There was plenty of dust and debris in the air that could have been really nasty otherwise.

Fortunately, he was just the distraction.  With the bad guy focusing on him, he didn’t see Tokoyami’s Frog-Shadow snaking around from above.  But suddenly, Frog-Shadow swerved from her path, flying erratically through the air, until she smashed into the ground, leaving a small crater from the impact. Isamu too, suddenly saw the world spinning around him, making it impossible to tell where the street was. He swerved, hard, and saw a wall coming up right in front of him…!

***

Midoriya had one of the strongest Quirks in the class, up there with Izumi, Shinso, and Tokoyami, and he’d bounced off the Villain like a ragdoll!  He was getting back up, but it would take him a minute.  That impact looked like it was going to hurt tomorrow.

The metal man grinned in a way that vaguely reminded Chihiro of Kirishima-Bakugo, the same kind of “this is gonna be a fight and I’m gonna enjoy it” sort of smile she got before she punched someone.  It was made all the worse by the truly massive underbite the guy had.  His bottom jaw was huge, like the scoop bucket on a steam shovel.  Where the hell had U.A. found this creepazoid?  It was part of the exam, right?  It hadn’t been crashed by some real Villain, had it?   No, if that was the case, Aizawa and the other teachers would be intervening already…

“You going try and fight me like the green kid there?” the metal man asked.  Despite looking like a thug, he didn’t sound stupid or uneducated. The voice was deep, rumbling, and confident like a champion fighter.  “Nothing wrong with running.  I’ve fought plenty of Heroes before and come out on top.  I don’t like fighting girls, but if I have to….  Well, I’m not leaving without the doc.”

“Girls”? Mika repeated. She stamped a hoof on the ground and pointed an indignant finger.  “The nerve of this guy!  We’re Heroes in training!  And he’s trying to softball us?  I demand the right to be fought just like a guy!”

Anybody else, Chihiro would have thought they were babbling.  But among Mika’s many skills was provocation.  It had worked well for her during the Sports Festival and judging by the guy’s expression, it was working now.

“I mean, really,” Mika went on, “what rock did they find you under?  Haven’t you heard of women’s liberation?  Have you even talked to a woman in the last twenty years..?”

The metal man let out a roar and charged, smashing his metal fists down.  Mika dodged out of the way and his fists hit the ground.  Or rather, they hit what was on the ground: Mika’s sticky balls, the trap she’d seeded earlier.

He tried to pull his fists back but was unsuccessful, the sticky balls adhering quite well to his fists and the ground.  His eyes widened in surprise as he realized he was trapped.

“Shock-Jock!” Izumi called out.  “Now!”

Which was when Chihiro and Izumi let him have it.  Her Cords slinked down and plugging into her bracers and she brought her hands up, sending out dual blasts of electricity.  Bless Aunt Momo and Mrs. Hatsume, they did their job well, specialized circuits in the bracers and gloves directed the electricity in a straight line. Izumi, meanwhile, released some of the heat she had stored up from building the ice walls, projecting yellow-orange blasts of flame at the guy.  

Her electric attack hit first, setting the guy twitching and screaming, before Izumi’s flames washed over him, turning some of his metal body white hot.  Chihiro actually felt kind of bad.  This was still just the exam, right?  She had to take it serious, but she didn’t want to give the guy permanent nerve damage or anything.

Izumi ceased her fire attack and held up a hand.  Chihiro caught the signal and let up on her electric one.  The guy stood there, groaning, his metal skin making a slight pinging sound as it cooled.  

“That hurt,” he snarled.  “But this is going to hurt more!”   With a massive grunt, he freed his arms, not by removing Mika’s balls from them, but instead simply being strong enough to tear the sections of ground they were attached to up with them.

“…That’s new,” Mika said, quietly.

Fortunately, by this time, Midoriya had recovered.   “GRAVITY...BOOSTER!”    He shot forward like a rocket, then hit the guy with an uppercut that made her ears ring. The metal guy was in motion this time, not braced like before and went flying high into the air from the force of the blow, disappearing from sight.  

Still, Chihiro couldn’t help but stare, wide eyed.  “You sure All Might is only your step-grandpa?” she asked.  

He didn’t bother answering her question.  “See if you can get any of the other teams on the comms.  Mine got smashed when I hit the wall.”

***

Kenta had been exploring the inside of the building with Tensei Iida, looking for people to rescue, when something had taken them by surprise.  Or rather, someone: a massive, muscular woman who looked like she could snap you in half just by staring at you hard enough, the kind that Mineta would say could crush your head between her thighs. And for just a moment, Kenta had frozen, the memory of the Nomu rearing up over him playing on a continuous loop in his head.  

Iida had saved him, rushing in with his Jetpack to shove him out of the way.  The woman had hit Iida instead and seemingly forgot about Kenta. He hoped Iida was okay.  It would be really bad if he had to tell Takuma he’d gotten his boyfriend killed or put in traction.

Great.  He was making jokes at a time like this.  Takuma really was rubbing off on him.

He forced himself to get moving, heading back out the way he had come in.   Outside, he could see all three of his classmates (Iida was upright, that was good!, even if he was sporting a nasty dent on his armor!) fighting with the woman.  Her costume left a lot to be desired, being only stylized biker gear, with heavy spikes on the shoulders of her jacket.

Kirishima-Bakugo fired off a round of disks from her gauntlets, peppering the ground with a series of small explosions that kept the woman off balance, while Iida flew around behind her and snagged her with a capture-line from his gauntlet.  After they’d taken her off balance and restrained her, Shoji moved in, swinging all three of his right-side arms.

Great.  He was definitely going to fail the exam and make everyone else fail.   Because he’d frozen up like a damn coward.  Maybe one bad moment wouldn’t be enough.  But he needed to make himself useful somehow…

Shoji’s blows connected, but they didn’t rock the woman back even an inch.  Thought the bottom half of his face was covered, Kenta could see Shoji’s eyes widen in surprise.  The woman just laughed.

“No bad, kid,” she said. “That was a nice gift.  Let me return the favor!”

She flexed her arms and snapped Iida’s capture line like it was made of string, then hit the six-armed boy with a blow that sent him flying.

“Finally!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted, throwing her head back and laughing.  “A challenge!”

She charged, lashing out at the woman with a series of close-range blows.  Every time a blow connected, she fired off an explosion.  Some kind of contact transfer from her gloves, if he remembered right.  It was hard to keep up with everyone’s costume and Support Gear updates.  Maybe he needed to invest in something if he wanted to keep up.

The woman may have been sent off balance by the explosions fired at her feet, but this time, they didn’t seem to do anything.  They didn’t even singe her skin.

Kirishima-Bakugo took a step back, fists still at the ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “What the hell, lady?  What’re you made out of?!”

“Can’t stop everything by hitting it, girl,” the woman sneered.  She swung her fist in a wide arc, but Kirishima-Bakugo was lighter on her feet, dodging out of the way.  Iida swooped in, striking out at high speed.  The blow clipped the woman’s chin, knocking her back for a moment and spinning her head around, before she struck out, faster than anyone that big should be able to move, swatting Iida from the sky.

What the hell was he supposed to do against that?

Wait…  

She’d gone from being thrown off balance by Kirishima-Bakugo’s explosions to being unaffected.  She’d shrugged off blows from Shoji but gotten her head spun around by Iida.  Even with Iida putting his speed behind it, Shoji had a lot more power to his punches. What if she had to know a blow was coming to block it?  

Hang on guys, he silently pleaded.  He had an idea… he just needed her to stay in one place long enough.

He’d say this for all three of them, they kept taking her hits, but they kept getting back up again. And the huge woman gave as good as she got.  She’d called Shoji’s blow a “gift” too…

But there, a telephone pole, right across the street…

As he ran towards the telephone pole, Kenta did a little math in his head, grateful for the fact that unlike Takuma and Kimmie, he actually paid attention in class.  There was lots of math involved in baking and he was good enough at helping his dad to do some calculations on the fly. If she didn’t move too much, it would be just about right.  

CHOMP!  Kenta’s jaw muscles were strong and he could open his mouth wider than a normal person could.  Combined with the fact that his teeth were incredibly tough, he could bite through anything very quickly.  He bit, chewed, and swallowed as fast as he could, feeling like some kind of beaver as he worked his way through the wood.  He kept his eye on the fight and the woman was still in just about the right position.  In seconds, the telephone pole started to pitch forward.    “TIMBER!” he shouted, giving it a strong push to finish the job.

He saw Shoji backpedal out of the way and Iida grab Kirishima-Bakugo (who protested that she wanted to stay and fight), and the woman try ineffectually to hit them as they fled.

THUMP!

The telephone pole came down on her hard, driving her into the ground.  She’d started to turn, but hadn’t had time to fully do… whatever it was she did.  For the moment, she was trapped.

“Sato!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted.  She looked mad.  Probably about him “stealing” her victory.  “How the hell did you do that?”  When she couldn’t was left unsaid.

He ran across the street to join the others.  “I think… I think she can absorb whatever force you throw at her.  But she has to know it’s coming.  I just got lucky.”

Kirishima-Bakugo scowled. “Yeah, okay.  …Not bad, Lips.”

“As soon as I get out of here,” the woman yelled, “you’re dead!  You hear me!  You’re all dead!”  Already, she was struggling and working her way out.

“We’ll see who’s deader, ya witch!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted back.  “I’m gonna explode you so hard your grandkids will have burn marks!”  She brought up a gauntlet, ready to fire it.

“Ah,” Shoji began.  He put a hand on her gauntlet.

“What?” she demanded.

“Perhaps we should continue our rescue work while she’s trapped?”

“I agree,” Iida added. “She is quite capable of neutralizing our attacks and is more than ready to anticipate them.  We should rescue who we can, retreat, and fight another time.”

Kenta raised a hand slightly.

“You’re gonna agree with them, aren’t you?” Kirishima-Bakugo demanded.  Her teeth were gritted in anger, her body language tense.  She was not exactly the type of person who ran from a fight.

He gulped, then nodded. “Maybe we can get somebody like Kaminari or Todoroki or even Takuma or Minet to fight her.  Somebody more zappy or who can restrain her.”

“AAAAARRRRGH!” Kirishima-Bakugo let out a scream of frustration.  “Dammit, you’re right.  Fuck!”

She gestured off in the opposite direction they’d come.  “Iida, get eyes in the air, get on the comms and get somebody we can use.  The rest of you, move!”

***

“Aoayama!” Koda cried out. The glowing boy went down, smacking his head on the ground, before any of them could react.  But they had little time to panic.  More shots followed the fist, one several impacting into the ground, others ricocheting off the building behind them.  One even stuck Iida, making a clang where it hit her armor.

In response, Shinso screamed.  But it was not a scream of panic, instead, he directed the soundwaves outward until they formed a protective, shimmering dome around three of them.  Akaya said a small prayer that their classmate was all right. It may have only been an exam, but students had been greatly injured in training and exams before.

“Is he…?” she began, softly, bending down to examine Aoyama.

Around them, shots bounced off of the force field dome Shinso was screaming into existence.  They came quickly and from multiple directions. Was there more than one person shooting at them?  Guns were a rarity in Japan to begin with, even more so among Villains and Heroes, unless that gun augmented or worked with an existing Quirk, such as their teacher Hawkeye and her Super-Accuracy.

“Breathing,” Akaya continued, after taking his pulse.  A nasty bruise was forming along the side of his head, one she could see even through his glow.  

“Then we must move,” Iida said.  “As soon as we can.  I will distract them, while you three get to cover.”

The urgency was apparent. Shinso’s shield was already weakening. He could not sustain the scream for much longer.  He held up a shaky thumbs up to say he agreed.

Akaya scooped up Aoyama. He was a fit boy, but slender and not as muscular as Midoriya or Haimawari, let alone Shoji, and while hers was not a strength Quirk, her size and rocky countenance did make her stronger than many.   Despite his glow, his skin was not hot, but soft against her rocky one.

“Go!” Iida shouted. “Now!”

Shinso stopped screaming and the dome dropped instantly.  He took off and Akaya followed close behind, while Iida rocketed into the air.  Shots rained down around them, one narrowly missing her.

Slinging Aoyama over her shoulder instead and apologizing for the rough treatment, Akaya reached into her seed pouch with her now free hand and dropped seeds behind them, using her Quirk to make them grow rapidly.  Trees sprung up like lightning behind her, offering temporary shielding from the gunfire.

She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but she could hear the sounds of gunfire still, hear it bounce off of Iida’s armor.  

“I cannot see them!” Iida’s voice rang in her ears from their communicator headset.  “Shinso, can you pinpoint them?”

Looking around, Akaya and Shinso came to a stop, sheltering behind a car.   Shinso looked around, cautiously, then let out one of his sonar screams, casting it in various directions.  When he stopped, he made a confused face.  “I keep getting something, but it disappears as soon as I make contact.  I guess it could be a teleporter, but those kinds of Quirks are, like, super rare!  I mean, other than that kid who won the obstacle course, and we probably wouldn’t be fighting him…”

For a moment, the gunfire went quiet.  Worryingly quiet.  On her shoulder, Aoyama started to stir.  Unconscious, the arrogant boy looked much smaller and vulnerable than usual, as though he puffed himself up like a hissing cat when awake.  

She wondered sometimes why she tried so hard to be a friend to him.  He was a walking tribute to the sins of pride and envy, and just as often prone to wrath.  But there was something behind his eyes, a sadness that touched her deeply.  There was a pain he carried with him he did not share, but which fueled his vices and she wished she could ease. 

Aoyama groaned.  “I… claim this land… for France!” he exclaimed, one arm shooting straight up into the air.   “Ugh…   what hit me?”  

“Some kind of projectile,” Akaya told him, helping him get on his feet.  “Iida attempted to draw their fire while we escaped.”

Aoyama frowned.  She should tell his pride was hurt.  “Merci,” he said, simply.

Around them, the world had gone deathly silent, save for a lingering echo of Shinso’s screams.   Akaya quickly wished that she had chosen a different word to describe it than that.  But it was apt.  The strike had come out of nowhere and wasn’t even from a Quirk.  They knew less than nothing about who was attacking them.

Iida’s voice again filled their comms.  “The shooting seems to have stopped,” she said. “Like it or not, we must continue our mission.  I will try to apprise the others of the situation and then join you.”

“She wants us to go on with some maniac with a gun out there?” Aoyama hissed.  “Is she crazy?”

“We’ve… we’ve got to rescue people,” Shinso insisted.  “Even if it’s dangerous.  We’re Heroes. We can’t let everybody down.

It made sense, however dangerous it was.  Real Heroes couldn’t just huddle and hide until the danger passed.  They had to move on.  As they got up to go, something made Akaya stop.  There was the slightest of sounds, like a window shade being drawn back.  Behind them, rising up from the shadow of a building like a swimmer appearing out of the water was a woman, her features plain and ordinary, especially for this day and age.  She wore a black catsuit and carried a dangerous looking rifle.

“Then prepare to disappoint everyo—“  the woman began.

“Hey!” Shinso called out, suddenly sounding excited for some reason.  “I know you!”

[flawlesspeasant]

I don’t know if you have even been watching season 16 or if you’re still writing jolex fics but I have a prompt SPOILER FOR MIDSEASON FINALE!!! Fic: Alex’s reaction that jo stole a baby!

this is short and there are probably typos because i wrote it really quick on my phone and didn’t proofread, but yay for being inspired!

                         ————————————

truth is, the two days in iowa made me miss her and that was something i didn’t realize until i stepped outside into the familiar seattle drizzle and waited for the blue honda to park curbside.

the uber was ten minutes late. i called him six times and he answered on the seventh, just to tell me that he was stuck in traffic on the freeway and he’d be there in five more minutes. my first instinct was to yell or look for something soft i could throw at the bathroom wall because she was right, throwing things really does make you feel better.

i’d decided to throw a starbucks cup. a sweet-talking little teenage girl left it there a few minutes ago when she took a call from her boyfriend, and it was half empty so i didn’t think she’d be coming back for it. i was going to take the cup, duck into the bathroom and toss it at the wall repeatedly, over and over, until i felt better because all i wanted to do was get home to her.

the uber came before i could make it into the bathroom, though.

and i knew that it was entirely impossible, but i started to feel like maybe there was somebody in this airport that had access to my mind. stupid, i know. but on the off chance that somebody in the place knew what i was about to do, i tossed the cup into the garbage can like it was what i was going to do the entire time. i didn’t linger around to see if anyone would come back for the cup and frankly, i didn’t care. i just grabbed the small suitcase that she convinced me to take and headed out through the double doors.

i think that was when i started to feel like i missed her.

i didn’t miss her once while i was there because i was busy, barking orders at mom’s caretakers and demanding they give her a room without steps because if she fell down them one more time, i would sue. i didn’t have time to sit down and think about how much i missed the way she’d curl her fingers through my hair in the mornings before i woke up or how she sat me down and gave me an entire presentation on how much more financially responsible it is to stuff everything into a tiny carry-on suitcase instead of paying $45 to check a bag.

but then i was crammed into the backseat of the smallest honda, watching the raindrops drip down my window, thinking about how i could make it home just in time to hear her sing in the shower. that alone was enough to make me grin. see, she sings pretty. i mean, if you asked her if she was a good singer she’d tell you that she isn’t because she can’t hit those really high notes and plus she’s humble. but in reality, she’s great.

iowa made me miss her.

and when i say that i miss her, i don’t mean that lightly.

i missed the big things. like how she always looks for me when she enters the room and how she reaches over to hold my hand when i drive her to work. she looks out the windows and counts the number of trees that haven’t lost their leaves yet and i always shake my head and tell her that she’s “goofy” but what i really mean to say is remarkable.

i missed the little things, too. like way her hair sticks to my chest when she needs to hear my heart beating in the middle of the night, and the way her nose wrinkles when i tease her with a good morning kiss. like the way her eyes wrinkle at the sides when she’s laughing because i burned toast and the small hairs around her ears that she always manages to leave out of a ponytail.

loving her at first was like trying to reign in a hurricane. she came in waves, anger then softness. harsh, then gentle. she ripped through everything that she touched, left carnage in her dust and in the eye of hurricane jo, i stood to be grounded. the eye was the calm. the gentle ways she rubbed my back if she knew i needed a little bit of her, the way she squeezed me in a hug if i needed a lot. she was powerful, and all i could do was try to predict her outcomes, but she was unpredictable. she was strong.

until one day, she wasn’t.

she was undone at the seams, falling apart at every corner. hurricane jo was waning, moving inward to uncharted territory, and the only thing i could do was watch. her strength turned to vulnerablity and she needed me in a way i had never been needed. at last, she was broken and it was up to me to do the fixing.

i was hesitant about therapy at first. i didn’t think that i needed it. funny that way, because after one session, i learned that i didn’t need to chase her. loving her was like reigning in a hurricane, but she didn’t need to be reigned in. i didn’t have to chase her, i just had to follow. she led the way and i trusted her to navigate us into new territory.

she’s back now, by the way. that wild, unpredictability is still the center of her being and i’m glad for that because i don’t know how to love anything less than her whirlwind ways. i’m finally realizing that she was never really gone, her light just burned a little less bright and she has the tools to reignite it now. and i know that i’ve gone soft for her. i mean, when most people think of alex karev they probably don’t think of a guy who sits in the backseat of an uber and reflects on how much he loves his wife. but i swear, if she was your mess — the good kind and the bad — you would go soft, too. hurricane jo has that magic inside of her.

i handed the uber driver two crisp twenties when he pulled up to the loft, and i slid out. the window to our living room was glowing from the outside, so i knew that she was up and she was ready and she was probably waiting for me.

my immediate thought was that she was pregnant, and that scared me which, i found to be a bit weird, actually. because it’s not like i didn’t want a baby with her. i wanted all the parts of her — the mess and the beauty — and maybe the best parts of me. i wanted it all swaddled up into a soft blanket for me to look down at and ogle with love. but the feeling in the pit of my stomach was like going down a rollercoaster ride. the dread and the anticipation swirled all up inside of me, trying to figure out how to coexist at the same time.

i eyed the car seat sitting by the door and closed it, silently trying to think of other reasons why a car seat would be in our loft.

i was sure that she would have told me if she was pregnant, though. if she were pregnant, there’s no way she would have been able to keep that in. jo’s good at keeping secrets, but she definitely would have called me because she’d be bursting and plus, she knows just how badly i’ve wanted this. maybe she was babysitting for hunt and teddy, that was my next thought.

she knew i was home because there’s no way she didn’t hear the door slam shut behind me. i kicked my shoes off on the rug beside the door and shrugged out of my jacket. i knew later she’d gripe at me for throwing it over the arm of the chair instead of hanging it up in the closet, but i didn’t care in that moment. all i cared about was getting to see her.

“jo...?” i called her name as i wandered into the kitchen. there was a half-eaten box of pizza on the stove, so i flipped it open and grabbed a slice. “how old’s this pizza?” i asked, mouth full and chewing.

“from yesterday,” i heard her voice behind me but when i turned around, she wasn’t there.

eventually, she came bounding from behind the divider that separates our bedroom, tongue between her teeth. she exaggerated her tiptoes, dramatic as she often is. watching her come over to me felt like i was waiting for my entire future to come. her hair was tied back in a high ponytail and it swung with every move she made. the sweatpants she got from my drawer hung off her hips and her favorite acdc t-shirt had a white stain down the front of it.

“hey,” i mumbled as the piece of pizza slivered down the back of my throat with a swallow.

“hey,” she sighed and raised up on her tiptoes to press her lips against mine. just like i missed, her fingers curled in my hair and she gave me an eye-crinkling grin. “how’s mom?”

“she’s good,” i tossed the crust of the pizza back into the box and grabbed the bottle of dr. pepper from the fridge to wash it down. “settled in, doing fine. she told me to tell you hi.”

“i’m glad she’s okay,” she continued to smile at me and rocked back and forth on her feet and i knew she was hiding something. “so.. we have to talk.”

“bout what?” I twisted the cap back onto the soda. “baby sleep?”

her eyes widened by about two sizes and she looked at me like i just said something completely forbidden.

“did link already tell you?!”

“tell me what?”

“about the baby...?”

“no? why would link have to tell me?”

“then how do you know?”

“know what? that you’re babysitting allison? the car seat’s right there, i —“

“oh! oh, god, okay, wait —“

“you’re being weird.” i mumbled under my breath as i headed for our bedroom. “how long you babysittin’ for? couple hours?”

“alex, wait. before you go into the room, there’s something i really have to —“

she jogged after me in order to keep up and probably get to the room before me, but i beat her there. i thought she was probably worried that i was going to wake the baby up, but i had no intention on doing that. i just wanted to change out of my pants because the bottoms were wet from the rain.

but when i rounded the corner and crossed the divider, there was nothing pink or blonde or blue-eyed about the baby snoozing on our bed. he was much too new — a few days old if i had to guess just by looking — to be allison. and much too... boy. i looked at jo, expression confused and she gnawed at her fingernail. she only did that when she was really nervous.

“i can explain...” she said, nervous as nervous can be.

a million things ran through my head and none of them were logical. i thought maybe shepherd had her baby and link enlisted her to babysit which was stupid, i know. then i thought that she didn’t know she was pregnant and had the baby at home while i was in iowa because the little tuft of brown hair on his head and his cream colored skin was enough to make me believe... maybe even wish... that he was ours.

“i thought i could handle it!” she started while i was still trying to process. “i told you when i agreed to be a volunteer that i wouldn’t do it if it was too much, that i would just walk away but —“

“he’s a safe haven baby? jo, look this is —“

“i know you’re thinking it’s illegal but it’s not, i checked.”

“you checked?”

“uh-huh! it’s perfectly legal! ...as long as his mother doesn’t come looking for him.”

“jo, you STOLE him. there are policies and procedures in place and certain things —“

“i know but alex, look at him! i can’t even explain it to you but i just held him and i... i just... i was done.”

“you said you weren’t ready for kids. jo, this is all too much for you. this is —“

“i know what i said! but alex, it was so weird. it was SO weird. they put him in my arms and it was like i knew. it was like... like he chose me or something. and then they came to take him away and i... i panicked! i couldn’t let them take him and put him into the system. he’s just so little and so... he’s so little. i panicked. and i told them i was his mother and i changed my mind.”

“this is insane... jo, he’s not ours!”

“but he could be! he could be! just look at him... i was going to call you and tell you but i knew you’d tell me no and this was something i had to follow. i felt it in my heart. i know you don’t understand now, but i need you to trust me. and trust what i feel. this is our baby. he’s meant for us. i knew it as soon as i held him, i knew it. i felt it. and if you held him, you’d feel it too.”

“jo... i...” i sighed and looked at the tiny guy, snoozing with his hands over his head. “this is insane.”

“i know, but just hold him.” she picked him up and handed him to me, awestruck by the little grunts he made as we shifted him. “just hold him.”

i took him into my arms and looked down at his tiny, defenseless body. and it felt wrong because i knew it was wrong. but i wanted to trust her and trust her feeling, so i held him. and i stood by her. because loving her is like trying to reign in a hurricane...

but sometimes i just have to follow her.

[trixiepiixie]

not like the movies / one piece fic / rewrite

people always redraw old art but i’ve never seen someone rewrite an old fic.

anyway. this was a songfic (remember those) where sanji proposes to nami but nami is in love with zoro. 

but i’m rewriting it to not be a song fic and written bettwe because i wrote this in 2011. Also, I’ve changed it to her being in love with Luffy because in this house we stan Nami and Luffy.

"So, what do you say?"

The truth was that I didn't know what to say. As for a matter of fact, I could have killed Sanji. I thought it was just one of his dumb ways of expressing an exaggerated sense of love for women. I couldn't have been more wrong if I had tried.

They say that when a guy proposes, it's beautiful and wonderful where everything suddenly falls into place. After that, life truly begins, but this wasn't the case. I don't know what possessed him to propose. I never gave any indication that I was ever in love with him. I was looking at someone else in that regard, and it had been going steady.

It didn't fit, not just because the ring was two sizes too big but also because I didn't feel the same way. How dare he put me in the position of having to decline this. It wasn't fair.

I almost wanted to scream at him. Call him an idiot, call him everything under the sun for proposing just because he felt like it. However, there was a look in his eyes; Sanji meant this. This proposal... it meant a lot to him...and I had to let him down.

"It doesn't fit..." 

For the first time in the past few minutes, I spoke my mind, and Sanji didn't understand what I meant.

"It was just something I picked on on the last island we were on," He began to explain himself, "But! Don't worry; we can go get one that fits as it's just symbolic and-"

"No," It hurt to interrupt him and break the news," I didn't mean that. I suggested that this doesn't fit," With that, I closed the box, and Sanji stood up immediately catching onto what I was trying to say. I could tell he was trying to put on a breath face, but he seemed genuinely hurt. As much as I felt terrible, it was a dumb mistake on his part to think I wanted this.

"...I see," 

That was all he said, and all I could think of was, seriously? You propose to a girl who you aren't even with, and all you can say is "I see." when she rejects you. No, that isn't right.

"What? Is that all you are going to say in defense?" I asked, but it wasn't out of annoyance rather than frustration that he had decided to put himself to fail like that. Still, much like before, there was a smile on Sanji's face, but it was apparent he felt hurt.

"No... I should have expected that response..." He scratched the back of his neck while putting on a front that he was totally fine with the outcome of this, "I should go... I'll be needing to get to supper," 

Without a word or a fail in his performance, he turned on his heel to go. When he left the room, in what was an impulse, I ran to the door to say something only to find that Sanji had left and I was alone in my room.

-

"Hey, Nami... are you in here?"

I heard our captain's voice as I examined maps while trying to feel a little better. I don't feel bad for rejecting the proposal, but I just wished Sanji hadn't walked away from me. Luffy was now standing at my door, so I turned after putting my maps away.

"Hey Luffy," I said once he had my full attention, "Door is open," 

He took a few seconds before he came in to which I noticed how he looked a little unsure about something. Luffy was always determined and always was confident even when there was little help, so it confused me when he wasn't looking so sure.

"Hey, could we talk about something?" Either way, he had a goofy smile on his face.

"Sure," I smiled, "What's on your mind?" 

"Well... I've been thinking about this for a long time, but..." He stopped for a few moments before thinking about something as if he wasn't sure how to word what he was about to say. I was patient and just waited, "...I was thinking... you know when we get on the next island..."

"Yes..."

"...Would you like to...hang out... just us?" 

...Was Luffy asking me out? Sure, it was a very Luffy way of asking, but I knew him well enough to know what he was asking.

"...Luffy..."

"I've wanted to ask for a while, but... well, Sanji finally convinced me to just ask," He smiled as he explained.

Sanji...he did this.

"Of course. That sounds like it would be loads of fun!" I responded optimistically. In his fashion, he pulled me into a hug, and we fitted together.

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Chapter 6

Chapter 6 of the fic I wrote with @hargreevesstyles, the fic can also be read on her page!

TW: Vomit

~

Apparently, being bone-tired and wrapped in a cozy blanket isn’t very conducive to staying up. When Klaus next opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Ben staring down at him, wide-eyed and worried.

“Jesus, Ben!” he hissed, instantly clutching at his throat as soon as the words left his throat. When did it start feeling sore? He was starting to feel a bit of pressure in his head, too. “You’re worse than the dead babies!”

“You saw dead babies again?” Klaus shut his eyes tight and nodded. Ben’s face fell; Klaus tended to see dead babies a lot when he was sick. They’d always assumed it was because babies so often died of infection, and they felt some sort of connection to him when he had a fever. Klaus sniffled.

“Take your temperature,” Ben said, reaching for the thermometer on the table. His hand went phased through it.

“It’s so far away,” Klaus whined, stretching out his arm but not quite reaching it. “You do it.”

“It’ll make you even more exhausted!”

“Then b- hihh’szhiuu! be quick!”

Before Ben could protest, Klaus was bringing his fists together. Ben quickly grabbed the thermometer and put it in Klaus’ mouth, just before he flickered. Klaus immediately released him. He coughed a bit over the thermometer, dry, hoarse coughs that tore at his throat. After it beeped, Klaus blinked down at the screen, unable to focus his eyes on the tiny numbers.

“103.9! That’s dangerously high, Klaus, no wonder about the babies!”

A knock at the door sent Klaus scrambling to hide the thermometer. He shoved it into the pocket of the sweatpants Diego had lent him and sat up in bed, wincing just a little at the pain that coursed through his back as he did so.

“Who is it?” he rasped.

“Vanya.”  That was a relief.

“Come in.” Vanya shuffled into the room with a glass of water. She had her violin case in the other hand.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Klaus shrugged.

“Been better, been worse.”

“I thought you were gonna sleep in. I was just about to leave for rehearsal, but then I heard you coughing. Drink this.” She handed him the glass and he gladly downed it. “Allison made lunch. You should eat something.”

“More soup?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Klaus wasn’t really in the mood for more soup; in fact, he didn’t have much of an appetite at all, which was really saying something about how sick he was. Still, he willingly followed his sister of the room, pausing outside Luther’s door when she collected him too.

“I don’t care!” Klaus raised his brows and put his ear to the door; Vanya rarely used that tone with her siblings. “Well, you haven’t eaten a solid meal in three days. So get your ass up.”

When Luther finally appeared in the doorway, he was wearing yet another sweatshirt and had his arms crossed over his chest, a sour expression on his face. And his hair was messed up. Yeah, he’d just woken up, too.

“Hey, sick buddy,” Klaus said with a sniffly, dopey little grin as they followed their sister down the staircase. “Hhh’etshu! Inxt-gntchu!” He tapped on his brother’s shoulder from behind.

“hiklaus.” Oof. Luther’s voice was completely shot. Klaus winced; he wondered if that was going to happen to him, too.

“Look who’s finally up!” The three of them turned their heads to see Diego standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. “I guess noon is the new morning.”

“Diego, they’re sick,” Vanya reminded as she sat her sick brothers down at opposite ends of the table.

“They seemed to forget all about that last night.” Diego sat down directly across from Luther at the table. He looked him dead in the eyes. Luther looked down at his lap and shrunk in on himself further. Klaus picked up on his uneasiness and responded by crawling across the seats between them and sitting down next to him instead.

“Get away from him, Klaus, that’s how you got sick in the first place.” Just then, Allison entered with two steaming bowls of soup, placing them in front of her sick brothers.

“He’s already sick. Diego, leave him be.”

“I care about him, sue me! Someone’s got to look out for him.” He glared at Luther again. “Right, Number One?” Of course, Luther’s body chose that exact moment to betray him.

“hhr’KSCH! Heh-KSCHIEW! Ow.” They came on so suddenly that he barely had time to react, turning away from Klaus, and he only managed to bring his arm halfway up to his face, clutching his throat afterwards. Vanya flinched in response; Diego’s lip turned up in disgust. Neither of them had seen Luther sneeze freely this entire time, and they hadn’t been prepared.

“Bless you!”

“Cover your damn mouth,” Diego said with a sneer, taking the napkin from his placemat and throwing it with perfect accuracy to land on Luther’s chest. “And you wonder how you got Klaus sick.”

“fuckoff.” Luther swiped at his nose with the napkin. Klaus just rolled his eyes.

“He didn’t mean to. God, Diego, stop being such a dick!” He winced slightly at the pain that coursed through his own throat after raising his voice.

“I’m not being a dick, I’m just looking out for you, Klaus. Someone has to. Ape Boy over here clearly isn’t cut out for the job.”

Vanya checked her watch. She was pretty late, and besides, she really didn’t want to watch Luther and Diego go at it. Which, by the look of things, was the inevitable outcome of this conversation.

“Uh, listen, guys, I gotta run. We can talk about this later okay?” And with that, she was out the door, conveniently avoiding the rising conflict before it got ugly.

“Diego, what the hell are you talking about?” Allison asked, taking the chair across from Klaus.

“You tell her.” Diego pointed his finger directly at Luther. Klaus jumped in, instead.

“Okay, so last night I couldn’t sleep and-”

“I want him to say it,” Diego cut him off, pointing directly at Luther. Luther cleared his throat, but to no avail.

“I…” he rasped. “Last night we-” he cut himself off with a wince, shaking his head.

“Oh, so now you conveniently can’t talk?”

“Diego, leave them be,” Allison chastised. She looked down at the two bowls of soup, still completely untouched. “Please try to eat your soup.”

“mnothungry,” Luther mumbled, voice practically nonexistent.

“And why is that?” Diego sat down across from him at the table. “Maybe it’s all the ice cream you guys ate at three in the fucking morning!”

“Wait, what?” Allison furrowed her brows in confusion at Luther; he was never one to stay up late. “You were up at three am?”

Klaus cut in, “Yes we were because neither of us could sleep! Luther came downstairs and then I joined him in the kitchen and I got out the ice cream and-“

“You shouldn’t be throwing off your sleeping or eating schedule when you’re both this sick! Why would you eat ice cream at three in the morning, Klaus?” Allison’s tone became more serious.

“Our throats hurt so I thought it would be a good idea!”

Allison scoffed, “Oh, did you now?”

“Allison get off his back! Luther was the one who woke him up in the first place, right Klaus?”

“No, I was alr-“

“Klaus was the one who got out the ice cream instead of going back to bed like they should’ve!”

Diego snapped, “Well he was already up thanks to Luther and I doubt he could’ve fallen back asleep with Luther’s monstrous coughs and sneezes!”

“This is enough!” Five’s authoritative yet squeaky voice shouted. “Look at them!”

Both of the ill boys had tears streaming down their faces. Only Allison’s expression softened. Five swore he saw Diego’s expression flicker, but it remained one of anger. Allison walked over to Klaus and wrapped him in a hug from behind. She kissed him on the forehead and apologized.

“Diego? Where’s Luther’s hug and kiss?” Klaus joked maybe a tad too soon.

Diego shook his head, “I’m not going near him. I’m not getting sick. Speaking of, Klaus I have to take your temperature again.”

Klaus gave an exaggerated groan and a wet sniffle. “I swear this is the most I’ve ever had the same thing in my mouth! Well–except for-”

“Can it,” Five said.

Diego took Klaus’ temperature. There was a strong look of concern painted over his face when he read the results.

“104.6, Klaus. That’s not good. We’ve gotta get you in an ice bath and get you some more fever reducers. Damnit.” Diego started pacing around the room.

Allison took the thermometer out of his hands, rinsed it off in the sink, and took Luther’s temperature.

“99.4, that’s a lot better than what you’ve been dealing with. You don’t need an ice pack but I’m getting you some more fever reducers and a cold washcloth,” she said.

Diego was still pacing around the room. Five rolled his eyes, blinked out, blinked back in with a needle, and presented it to Diego, prompting him to pass out.

“Five, what the hell?” Allison shouted.

“He’s too panicked right now about Klaus. He’ll wake up and he’ll be more relaxed. Allison, I’ll take care of Luther, you get Klaus in the ice bath,” Five said.

Klaus asked, “Are…are we just supposed to leave Diego there on the ground?”

Five shrugged. The only other person capable of carrying Diego was Luther, and Luther definitely didn’t have the energy to do so right now. So they left him there.

The tallest and the smallest made their way up to Number One’s bedroom, Five had the bottle of fever reducers in hand along with a plus size box of tissues. Luther was blowing his nose almost nonstop now and his coughs were so productive that…well, you can imagine.

Five stayed with Luther until his fever finally broke, which was around forty-five minutes after another round of fever reducers and several wet washcloths. Five was able to get Luther a lot of tea with honey and cough drops to help his throat. He even took a look at it, and he was shocked at how raw and red it was. Maybe they needed to take Luther to a doctor. Five quickly dismissed that thought as Luther’s fever broke.

Back in the bathroom, Klaus was wearing a long pink robe and sitting on the counter while Allison drew the bath. The thing about Klaus was that he was so skinny and bony that he generally ran cold. And Klaus hated the cold. He hated being chilly, even though his normal clothes did little to warm him, and he was not happy about the idea of taking a cold bath.

The thing that Klaus loved about taking baths was how relaxing and comforting they were. There was absolutely nothing comforting to him about freezing cold water. But, he knew that he was burning up and he was hoping for some relief. Fevers always made him feel like the ghosts were louder and more aggressive and he had a lot less patience for them.

“Bath’s ready. Strip down to your boxers and get in,” Allison said.

“Wait are you staying here?” Klaus asked. Allison nodded. “Oh. Why?”

Allison said, “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Oh.”

Klaus just sat there for a moment.

“Klaus, get in the bath,” Allison ordered.

“Oh, oh, right, right the bath, okay.” Still, he didn’t move.

Allison took a step closer to her brother. He was so completely dazed, Allison wondered if he could move even if he wanted to. “Klaus?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Uhhhhh….no? No.” He was more sure with the second answer. He was looking at her but he wasn’t really looking at her. He was looking in her general direction but his eyes were somewhere else. “Why?”

“You look like you’re gonna - Klaus!” Allison rushed to hold out her arms underneath Klaus’, just before his eyes rolled back in his head. His body rocked forward onto her, and she nearly fell down underneath him. Skinny as he was, it was still pretty difficult to support his 6’0” frame. His skin burned against her, so hot that she felt herself starting to sweat underneath him. After some awkward stumbling around the bathroom, she finally managed to set him down to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Klaus! Klaus, wake up!” She slapped his face a few times. It wasn’t working. “Five!” The smallest Hargreeves poofed into the bathroom, jaw going slack when he saw Klaus.

“Get him into the tub!”

Allison looked into the freezing cold tub. Klaus wouldn’t like it, but it might be the only way to get him to wake up right now. And besides, she needed to get his fever down ASAP.

“Okay. Grab his feet.” With Five’s help, Allison lowered Klaus into the tub. She hurriedly put her hand beneath his neck to support his head.

Klaus immediately started shivering when his skin hit the water, whole body shuddering wildly. After a few seconds, he awoke with a gasp, green eyes shooting wide open. He looked around disorientedly for a few times, slashing around in a panic in the bathtub.

“Stop, leave me alone!” he cried. Tears were brimming his eyes. His focus was directly in front of him, not on Allison or Five. He put his face in his hands. “Go away go away go away!”

“Klaus!” Allison said sternly, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to snap him back to reality. He finally lifted his head up and looked at her. “It’s me, Allison. You have a fever, you just passed out.”

Klaus blinked around at his surroundings as things finally started to come into focus. After a few moments, he buried his face in his arms again.

“I’m so c-cold,” he said weakly, eyes fluttering shut as another huge shiver wracked his body, followed by a shivery sob. “I don’t want this.” He tried to climb out of the tub, but Allison held him down. He was way too weak to break free of her grasp.

“I know, Klaus,” Allison said softly. “But you need to bring your fever down, okay?”

He shook his head sternly, wet curls flopping wildly around his head, even though he didn’t put up a fight anymore as she settled him back down into the water. “I want Dave.”

Allison still held him down in the water, but her grip softened. She brought a hand up to Klaus’ fevered cheek.

“I know, honey.” Klaus just shook his head and continued to shudder and sob. Allison could feel her hand growing damp against his cheek.

“Think you can handle him?” Five asked softly after a few seconds of this. Allison turned back to look at him. She was about to insist that he help her lift Klaus out of the tub, but then she saw the way he stood there, tapping his foot nervously with his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed antsy for some reason, like he was itching to get out of there. It must be important.

“Yeah, you can go.” Five nodded and immediately poofed away. Allison turned around and smiled softly down at her sick brother, who was now sitting upright in the tub on his own, apparently becoming more lucid by moment.

“Allison,” he said weakly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay. Hold still.” She dipped a plastic cup in the water and poured its contents down Klaus’ forehead. He shivered and sputtered, coughing up a little bit that got in his mouth, which resulted in more hacking from his torn up lungs. Klaus let out a loud sob and Allison’s heart broke. “Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay, I promise. I’m here, okay?”

Klaus sniffled, “Yeah.”

Every move he made caused him to shiver even more.

“Honey, let me pour some more water on your head,” Allison said. She had only been able to do about two cup-fulls before Klaus had choked on the water. Klaus braced himself and Allison filled up the cup. She gently poured the water over his head, putting her hand on his arm as he shuddered into it. “Lean back, I want some on your forehead.” Klaus did as he was told. She did about two more cup-fulls successfully.

She was in the middle of her third when Klaus interrupted her, “Stop stop stop. HahhhhIgotwaterinmynosehehh-ohgod. Fuck it burns I-hhh… hih'DZTshiew! Nxgtshh-etshiuu!” He pitched forward with the uncovered sneezes, the spray hitting his bare thighs.  “Ihhh….Hihh?…Heh-xntshieu! Fuck-kst'chjuu! Ehh’nXGTzhiuu! Ugh!”

“Jesus Christ, Klaus, bless you!”

Klaus sniffled wetly. He groaned, “Fuck, I’m so stuffed up.”

Allison noticed his sopping wet hands–from the bathwater and the sneezing fit–and she grabbed a wad of toilet paper. “Here.” She held it up to Klaus’ face. “Blow.”

“No, no, Allison I can’t,” Klaus looked up at her. “I-it’s disgusting!”

“Klaus, I’m a mom. Do you know how many times I’ve helped Claire blow her nose?” She argued.

Klaus sighed. He gave in, “Okay okay okay, but we’re never telling anyone about it at all ever, okay?”

His rounded consonants left Allison chuckling. Allison moved the toilet paper back up to Klaus’ nose and held it up firmly.

“Blow,” Allison said when she was ready. Klaus did as he was told, his cheeks slightly pink–not from the fever this time. After the wad of toilet paper was too soaked to be used further, Allison grabbed another one. “Come on, again.”

This time, Klaus obeyed without resisting. This one cleared him out a lot better than the first, but Allison still had to get a third bit and wipe underneath his nose. Allison smiled, “There you go, good as new.”

“Thanks. Like I said…please don’t tell anyone about this,” Klaus pleaded.

“I won’t tell a single soul.”

Sighing contently, Klaus leaned back. He was thrown off by the cold water splashing back at him.

“Can I please get out?” He cried.

Allison nodded. He had been in the tub for about fifteen minutes, and she was worried about what would happen if he stayed in any longer. She helped lift him up to a standing position and he stepped out. Allison wrapped a towel around him and held her arm around him protectively.

“Hhhang on ehhh! I’m gonna sneeze!” He reached out and grabbed her arm blindly, and Allison tightened her group around his back. “Inxghtshiew! NGXT’uh-isshiew! Wait. There might be another one. Hihh….nope. Damnit.”

“Bless you, you alright?” Allison spoke softly.

Klaus nodded. “Can you help me back to bed? I’m exhausted and I…I don’t want to pass out on you again.”

The two of them took a long trip back to Klaus’ room. Allison held her eyes shut as Klaus got changed into some dry clothes, and then Allison helped him into bed. She took his temperature again, it dropped to 100.4 which was a lot better than what it had been earlier. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing.

After that Allison pulled Klaus’ blankets up to his chin and tousled his hair.

Allison turned around and picked a few things up, threw the used tissues in the trash, and dimmed the lights. By the time she turned around Klaus was fast asleep.

This put Allison at peace for a moment. There was no chaos going on and she could finally relax without having to worry about her brother dying on her.

And then Five blinked in.

“Allison! Oh, thank god you’re here. Luther’s coughing really hard and I think he’s going to throw up but I can’t be in there because I-I just can’t! You have to go in there please!” Five rambled.

Allison nodded and instructed Five to stay with Klaus for the time being. Five still didn’t look like he was too happy with having to stay with another one of his germy siblings, but hey, this was better than vomit.

When Allison walked into Luther’s room he was hunched over the tiny garbage bin he always kept by his desk. He was coughing so hard his face was red, and with one final heave, something finally came up. Allison was shocked at how he was able to come up with anything seeing as he hadn’t eaten anything in almost three days, but he had been drinking a lot of liquids.

Allison slid onto Luther’s bed and started rubbing his back. He jumped a little, not having noticed Allison’s entrance. The gasp he let out only further irritated his throat and he started choking up more liquid. Allison continued working small circles onto Luther’s sweaty back, hoping that would help calm him down a bit.

Luther was coughing so hard there was thick mucus dripping out of his nose into the bucket. It came to the point where Allison couldn’t tell if it was mucus or vomit.

Luther finally stopped puking. He hid his face from Allison who then grabbed some tissues off of his bedside table and offered them.

Luther wiped his nose and then blew it.

“Sorry…about that,” Luther spoke shyly. His voice was somehow even more scratchy than it had been earlier. Allison heaved a sigh and turned around for a second to collect herself. She hated seeing him like this.

“Don’t be sorry, you couldn’t help it. Better out than in, right?” She turned back around and was greeted with the sight of Luther not only out of bed, but stumbling towards the door, bile-filed bucket in hand. She could see his knees shaking; yup, he’d definitely just dehydrated himself.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going? Put that down!” She rushed over and grabbed the bucket from him, quickly setting it down in its proper place next to his desk, before ushering him back to bed. “Just let me handle it, okay?” she asked, tone a bit more exacerbated than she’d intended, judging by the way Luther flinched. She took a deep breath before continuing. “You really need to lie down, you’re probably low on electrolytes. I am not about to have another one of my siblings pass out on me today.”

“Klaus passed out?” Luther looked so wounded it broke Allison’s heart. She bit down on her lip, regretting having said anything, and nodded reluctantly.

“He’s okay now,” she insisted, reaching out a hand to squeeze Luther’s shoulder.

“Diego was right. I-it’s my fault he’s so sick.” Allison could kill Diego. She shook her head and pushed his hair back in place from where it was stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault, okay? It could have been any one of us. You know he’s just… a bit protective of Klaus. We all are.” Luther nodded, though his eyes were scrunched up tight. Allison couldn’t tell if it was physical pain, embarrassment, guilt, or some terrible mix of the three. She cupped his cheek in her hand. It was hot and flushed, but she attributed it the vomiting – plus the tears that were starting to stream down his face for the second time that day. Yup, Diego was going to get an earful from her later. But for now, she had to push her anger down and focus on making her brother feel better.

“You’re okay, Luther. We love you,” she said softly, wiping the tears off her face with her thumb, trying not to visibly wince at the smell of bile that still lingered on his breath. She plucked a few tissues from the box and went to wipe his face for real, which he prevented by suddenly bringing both of his gloved hands up to cover his face. She tried to pry his hands apart, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Allison I have to-”

“Luther, stop it.” He shook his head. “Just let me - oh.” Seeing Luther’s chest expand, Allison released his hands. He immediately steepled them over his nose.

“hnnG’TCHU! Hih-INGXTtchiew!”

“Bless you!”

“Ohgod-hh’GNXTchiehh! Itgotupmynose-ih’GNXT!”

“Well then let it out, Lu.”

“I’m tryinhh-nnG’NNKT!-uhh.” He pressed his fingertips down tighter on his nose.

“You’re gonna make it worse!” Allison grabbed Luther’s hands again, only this time she successfully pulled them away from his face. The fact that her normally super-strong brother didn’t have the energy to fight back really spoke volumes for how shitty he must be feeling.

“Allison, s-stop, I still have to… hih!” realizing there was no escape, Luther turned his face down onto his pillow. “Hhh’KSCHhh’KSCHHT!Ohgoditburns — Hh’KschOO! Hih-KSCHEHH!”

As soon as the last sneeze was out, Luther broke into a harsh bout of coughing. Allison instinctively grabbed the garbage bin again, just in case. Thankfully, Luther’s breathing evened out before he could trigger his gag reflex this time.

Allison noted the reappearance of the thick fluid from earlier that she’d seen dripping out of his nose. Yup, that was definitely vomit. In a repeat of earlier events, she held a tissue up to her brother’s nose and pinched. To her surprise, Luther didn’t even wait for her command before he blew his nose willingly into the tissue. He must really be miserable.

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Bad Girls Club (6/?)

Title: Bad Girls Club Summary:  Los Angeles’ new program, the Juvenile Female Rehabilitation Program (JFRP) was created with the purpose of taking at-risk girls in the county and send them to a summer-long program located where a sleepaway camp once stood. There, they will take classes in ethics, behavior, and other courses to help mold these young minds. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa have been sent there for wildly different reasons, but with the same result - a clean permanent record. Being roomed together, the pair might find an unlikely alliance (and maybe more) in each other. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter)/~16.1k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: E

Read on AO3

[June 6th, 2018]

“Tradition or not, this shit gonna get our asses busted one of these days, and I don’t know about y’all, but I’m trynna haul ass outta this zip code as soon as I can.”

“God, who invited Captain Buzzkill?” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You as fucked up as we are, Silk. So, shut up and grab a box.” She passed a box of snap poppers to Silky and A’keria and kept one for herself. Glancing over her shoulder, she opened hers up and took one of the small, wrapped spheres between her thumb and finger. “On three.”

In stage whispers, the three girls counted down from three before throwing the little balls at the stairs of their high school, giggling as the loud snaps filled the otherwise quiet night – well, quiet for that part of town, anyway. Despite the complaints, it was still one of their most cherished traditions, dating back to eighth grade when they set off the poppers at their middle school the night after the last day, ringing in the start of the summer.

The girls were so caught up in their celebration that they failed to notice the police officer walking up behind them until he cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Seriously, you guys?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the three teenagers scrambled upright in a haphazard (and fruitless) attempt to save face. “Alright, you know the drill. Davenport, Ganache, Mateo, into the car.” And they were left with no option but to comply.

While the process was always the same, the outcome varied based on multiple factors – the type of crime, the time of day, whether or not Officer Watts was fighting with his wife – but everything was added to the books, so to speak. Tonight, it just seemed like he couldn’t be bothered to do more than go through the motions, bringing each girl home and walking them to the door, so their guardians knew just where they’d been.

Vanessa was the last stop and the officer dropped her off to her mom with the repeated normalcy as any sort of scheduled custody exchange. “Say hi to Kimberly and the kids for me!” she called out as Officer Watts returned to his patrol car.

“Don’t try to buddy your way out of this, Vanessa. I’m getting real tired of this bullshit.” Her mother’s tone was as sharp as her glare, punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut. “I see that police car come down this block more often than the ice cream truck! It’s like you’re not even trying to better yourself.”

“Better myself?” Vanessa scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What is this, My Fair Lady?” She calmed herself as quickly as she had snapped. “Sorry, sorry… but I promise we ain’t done nothing wrong, just hanging out.”

“Hanging out doesn’t get you brought home in a cop car. Don’t you ever stop and think about your future? How you gonna apply to college with a permanent record like that?”

The sudden silence that followed filled the room with a solemn sense of unease. Vanessa sat down on her couch and picked her dog up onto her lap. “Can we stop pretending I got a chance of going to college, Mom? We both know I’m not cut out for that.”

Her mother’s expression softened as she sat beside her on the couch. “Mija, I wish you could see the potential in yourself that I see in you.” She wrapped her arm around her and held her close. “You are not a lost cause, and I’m not giving up on you.”

[Present Day]

“Do you think prison’s actually like Orange is the New Black?” Vanessa asked, her gaze drifting from A’keria to the grass beneath her, ripping a handful of it from the ground and aimlessly scattering the blades.

A’keria quirked her brow. “Why you worried about it? The whole point of this shit is us getting clean records, so we don’t go to prison.” After a moment, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Is this about the whole prison wife thing you think Brooke Lynn was talking about?”

Vanessa looked away as she answered. “No…” She chewed on her lip. “Not just her. You really think this shit is gonna stick? That we’re gonna go to college and get on the dean’s list or some shit? This whole thing is just so they can pass the blame onto us when we fuck up and land in jail for real.” As she finished her rant, she noticed the expression on her friend’s face. It wasn’t quite anger or sadness, but it made her chest tighten. “What?”

“I just didn’t think you, of all people, would give up on yourself.”

“I’m not!” she quickly defended. “I’m just being realistic.”

A’keria turned and cornered her into eye contact. “Are you? Or are you setting yourself up for failure on purpose, so you don’t have to get out of your comfort zone?”

Vanessa huffed and crossed her arms. “Since when are you into psycho-ana…psych-analy-a…” She gestured vaguely. “You know, dissecting my brain and shit.”

“It don’t take fuckin’ Einstein to know you’re being ridiculous. Look, I’m not saying I’m not gonna drink or smoke or do hoodrat shit after this, but we got a chance at actually having futures. And if you’re gonna sit and act like none of this ever happened when we get back home, you’re a hugehypocrite for being mad at Brooke Lynn for wanting to go back to the good life she had.”

It was rare for Vanessa to be at a loss for words, but she had no way to argue what had been said. It would be a conscious choice to go back home and get in trouble again, and she would be disappointing everyone that cared about her. So, maybe she couldn’t fault Brooke for longing to escape from this situation, but it didn’t resolve how she felt about her or even in general. She lay down on the ground and stared off into space while the sun warmed her skin. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

She nodded slowly. “I knew it would come back to that. You give so much of your heart so easily, Vanjie. You set yourself up to get hurt. Hell, you might still have a shot with her if you actually stop and think about what you say instead of shooting off at the mouth.”

Vanessa pushed herself back up, shaking her head. “Nah, not with how I’ve been. She probably thinks I’m psycho now.”

A’keria shifted to her side to properly look at her. “You won’t know if you don’t talk it out. Just… Don’t slip back into your old habits.”

“What old habits?”

“Really, bitch?”

[September 3rd, 2018]

“Okay, the suspense is killing me, so I’ll bite. What the hell is wrong with Vanjie?”

Silky rolled her eyes before looking in Vanessa’s direction. Their friend was sat at the other end of the lunch table, pouting with her arms crossed, but also looking sincerely solemn and crestfallen. “Oh, that girl she been hooking up with all summer dropped her ass ‘cause she has a boyfriend.”

A’keria let out an exaggerated groan. “I told her. Didn’t I tell her? I said, ‘watch yourself with her, she ain’t in it for the long haul,’ right to her.” She sighed and shook her head, deciding to save the well-earned ‘I told you so’ for later. For now, she needed to be a comforting friend. “Alright, c’mere baby. It’s gonna be okay,” she soothed and wrapped an arm around her.

“She got me fucked up, man,” Vanessa’s voice trembled as she spoke. “She really went and said she ‘never felt like this before’ and now she’s gonna act like I don’t exist. Who does that shit?”

“Straight girls,” Silky chimed in, which got a small laugh out of Vanessa – much to both of her friends’ relief.

With the tension lifted – at least for the moment – Vanessa pushed herself up to her feet. “I’m not gonna stay stressing over this, okay? I’m good, fuck her and her greasy-ass boyfriend.” And with that, the school bell rang, and they were all off to class.

Silky walked with A’keria, trailing a few steps behind Vanessa. “Do you actually think she’s done stressing over this?”

“Not a chance.”

Much to their chagrin, A’keria ended up being proven right not a full three days later.

All it took was one house party with just enough alcohol and Vanessa was making out with her summer fling off in a corner. She had one hand up the back of the girl’s shirt, the other tangled through her hair – it was as if nothing had changed at all.

Until it did, ten minutes later.

“Where are you going?” Vanessa asked, not about to be left high and dry without putting up a fight. “It was just getting good,” she added with a discontented huff.

“My boyfriend’s here,” the ex answered in a calloused tone, reapplying her lipstick without looking in Vanessa’s direction. She fluffed up her hair and sauntered off, wrapping her arms around some lanky, awkward looking guy and effectively acting as though Vanessa ceased to exist.

A’keria got up to collect her friend. “This time I’m not holding back the ‘I told you so.’”

[Present Day]

“Are you still giving me the cold shoulder?”

Vanessa shrugged it off. “There’s a lot worse I could be giving you. Don’t push it.”

Brooke Lynn sighed and pushed herself to sit up on her bed. “Baby, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” She pouted and reached out to grab Vanessa’s hand, swinging it slowly.

This wasn’t fair as far as Vanessa was concerned. How was she supposed to maintain her tough resolve when Brooke was giving her puppy dog eyes and a soft, pink pout? Her weakness was being used against her – it had been at least two days of freezing her out and she had been starting to get lonely anyway. She bit down on her lip and looked down. “I’m not trynna have this heart-to-heart yet. I know you ain’t about it, so the time has to be right.”

“Then let’s not talk.” Brooke noticed Vanessa wasn’t resisting her hold anymore, so she pulled her closer and closer until the smaller girl sat on her lap. “We don’t have to talk, just let me take your mind off it for a while,” she cooed as she started to place soft, slow kisses from her shoulder all the way up to her jaw.

The temptation was undeniable and nearly every part of Vanessa’s body was urging her towards Brooke. And at first, she gave in. She straddled her lap with her arms draped around her neck. Their foreheads rested against each other, lips just barely touching before connecting in a kiss. And another one, a deeper, languid one. For a moment, she was perfectly at ease. There was no yesterday or tomorrow to weigh down her mind – there was only now and only them in a dream of their own design.

Then she woke up to the sinking feeling that this was too easy. Not every problem could be solved by kissing pretty girls, no matter how hard she may try. She pulled away, standing up. “I can’t do this right now. It ain’t even you… I just…”

“You just what?”

Vanessa was shaking her head as she backed away. “You wouldn’t understand. Sometimes it’s better to not do enough than to do too much. That’s how you end up in this shit hole.”

[June 24th, 2019]

It was the dead of night, a time where – in many places – everything would be quiet and calm. But this was still Los Angeles in the early days of summer, when the weather was nice without the balmy heat making the air hazy, the kind of heat that made walking feel like trudging through a thick slime.

The ability to walk quickly and move nimbly was imperative for Vanessa and A’keria – down one from their usual trio with Silky away visiting family in Mississippi. It would’ve taken a lot more than that to quash Vanessa’s plans.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. I swear to god, if the police don’t kill you, I will. It’s like you’re trying to invent a new level of stupid shit to try to get away with and—”

“Shh!” Vanessa elbowed her in the ribs. “We’ll get away with it if you shut the fuck up.” And with that, she had effectively tuned A’keria out as they kept walking to their destination. “Alright, this is it.”

A’keria hesitated. “You sure? Cause if it ain’t—”

“It is. Now, do you want the eggs or toilet paper?” She held up a carton of eggs in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other, offering up both options.

After a moment of disgruntled hesitation, A’keria sighed and grabbed the toilet paper. If Vanessa wasn’t going to come to her senses, she would at least pick the lesser of two evils on her end.

Of course, when the police arrived it didn’t really matter who was throwing what – vandalism was still vandalism. But Vanessa sat upright and indignant as she was escorted into the backseat of the cop car. Just as the car was pulling away, she stole a glance out the window, at the girl who had ignited the anger in her that drove her to revenge.

She looked indifferent – mildly annoyed at most. This infuriated Vanessa to no end. “Look at her, she don’t even care. What the fuck?”

The other girl sighed with her head against the window. “Now do you see how ridiculous you’ve been? You got your ass all worked up over some bitch that don’t give two shits about you. I keep telling you it’s gonna land you in a damn mess and look where we are now. We could catch a real charge for this, V.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. There was no point in them fighting on top of everything else. “Just once I wish you’d think things through before you act, channel that passion into something useful.”

“I��m sorry,” she mumbled. “Listen, I’ll take the whole rap for this. It was my fault – you tried to talk me out of it.”

A’keria shook her head with a soft smile. “Nah, they caught me red-handed too. Besides, we’re still ride-or-dies no matter how foolish you act.”

[Present Day]

“Hey… Vanessa, right? Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Vanessa was undeniably caught off-guard when the hot, tattooed blonde that’d served her lunch plopped herself down beside her at the table. She blinked, taking a moment for her brain to connect to her mouth. “Um… Sure, what’s up?”

“You see that girl over there? With the blonde ponytail and the kicked puppy expression?” Kameron cocked her head in Brooke Lynn’s direction. “Every time I look at her, she’s looking at you. And I mean looking at you. So, I have got to know – is something going on between you two?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Vanessa looked down at the table for a good few moments before facing the girl who didn’t seem annoyed or jealous – just genuinely curious, which she supposed alleviated some of the anxiety the question could’ve caused. “You could say that,” was what she decided on. “But it’s complicated, you don’t want the whole backstory or nothing.”

Kameron chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Listen, I know complicated. And I know Brooke Lynn. I promise, nothing you could say about her would surprise me.”

It certainly wasn’t the response Vanessa was expecting, but it did explain the nonchalance Kameron had. “It’s not even her. I mean… it’s kind of her. But it’s me too. I got a… bad habit of getting real intense if I start to catch feelings, and she’s got this whole life to go back to, and I shouldn’t be mad at her for wanting to go back to her normal life…”

“So, what, she told you to fuck off back into the hood?”

Vanessa laughed, but it was a laugh filled with embarrassment and a hint of self-realization. “No… I just been avoiding talking to her about it since I’m, you know, real and emotional and shit, and she’s all closed off cause she’s a hornet.”

“Do you mean WASP?”

“Like it matters. It’s like we’re speaking different languages half the time anyway.”

Kameron tilted her head and pressed her lips together, going absolutely silent. In actuality, it wasn’t more than a minute or so, but with Vanessa unconsciously holding her breath, it felt like ages. “What if I go talk to her for you? You know, serve as a middleman or something.”

“Oh, no that’s not a— oh, okay, you already going. You ain’t even listening to me.” She hid her head in her arms on the table. “Well fuck me, I guess.” It wasn’t like the situation could get any more awkward, she figured.

Meanwhile, Kameron seemed as cheerful as she had been while serving food when she perched herself across from Brooke Lynn at the otherwise empty lunch table. “Long time no see, huh?”

[commonwealthbankofmaccready]

Beyond the Sea

Oh hey a new fallout fic. Also on my ao3 under penname PoisonJack here. Subsequent chapters posted with reader engagement over on my ao3 (i.e. leave me a comment folks).

My tumblr fic archive found here.

--

“Hey savior, whaddya got going here?”

Nora was on her back lying in the irradiated grass by the river, Sanctuary’s warm glow and the muted music of partying floating to her on the light breeze. A bottle was in her hand, another at her side, and she was craning her head backwards to look at Deacon as he stood there with those damn sunglasses on. Sundown had been hours ago. It made her snort.

“Celebrating. Isn’t that what we’re all doing?”

The smile on her face was far too wide to be sincere, a sort of manic gleam to her eyes that he suspected the jet canisters next to her had something to do with.

“Party’s over there, last I checked.” He was looking down at the litter surrounding her; empty chems and bottles. No one else keeping her company. He toed one lazily. “This seems more like an intervention.”

“Well no one invited you, so mind your own business,” she snapped. A look of hurt crossed his face, gone as soon as it had appeared. She felt ashamed, though it had been her intent to cause hurt. She took another drink from the bottle instead of dealing with it.

Deacon ignored her statement, not moving to leave, but not sitting to join her, either. “Kind of defeats the purpose of a party, sitting here alone. You should be at the forefront.”

“What do you care?” she asked with exasperation. She pulled herself up on her elbows before sitting up proper, reaching for one of the jet inhalers only to find it empty. She tossed it over the stone wall and into the river with a plunk, speaking to the litter surrounding her and not looking up at his face. “Everyone got what they wanted. Commonwealth boogeyman is gone, synths liberated, settlements safe, everything back to peachy-fucking-keen.” She reached for her bottle, but he moved to toe it out of her reach. She shot a livid look up at him.

“Nora…”

Her tone was incredulous, surprised that he was actually trying to stop her from drowning her worries. This celebration was brought to them all by her, and if she wanted her own party to be of the pity variety, then goddammit but she was going to. “The fuck is your problem? What?”

Deacon was gazing down at her with deep focus. Not that one could see his eyes with the sunglasses on, but she'd come to recognize his tells. The pursing at his lips alone showed how much her pity party affected him, but she couldn't for the life of her even humor the man. She just didn't have the will or the energy to pretend anymore. Taking down the Institute had been the last straw.

“...This isn't like you, boss.”

She snorted. “I think it's pretty like me. It's what I do.” She smirked up at him, but there was no humor in her eyes. “I gun down the people that other people need more dead than they are, all in the name of the greater good. Doesn't this fit the bill of someone like that?” she asked with a gesture to the litter around her.

She was drunk. Drunk and high and clearly not coping so well with the massive job they'd all managed to finally pull off. Deacon wasn't sure how to fix this. Usually he'd suggest some more killing to let off the steam, joke about the crater they'd left, but clearly taking down the institute had taken more of a toll than they might've expected.

“This fits Hancock more than you.” She snorted and he actually frowned. “Come on, boss. There's still food and music and lots of people want to thank the hero of the hour.”

She smiled, but it was an ugly thing. Surely it was an ugly thing. There was nothing to smile about; this wasn't something to celebrate. Maybe to these people, but not to someone like her. “Those people… The ones I killed today when everything collapsed… It wasn’t a black and white matter, Dee. Not at all. They weren't evil. Not all of them.” She huffed and stretched her limbs in the grass. “They gave me the benefit of the doubt and I might as well have cut their throats with my own hand. Guess it’s lucky the whole damn place went up, or I'd have been at it all day!”

She was laughing-- hysterical laughs, probably sounded certifiably crazy- and she wasn’t too sure if that opinion would be wrong with the way she cackled, but it was either laugh or sob every last ounce of humanity out of it, and she wasn't ready to let that go yet. Her life was going so far south it was almost like something out of a fever dream, and try as she might she only sunk further into the nightmare.

“Did you know I was the successor to the Institute? It’s next director after Father died?”

Deacon actually removed his sunglasses to look at her, and being met with his gaze head-on made a swell of guilt rise at the shock she'd delivered; the backhand she’d dealt him keeping something so big to herself when they'd been so close. She wallowed in it, as if asking him to blame her. Wanting proof she was a bad person. But he just stood there gaping, shocked silent and unsure of what to even say.

“That wasn’t in my report,” she stated with a laugh, hand shaking as she found a jet canister that wasn't completely empty, and took a hit. She breathed in the sickly sweet fumes, chemical taste on her tongue, and gave him a sly look. “You guys would hunt me down for that, huh? Totally railroad me.” She snickered to herself at the joke while Deacon tried to find his voice.

“No point in that. The Institute is rubble.”

She was trying to goad him; make him show some damn unchecked emotion for once. She wished she could be half as unshakeable as Deacon always seemed, but he just looked at her with that same unreadable stare, and she only smiled somberly into his face. “Bet your friends wouldn’t think the same.” She snorted. “I bet Glory would mow me down with that minigun of hers. Just to be sure. Better safe than sorry, you know?” She laughed. “Hell, it's what we do.”

Deacon didn't know where this was coming from. She'd been so confident as they'd attacked the Institute; so like herself. This incarnation was something he didn't recognize. She should've been happy to finally take out her revenge on the people who stole her son.

But then, the Institute was rubble, and here she was sitting without a kid next to her. It was a topic he wouldn't dare broach, instead staying on about the activity of the Railroad.

“You know she wouldn’t. Not after what you’ve accomplished. Gonna be too busy anyways helping people start new lives.”

This made her break into cackling laughter, the kind that actually made Deacon uncomfortable. She was drunk, high, stoned, whatever you wanted to call it. She was fucked up, but after the toll the day had taken, that was a little more than unexpected.

Not quite to this extent, though. He never would have seen this outcome coming in a million years.

“What if I told you the whole synth thing is my fault?” she tried again, watching him for some sort of reaction. “That there wouldn’t even be synths without me?”

He'd say she was way too intoxicated, is what he'd say to that.

“Okay hotshot, why don’t we call it a night?” he said with finality, a hand on her shoulder as he crouched down next to her. Clearly she was out of her mind on the contraband lying about them, and things out of his expertise to comfort bothering her. They'd be able to fare better tomorrow if she slept it all off.

She gave him a grin, eyes glittering.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She snorted, gave him what was a condescending pat. The laugh she gave was half a sob, and it all came quickly pouring out as she looked away from him. “They took my baby, raised him up, used his DNA for the synths, and the rest is history.” She felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the chems and alcohol rushing in her system. “I didn’t tell you, did I, that Father was Shaun. My Shaun.”

She gave a laugh, and the sound made Deacon sick. It had to be a joke. A really well thought-out, deeply planned joke to get back at him for all the exaggerations and lies he was always feeding her.

The moisture in her eyes though, that clearly wasn't a joke.

“Father was my son. Isn’t that rich?”

“Nora… Nora, babe, are you too deep into cover? Do we need to re-brainwash you from your mission-character? That's just--”

She laughed, a hand on his knee to steady herself even as she was still sitting on the grass. “God I wish this wasn't real. The only plus is that cancer took him before I blew up the Institute. Would’ve been fucked up, sent to murder my own son.” Her breathing hitched a bit, but she took a steadying breath, replaying the victory of the day in her head. “I was prepared to do it for the greater good, too. Destroy that place with him inside it. Guess I never had to take that test. It’s the little things, you know? Cheers!”

Deacon’s hand was on her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze as he was squatted down next to her, frankly shocked for the first time in ages. “Jesus Nora…. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Are you really asking that?”

No, he knew why she hadn’t. There was no need for explanation.

“Hey, come on now, since when do you look glum?” She pushed the bottle she'd managed to reach into his hand, a grin forced to her face even though her eyes still leaked. “It’s a party. Here’s to a free wasteland, yay.”

Deacon actually took a gulp from the bottle, still floored by the things he never would have even guessed about. This was a lot to process.

And he thought his life was fucked up.

She still laughed next to him, slowly stilling and wiping her cheeks on the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, trying to find her sense of calm as they remained still for several moments. “Will you do me a favor?”

“That depends on what it is,” he told her, not liking where this was going.

“I’m going to the glowing sea tomorrow. Will you tell everyone bye for me?” He was silent long enough to make her look at him, a frown on her face. “Jesus Deacon, since when do you have nothing to say?”

There was plenty he wanted to say. Things he wanted to ask, wanted to let her know, wanted to explain and drop all the bullshit and just tell her, but only one word could manage to slip out: “Why?”

“It's where I want to be,” she said simply with a steadying breath. “No one out there will try to use me as a tool to get what they want. It's all done.”

“There is no one out there. Just shit that wants to kill you, Nora.”

She snorted. “Exactly. Everything just wants to kill you. It doesn’t want to manipulate you, or make you question your morals, or your sanity, or kill your adult son who’s decades older than you and the leader of a cult…” She laughed humorlessly. “Just kill or be killed. That’s easy compared to life out here.” She tossed the empty bottle of liquor to hear it shatter somewhere against the river rocks. She didn't turn her attention back to him. “I'm done, Dee.”

Deacon didn't have anything to say to that; couldn't think of anything to say to that. This was… something he lacked both the skills and expertise to fix.

Didn't mean he couldn't try, though.

“Look, let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? It's been a big day. I'll even make you a mirelurk omelette for the hangover I know you're going to have. How about that?”

She snorted, still looking out across the river somewhere. “You can't cook, Deacon, and we both know it.”

“I'll have Mac help,” he said as he gave her a pat, trying to defuse whatever her mind was doing as she was already cutting him off. Something inside him wanted to panic at that, but he simply stood up and looked about as if he could find an answer that might restore her. “Now come on, let's put you to bed, boss. It'll be that much closer to breakfast. And you know MacCready makes a mean Tati hash.”

“It's a good idea,” she said ignoring his statements, and talking about her own.

He frowned at her and put his sunglasses back on. He was lost, and no amount of character play or old assignments would steer him on what the hell to do. “It's nuts, and that's coming from me. Let's get some sleep and I'll help figure this out tomorrow, okay? Everything will make more sense after we've had time to process, as Des says.”

She snorted dismissively, but still took his hand when he offered it up, and went clumsily along with him, intermittently cackling when it became too much for her.

Their friends and residents of Sanctuary merely counted it off as more drunken revelry: the General was smashed, and no one deserved it more than her. All good times being had, not a woman gone halfway to pieces.

“Where are you two going?” Hancock leered with a smirk as Deacon steered her back towards her house. He was rolling a cigarette in his hands, a playful look on his face attributed to the canisters and bottles surrounding him and the Longs as they sat together near a fire. Someone was laughing and hollering while others chatted around the cooking pot.

“Private party,” Deacon offered with a grin that he didn’t feel at all, nodding as the Mayor of Goodneighbor laughed before finishing up his cigarette and passing it to Marcy as the night wore on.

--

“Deacon, you'll tell everyone bye for me, right?” Nora slurred as she sat on her bed and held a foot out for the man to remove her boot. “I'm not comin’ back… and you have a prettier way with words.”

“Just stop with that. You’re not going to abandon us and we all know it. Army’s gotta have a General.” He slipped the boot off with a playful smirk that he didn't feel.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay.”

He offered her a smartass grin while he removed her other boot, glad the dark of the night partially hid his expression. Words he wanted to say stayed locked up inside him, and words he didn't really feel came out instead. “Preston will fall apart if he can't serve under your leadership anymore. No one hoofs it around the ‘wealth like you do.”

She didn't laugh like he'd hoped, but instead looked further resolute; without hope or optimism for the future. He sighed and patted her thigh.

“Look, just get some sleep. Forget about the Glowing Sea. Today’s been…. Well, it’s been the literal definition of a clusterfuck, we’re all a little messed up about things. Just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

She laid down and turned away from him where he'd stood up, a frown on her face and wishing she was drunker than she felt. It wasn't quite enough to numb everything. “Pfft, yeah right. Haven’t you got some place to slink off to and pretend to be someone you’re not?”

MacCready’s own mean-spirited jibe dusted off to harm. Even the sniper didn't say that to him anymore. He tried not to let that get to him. She wasn't herself. “No place special. Get some rest, boss.”

She didn't say anything else to him as he sat on the old couch in the room, and her breathing quickly evened out to what he hoped was restful, healing sleep.

He contemplated her for some time as he sat there, sleep eluding himself as worries ate at him and the partying outside began to finally die down.

Her words, the way she was personally invested in things... Depressed didn't seem to come close. And god, the things she'd been keeping to herself. Des would probably flip if she knew Nora was supposed to inherit the Institute. Probably wouldn't do anything-- she had been the one to destroy it, after all- but they'd keep close tabs on her to make sure such an organization never came to power again.

If they knew. But he wasn't going to be the one to share that information. More to file away.

He stayed awake unwillingly with his thoughts until exhaustion finally took over, no closer to a solution than when he'd found her alone by the river.

He hoped he was right and that the light of day would help things be clearer tomorrow. Of course, Deacon didn't instill much confidence in hope itself, and the next morning he wasn't disappointed by his low expectations.

--

MacCready was rudely awakened by a boot to his shoulder, the man snorting in surprise from sleep as he jumped up only to see Deacon looking down at him impatiently.

“Hurry up and come with me.”

“What the hell, man,” Mac said in sleepy aggravation, too addled to even realize he’d cursed at the other man. He swallowed heavily as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, shoulders stiff from falling asleep on a mat on the floor instead of the bed literally two feet from his position. “What’s your problem?”

Deacon was shoving the merc’s stuff into his pack next to him as Mac woke a bit more, starting to argue over what was being done with his belongings and grabbing at the spy to make him stop.

“Get dressed and let’s go,” Deacon said as he shouldered the other man’s pack. Mac was sitting there confused and agitated and about this close to shooting the other man in the foot.

“Go where? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah, it’ll be dawn soon, so hurry up.”

“Hurry up where, you assh-- you jerk.”

Deacon gave him an impatient look from under his sunglasses, stopping in his movements. “Nora’s gone.”

Mac frowned, getting up and pulling on his longcoat before starting on his boots “Gone where?”

“I don’t know.”

The lack of smartass comment or quip got Mac’s attention, and he picked up his rifle and retook his pack, slinging it over his shoulder as he followed Deacon outside towards the border of Sanctuary. “Think someone took her? Revenge for blowing up the Institute?”

That was what Deacon had thought at first. There were surely people topside that they’d missed. Remnants out for vengeance. Coursers with enough patience not to alert the whole settlement. Deacon knew the feeling all too well. But he also remembered that look in her eyes the night before. She might've been higher than Hancock on Christmas Day, but it hadn't stopped her escaping his detection and leaving in the few hours he'd managed to sleep. “No. All her stuff is gone.”

The sigh he got was expected, but Mac didn’t put his things down just yet. “How are you sure she didn’t just step out for some fresh air? Or running an errand?” Deacon gave him a look that turned his ears red.

“Before dawn? The day after everything is blown sky high?”

Mac grumbled, alert but still sleepy. “...Fair point.”

“I thought so. Now come on.”

He immediately followed as Deacon stepped away from him, shooting glances behind himself as it as clear they were leaving Sanctuary due south. “Shouldn’t we tell the others? Or get the dog?”

“I don’t know how many hours she has on us, and I’m not sticking around for things to come to some democratic vote.” He knew what Preston would want to do, and frankly he didn’t have the patience or the mood right now to wait for plans to be formulated. There was an urgency behind this, a feeling in his gut that they needed to find her soon, or something bad was going to happen. Something irreparable. “Dogmeat is in Diamond City with Piper. We don’t have time to make a stop there.”

“...maybe she headed that way?”

The hopeful note in his voice didn’t help soothe the anxiousness in Deacon’s gut. “I don’t think so.”

Mac sighed through his nose, following in Deacon’s footsteps as his hungover brain tried to piece things together with the slow brightening of the sky. “Why bring me?” he asked.

“I’m good at being stealthy, you’re good at tracking.

“Fine,” Mac said, yawning as they were out of the tree line and onto the road already. Deacon was in a hurry. “Where are we heading towards?”

“The Glowing Sea.”

Mac stopped where he was, and Deacon took a few more strides before turning and leveling a glare from behind his sunglasses. It had no effect on the sniper. “The Glowing Sea? Seriously? Why in hell do you think she’d go there?”

“Because she said so.”

“You just said you didn't know where she went!”

“The glowing sea is huge. That was accurate.”

Mac wanted to punch him, but it was still too early for that. While under other circumstances he generally liked the other man, this-- and after a night of major victory as far as the settlers were concerned- wasn't what he wanted to deal with first thing in the-- well, it was more or less morning now.

“What, think she's gonna hunt down that Institute scientist? Virgil?” Mac asked crabbily as if he thought Deacon was an idiot. “You know she helped him, right?”

Deacon sighed. “We don't have time for this. Come on.” He started walking again, leaving Mac behind and hoping the younger man would follow instead of trudge back to Sanctuary-- or worse, bitch at him the entire way there.

Of course the sniper would choose the latter.

“There's nothing in the Glowing Sea. She probably went to one of the nearby settlements, checking in with everyone, and we’ll drink and relax more tonight. You know how she is.”

No, he wasn't quite sure he did at the moment. “She's not there. And be quiet. Or do you want every feral, mutant, and raider to hear us all the way out there?”

“They're probably all asleep like anyone normal,” Mac grumbled at the hour, taking back up behind the older man.

Deacon actually snorted, a smirk on his face. Normal. That was the last thing this was. Any of it.

“Let's just keep moving,” Deacon told him.

“Yeah yeah, whatever…” Mac rolled his eyes and followed until he fell back in line with Deacon. Whatever the spy was keeping from him concerning the boss, he'd get it out of him eventually. Deacon might've been sneaky, conniving, and-- he begrudgingly admitted- good at his job, but Mac had one thing on his side that the spy didn't: patience regarding how annoying he could be when he wanted something.

And by the pace Deacon set and the way he kept shooting the younger man annoyed, hurried glances, Mac knew he would wear him out well before they actually found Nora, and get to the bottom of why she'd left in the first place.

--

Feel free to leave a comment on this on my ao3 here. The other chapters also found there. I put a lot of time into writing, please make it worth my time and leave a comment. (:

[deadmandairyland]

Chihiro Fujisaki for the ask~

Thanks for the ask! I probably put way too many words in this. I hope you like reading!

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you

How I feel about this character:

Chihiro is probably my favorite character in Danganronpa. I think there was a time where I would have said he definitely was my favorite, but I have to give credit where credit is due because most of the characters in this series are amazing and uniquely and creatively designed. But Chihiro will always be near the top of my favorites if he somehow isn’t in first place. He is an unsung hero of the series. Without him the survivors of DR1 would have never escaped the school. He is at least in part responsible for the creation of the Neo World Program, which is a key part of the Hope’s Peak Academy arc’s lore. Supplementary materials often show Chihiro being at least somewhat involved in the backstory of the series. As I mentioned back when Absolute Despair Girls came out, Chihiro was basically the Adventure Time snail of the series for a time, showing up in or being mentioned in about as many installments and spin-offs of the series as Junko Enoshima. I’m pretty sure Chihiro has made more appearances in one way, shape, or form than friggin’ Komaeda, and everyone loves Komaeda. (Though screentime, on the other hand, is another story. I think it’s safe to say Junko and Komaeda won out on that end)

All in all, I feel that this is a character who deserves better–not just because he died such a tragic death, but in a meta sense as well. I feel like the series, after building up Chihiro in flavor text for so many installments, decided to backpedal a bit and make him more of a footnote than anyone important. This is especially disappointing considering that when most people talk about Chihiro, most of the time it’s in reference to the gender controversy, rather than his accomplishments in the series. Granted, this is a very important aspect of Chihiro’s character as well, and I’m not going to go out of my way to be a dick to people who say they saw something different in Chihiro than what I saw, but whenever I go through the tags it does seem like Chihiro seems to be one-note to a lot of people, and I feel it is a shame because there is a lot going on there. Themes of inner strength and resurrection and how destructive enforced gender roles and bullying in Japanese high schools can get when taken to the logical extreme. A lot of this seems to be ignored. I mean we all joke about how Chihiro’s birthday is Pi Day, but how many people also realize it’s White Day, the day when boys are expected to give gifts back to girls in response to being given chocolates on Valentine’s Day? Thinking about it that way, it makes you wonder what Chihiro’s birthdays were actually like. With all the talk surrounding Chihiro’s gender, I’m surprised that I’ve never seen anyone speculate on this. Might make for an interesting fanfiction prompt too, regardless of how you view Chihiro’s gender identity.

This got awfully wordy and more political than I expected it to get and I apologize. Though, to be fair, Danganronpa is a very political series… usually. Still, this is just a fun little meme, and I don’t intend to dive head first off a cliff into the sea and jagged rocks of fandom discourse, so let me end this segment by briefly saying another thing I like about Chihiro that will hopefully lift all of our spirits before we move on:

Chihiro is a sweet and adorable cinnamon roll that we do not deserve.

Just look at his smiling face!

No matter how sad I am, that smile will always make me feel a little better, if not outright happy.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Well, I could look over the charts I’ve made and find probably a million Chihiro ships (okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration; it’s probably more like twenty, which is still about fifteen too many), so I’m just going to stick with the big ones.

Naegi, Asahina, Sakura, and Ishimaru.

…Maybe Mondo. Maybe Leon. Maybe Mukuro. Maybe real world Chiaki. Maybe Kuzuryu. Maybe that Yukimaru guy who we sadly never get to see. Maybe Miaya… who we sadly never get to see. Maybe a crap ton of others…

But mostly the first four I listed.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

All of the “maybes” in the previous section.

Am I cheating at this? Yes.

…

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Don’t worry. I won’t be going for the obvious joke. (I mean I better not, especially after that first segment. It would defeat the purpose of that giant wall of text I made you sit through)

Instead I’m just going to remind anyone who thinks Chihiro is overrated and wasn’t an important character that Chihiro vicariously saved Naegi’s life and therefore the other survivors’ lives as well and y’all can suck it.

Also there’s that thing I made a thing in my DR3 fic that I still haven’t finished yet or even updated since November (oh my god it’s May already) where Chihiro is a fan of professional wrestling and that’s now a headcanon of mine that I’m sure very few people have or would agree with.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

This might seem like a cop-out, since this is Danganronpa and all, but I wish Chihiro survived.

To be fair it wouldn’t make sense from a narrative standpoint. Alter Ego is essentially a replacement/doppelganger for Chihiro, so having them co-exist in the story would be jarring. Also Chihiro plays the part of sacrificial lamb perfectly, and the foreshadowing leading to Chihiro’s death is written remarkably well. (Even as far back as the very beginning of chapter two, which occurs immediately after Leon’s execution, Chihiro is distraught over having sent Leon to his death, and Chihiro even says that he would rather die than do that again)

But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, damn it.

#LetChihiroLive2018

my OTP:

Naegi x Chihiro. Two adorable cinnamon rolls with heartwarming and occasionally sad Free Time Events that actually tie into the plot in such a way that they actually feel 100% canon. There is also that punch to the gut that happens at the end of Chihiro’s FTEs if you manage to get them all. Naegi’s reactions to Chihiro being gone are also heartbreaking, especially in the anime adaptation which includes this response to Alter Ego being crushed into a ball that I admit there is a possibility I could be taking out of context here but it’s worth mentioning.

“We lost him again.”

And of course, as I mentioned before, Alter Ego saves Naegi’s life later, which means Chihiro saves Naegi’s life, which means Chihiro effectively saves all of the DR1 survivors. Important character is important.

Oh, and also Naegi can give Chihiro a thong for a present, which is still hilarious to me. I mean I know Chihiro isn’t the only character who likes the thong, but even Togami liking the gift isn’t as funny to me as Chihiro liking it. And Togami alone liking it is straight-up absurd. It’s a thong. That you can give as a gift to other people. During a game where people are forced to kill each other in order to escape what is essentially a prison. A thong. The only thing that would make it funnier is if it changed the outcome of School Mode. “Hey, remember this thong you gifted me? I’d like to return it, because it just occurred to me that this is a really weird gift. Why, Naegi? Why did you give me a thong for a gift? You could have given me perfume, or a Kirlian camera, or a portable video game console, or a punk rock T-shirt, but no. You gave me a thong. Why?”

But for the most part, it’s their interactions. FTEs included, I love all of the interactions between these two, both one-and-one and with the group. It always seems like they have each other’s backs and care about each other’s well-being. Chihiro even foreshadows the memory wipe very early on in the game in a way that makes me wonder how close they might have been before the memory wipe.

Also, they’re just sweet to each other and it’s adorable and heartwarming and, y’know, goals. But if you prefer your ships to be more interesting, these two do have that potential what with their baggage and all–Chihiro for obvious reasons and Naegi being just some guy in a relationship with someone who is far smarter, nicer, and more talented than him. So if conflict (though it’d likely be more along the lines of inner conflict, or conflict dealing with others outside the relationship) is what you’re looking for, there is potential for that too, even if we don’t see it very often.

(Honestly I think that’s why there isn’t a whole lot of content of this ship, at least nowadays. It seems like a lot of people ship it, but no one really writes for it much or draws much of it beyond fluff. The ship itself, I think, is seen as too fluffy for engaging storytelling… if you’re not thinking outside the box, anyway)

my cross over ship:

Pick a programmer, a hacker, or an intentionally gender-ambiguous or “otokonoko” type character who is roughly within Chihiro’s not-fully-established age range from any work that I’ve personally seen or played and I’ve probably considered shipping Chihiro with them at least once. Honorable mention goes to Pidge and Saika Totsuka, whom I’m pretty sure I’ve at least talked about and compared Chihiro to on this blog.

a headcanon fact

Remember when I said that the series seems to be backpedaling a bit after making Chihiro have an ungodly amount of behind-the-scenes importance? Well screw that. I mentioned it here a couple years back (and I have since mellowed out on the whole “If Chihiro isn’t important in DR3 we riot” thing so don’t worry about that), but I’ll mention it again. IF said that Chihiro recognized Monokoma’s programming as something he worked on. His FTEs say that he was working on an AI project for some company. And Usami looks way too much like Monokuma to be a coincidence.

So screw any potential retcons that may come out of Monaca Towa being the mass producer of Monokuma units, because I believe that the company Chihiro was making the AI for was Towa, and Monaca modified the AI to fit Junko’s needs, which would tie everything together into a neat little bow.

But sadly, this is still only a headcanon. But it’s one that I feel has a lot of weight to it, and that the series has yet to make impossible. So I’m clinging onto it like a friggin’ koala.

Holy crap, this was long! And yet I feel like I haven’t said much of anything. It’s tough to bring my thoughts into words sometimes. But I think it’s plain to see (damn it, Tsumugi, get out of here, we’re not paying your VA double for this post) that I love Chihiro, and he’s definitely one of my favorite DR characters if not my top favorite.

Thanks again for the ask!