#had to write fanfiction for that too to satisfy the itch

[kidcataldo]

the thing about being interested in obscure fandoms/pairings is that the fanfiction is limited or nonexistent, so I’m forced to write it!!! Like, sometimes I don’t want to write anything, I just want to read!!!!!! but then there’s nothing to read!!!!!!!

[ghostiequill]

Mihawk x Librarian

Can be read as gender neutral reader

please go easy this is literally my first ever fanfiction lol

Let it be known that Lord Dracule Mihawk was a romantic at heart.

Every mission that he decides to grace the Marines with his presence, he rewards himself with the sappiest, most bodice ripping book he can find

He wasn't embarrassed, why would he be? Every man has his vices and his was far more healthy than the heathen souls he had come across along his travels

If anyone has a problem with them, they dare not say for his hawk eyes practically bore into their soul, silently challenging them to comment 

So when he docked on your island after a mission, he dedicated to make the trek to the small, and only, bookstore in town- your bookshop

You were proud of the tiny establishment you managed to build up over the years. The walls, up to the ceiling were smothered in books of every genre you had managed to get a hold of. The cozy atmosphere emphasized with plush oversized couches, mismatched bookshelves, and knick knacks that you’ve collected over the years that you just couldn't leave the store without

Walking in, he was immediately hit with the smell of the used pages of well loved books and the coffee that patrons had had before.

Silently scoring the shelves, his eyes looking for the prey he planned to devour, luckily for everyone with fighting experience he had only planned to devour a good book

Looking through the brightly colored spines, one managed to catch his eye-a soft pink cover with a woman fainting in a man’s arms, reading the back. Satisfied, he tucked it under his arm and made his way to the front counter where you sat reading.

You were leaning over the counter, thoroughly engrossed in your novel, twirling a piece of hair in your fingers. Your eyes quickly scanning the pages of the book as you heard a polite cough from in front of you

Embarrassed, you hastily put a bookmark in your spot and shoved in back under the counter as you turned towards your patron

Your face lit up as he placed his novel on the counter. You started ranting about how much you loved the author, how much the romance genre was underrated and overdramatized by those foolish enough to not partake in it, citing that they were just too afraid to admit their own love for trash

He remained silent. Now to the untrained eye, Mihawk could have been seen as bored, but this was entirely untrue. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but you apparently existed to challenge that perception. Your passion and enthusiasm was utterly infectious and he couldn't help but sink into your words, eagerly awaiting your next sentence.

Realizing you had yet to hear a reply, you faced the person who decided to buy and your face dropped, Dracule Mihawk-looking like he got ripped straight out of one of the covers of your favorite novels with his sharp jawline, piercing eyes, strong arms, and the fashion of one of the pirates that you once dreamt would sweep you off your feet and whisk you away on the adventure that you had read countless times before 

You had tried to stutter out an apology before he put a hand up, suddenly silencing you

After the shock had worn off, you had managed to slowly start making small talk about more of the books you had read of the romance genre getting more and more excited the more you talked

Mihawk found it adorable the way your eyes lit up and tried to continue this conversation as long as he could, steering it in direction, demanding the waters of the conversion as he steered it in the ways that made you smile the most

Mihawk regaled you with the many tales and summaries of the books he's read before, making you laugh at their extravagant plot holes and extreme dialogue.

A lull in the conversation eventually developed, making you realize again who you were talking to, making you blush and look down

Mihawk studies your face for a moment, a strange itch causing him to miss your enthusiastic voice

You quickly write up his book and before handing him his receipt, you pause, write something down unable to make eye contact as you hand him the folded receipt and the book

Mihawk politely tips his hat and turns to leave, unfolding the receipt he stops in his tracks: 

“Are you a library book, ‘cause I’d love to check you out” with a lopsided wink and your number scrawled at the bottom

He turns around, amusement playing at his lips as he sees you blatantly staring, realizing you got caught and trying to quickly duck behind the counter

Mentally berating yourself at the stupid pick up line, why would this ever work? He’s a warlord- prim, proper, and powerful. He was just making polite conversation why would be be interested in you-

“You know, if you wanted my number you could have just asked” a smooth voice above you says. “I would have gladly given it up”

You slowly stand up, eyes darting to his face to try to see if he was making fun of you or not. 

Seeing the little bookstore owner that he had witnessed so passionately defend their trash books now suddenly overcome with shyness made Mihawk very amused. He quickly scrawled his number at the bottom

“I look forward to talking with you” He smiled, tipped his hat and made his way into the crowded street

You were awestruck, you had just managed to get the number of the Dracule Mihawk. Clutching the receipt to your chest, you couldn't help but smile. What's the rule of how long you could call again?

Both of you were unsure of where this next chapter of life would lead you, but both of you felt a sense of optimism of what was to be.

[orionsangel86]

Welp. Okay I watched the last episode of ofmd.

To sum up my thoughts on this season I will say that whilst I enjoyed it and felt the love and passion and respect for its queer fanbase throughout, it didnt hit me the same way the first season did. It felt like maybe a little bit of that season 1 magic was missing and for that I very much blame Max's cutting off 2 episodes and slashing the budget. They had a lot of story they wanted to tell that would have worked so much better in 10 episodes.

I consider the last 3 episodes of season 1 some of the best TV I have seen in my life. From the use of The Chain in ep 8, through the dramatic highs and lows of eps 9 and 10 it was edge-of-your-seat drama and I was in awe at the creators that put it together. But one of the reasons why those 3 eps were so good is because the drama and the pivotal moments were given time to breath.

If those 3 eps were given the same lack of time and budget as season 2, no doubt they all would have been crammed into 1 episode and it would not have had the same impact.

If anything that last episode should have played out across two, with Izzy's death being the half way point and cliffhanger ending leading to a final battle and somewhat happy resolution.

I'm not mad at Izzy's death. If anyone was gonna die, it was gonna be him. His status as Blackbeards enabler and sometimes mentor is over. For Ed to truly be free, I think Izzy always had to go. From a storytelling perspective it makes perfect sense, even though I am sure a lot of fans are absolutely heartbroken about it.

Another casualty of the reduced screentime meant certain original cast members weren't given anywhere near the amount of screentime they should have had. I was expecting a lot more focus on Jim as they were basically the third lead of s1 due to them getting the same backstory as Ed and Stede. All of the crew appear to have had drastically reduced parts which does feel like a big loss to me.

Its funny actually, OFMD S2 suffered from the opposite problem to GOS2. OFMD had too much story to tell in a limited timeframe, GOS2 had very little story to tell outside of the flashbacks and probably too much time given to it. Both shows season 2s suffered from tremendously bad pacing issues.

Also, the one thing the final episode made so obvious to me, is the uncertainty of getting a s3 renewal. It is so clear in the way they tried to wrap things up in a happy bow as best they could, so that if they do get cancelled it leaves fans at least somewhat satisfied. I hate this though. I hate that studios are so fickle and ruthless that creators have to gamble with good quality writing and avoid cliffhangers because of asshole executives who dont actually care about the stories.

Because of the fast pacing, and the fear of cancellation, it felt more like a rush happy ending instead of a part way point in a bigger story, with important character development still to come. Perhaps I need more time to absorb the story in a full rewatch, but im not exactly itching for more at this point, whilst also not really being satisfied with what I got either. I wish we had left Ed and Stede in at least some minor peril, like have them captured and threatened with hanging but at least in a good place romantically, so that we can start speculating about what kind of escape plan they will come up with in season 3. Leaving them in a dilapidated old inn somewhere just felt wrong to me. Instead of ending the season with the stakes sky high (like season 1) it feels like they left season 2 with zero stakes at all, instead of at least a happy medium. At this point we should be turning to fanfiction and wondering what happens next, but instead I'm left thinking "okay then. That was good. What can I watch next?" I don't need to bury myself in fanfic and fanart to feed the hyperfixation this time around, and that is where I feel the most loss.

I'm sure others will have hugely different reactions to me though. Perhaps my expectations were too high? Perhaps my GO obsession just isn't leaving room for OFMD this time? But then again, I think if GOS2 hadn't ended the way it did, I wouldn't still be so obsessed with that either.

Sigh. I dunno. It was a good fun show and will no doubt still be hugely popular with devoted fans, but for me I just can't say it cast the same spell over me as it did last year.

[tamras-shieldmaiden]

I saw this ask game circulating around the Tumblersphere, and I don't remember having done a fic writing recap before, so here's my take for 2023:

2023 Year-End Fic Round Up

Words written (published or not, WIPs totally count too!): 

Total published word count for this year is 38,706. Hadn’t I been sick, which derailed my flow and hit me with a writer's block, I think it might've written more, but I'm still satisfied with my output. I'm not a prolific writer but I'm still proud of what I was able to publish in 2023.

Smut scenes written (if applicable): 

Two, with a oneshot written specifically for one of them (cough mirror cough).

New things I tried: 

I embarked on a spanking brand new ship. Although I've always said I didn't like shipping Kuvira with any of the Beifongs (and yes, that includes the canon one), after a series of insightful conversations with @redcatmusings, with some nice persuasion I ended up changing my mind about Lin/Kuvira and well, here we are with 4 Linvira fics published so far. 😅

Fic I spent the most time on: 

The fic I spent most time on last year was Masquerade, since it was the longest with 6 chapters. It had been a while since I wrote an action heavy chapter, so chapter 5's car chase scene took me a while to figure out, but I believe that in the end, the effort paid off.

Fic I spent the least time on: 

That would be Melody of our hearts. The process felt almost like a stream of consciousness, from choosing 2nd person POV as narrative devise to the writing itself which I wrapped up in a day. Even coming up with title was a breeze, something that's unusual for me because I tend to agonize over coming up with titles.

Favourite thing I wrote: 

I'm torn between Masquerade and Seeking Harmony. Masquerade was an absolute blast to write. I loved Asami and Kuvira's rapport throughout the story and building up the tension between the leads amidst the suspense of the investigation was tons of fun to write as it was to read.

Seeking Harmony is the opposite because it's a short, soft introspective oneshot, and that's precisely what I liked so much about it because I was able to weave in some atmospheric elements to emphasize the calm and soft mood of the story. And besides, depicting a vulnerable Kuvira with a supportive Korra is always a win in my book.

Favourite thing I read: 

This one is not easy because one advantage of participating on Fanfiction Exchanges is that you get to be exposed to a variety of fandoms and talented authors outside of one's prefered fandoms that otherwise one wouldn't read, and I've read some amazing stories that at moments they've made me doubt of my skills because they were so damned good! I was skeptical at first of the concept but it is a great experience that I wholeheartedly recommend for both the quality writing and the amazing authors one gets to meet and admire and build friendships with.

Writing goals for next year:

I want to pick up on the Linvira fic I had originally planned for last year's ATLA Rare Pair Big Bang because that story is itching to be told. I also have a Kuvira/Asami WIP in the works set in the Bodyguard continuity, and maybe this will be the year which I finally get to complete my Kuvira redemption saga with the last story I've been cooking for years now.

Tagging @redcatmusings @rakaiawriter @roguegona @alpaca-clouds @udaberriwrites @diana-fortyseven @the-orion-scribe @orangepanic and anyone else who'd like to join in.

[sumira-10]

The Cherry Gold Retrospective

In January 2023, I was in the deepest depth of the aftermath of a medical issue that had, for a lack of words, utterly destroyed me. One day, everything was fine and perfect. I had things lined up, things were looking up, all was going to plan, and then, the worst happened. It led to a series of events that involved minor surgery, weekly blood tests and the inability to work, let alone function. I had tried to go to work, but both times resulted in anxiety attacks so severe that it left me sobbing, bent double, wondering what was wrong with me. 

I was paired with a therapist near the ending half of January, after my doctor extended my medical leave. I only went to one meeting- I couldn’t bear the thought of pouring myself out and exposing all of my problems- all of my recent traumas, past traumas and past mental health issues over and over and over again to a stranger who said all of the right things. 

However, this therapist asked me a crucial question that led to Cherry Gold. 

What are you proud of?

I said, my child. I am always proud of him. 

But what else?

I wasn’t proud of myself, that was for sure. I was having week-long anxiety attacks because of a blood test for a disease I may or may not have, that could lead to a worse disease. I saw literal children do the same blood test without a single tear in their eyes. How could I be proud of myself? I couldn't work, I couldn’t function, I couldn’t be a good mom, a good partner. Every single day was a struggle and there was no pride in my actions. 

Then, I caught up on a few chapters of Bad Thinking Diary. 

Like everyone else, I began reading Bad Thinking Diary because the art was beautiful, and well detailed. The characters were a mixed bag- Kang Yuna was cool, obviously, but trying too hard to be so to mask social awkwardness. Kim Minji annoyed me and I disliked her as a protagonist. 

But it was Oh Hyera and Cho Minjae that interested me. One was a beautiful, mysterious manipulator with secret intentions out to destroy a budding relationship and the other was a willing pawn in a game, loyal and obsessed. 

However, the plot left me wanting. I hated how miscommunication was the main plot device that drove conflict. I hated how the main characters did very little and none of it was satisfying. I wasn’t rooting for Yuna and Minji. I disliked them together. 

So I did what everyone else does with an unsatisfying story- turn to fanfiction. I scrolled through Ao3 and fanfic.net but found nothing that scratched the itch that I had. 

Then, I did the second thing everyone does when they can’t find what they want on the internet, I became inspired to write something. 

Writing had been my escape for years- through all of the hard times, the happy times and the inbetween, I always had a story in my mind, ready to go. I would daydream and fall asleep to all sorts of ideas, then wake up to furiously type them out. Some were original, some were fanfiction. I discovered my sexuality through writing (Hey, I wondered to myself in my early twenties, why don’t I write about straight couples anymore??) and with years and years of practice, I went from writing little stories to winning NaNoWriMo with ease to writing 100k novels for fun. Are any of them good? Beats me. I always wrote for me, and sometimes, very rarely, I would share it with a friend or two. At this point, it had been ten years since I published fanfiction online. 

(And yes, I am old. I am in my early thirties)

 So, on February first, when I was left alone while the world moved on, I dealt with my problems the same way I did when I was a teenager and as a young adult: I wrote. 

And boy did I write. I wrote for hours everyday, losing myself in Cherry Gold, in Minjae’s struggles, sculpting the story I wanted to read so desperately. I wanted to read a story about someone who was broken like me, who relied on the love of others to get by. A story about a young girl who didn’t know better, who was making the best choices she thought she could, hoping it would get better. 

My dopamine deprived brain was feasting- writing every single day, only stopping to eat and do some chores. I hadn’t written like this in years- I had been too burdened with work, school, motherhood to write for hours at a time, uninterrupted like I was a teenager, with my first laptop. A joy I hadn’t felt in years. The act of imaginative creation that unlocked a part of me I hadn’t been able to tap in months. I had been in a writing rut for a year, at least, unable to write more than a few pages but not able to continue or finish the story for some reason or another. My eyes strained and so did my wrists. I forced myself to take breaks but I yearned to write. I couldn’t wait for the next day, to write a dozen pages and see where things would go. I was hardly planning. I was just letting the story go where it wanted, planting seeds and seeing how they would grow. 

I could feel myself getting better. 

It helped that I stopped doing blood tests. My doctor understood why, but urged me to try. I couldn;t. I couldn’t fall back to where I was when I was doing the tests. I was finally happy. I was finally blooming and seeing the light. 

And then I decided I would publish Cherry Gold- if I had trouble finding a fic that would satisfy me, then surely others would, too? Maybe my fic was what they wanted, needed, to read, too? 

I posted a few chapters. The kudos, the views, the comments came in. It was exhilarating- people were reading my fic! They liked it! They wanted more!

So once Cherry Gold came to its conclusion, I wrote the first volume of side stories, to fill in a few gaps that didn’t fit in the fic. 

Then, I came up with a sequel- Midnight Ice. At this point, I was back at work. I was so happy to be back at work- I was given the medical all- clear that I wasn’t suffering from some obscure disease and work was better than ever. I wrote every weekend, sometimes I would wake up at five in the morning just to write before work. 

Midnight Ice came from the love of the craft, of the characters, of the feedback. I couldn’t let Minjae’s story end there. I was too attached to her. I couldn't let her fall to despair like she was in the original manhwa. I cared too much. She needed her happy ending. She needed to be okay, with someone safe. I was doing better, and I was going to make sure Minjae would be better, too. 

The next volume of side stories were written because I honestly just wanted to write smut and happy scenes for Minjae. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to have everything because in the back of my mind, I wanted to tell Hyera’s story, too. 

I wrote so many flashbacks for Hyera, I was getting into her mind. I knew she’d never be satisfied in letting Minjae have her happy ending. I was torn. I wanted to write Hyera’s great revenge. I wanted Minjae to have a happy ending. I wanted her to get married and live in bliss with Yuna. I didn’t want to put her through so much pain. 

So I wrote Rose Dust. I won’t go into much detail, since I’m not done posting it. 

But I finished writing it and realised that there were other characters who deserved happy endings, too. 

I began writing Violet Bones, a spin off of Rose Dust. Go Sunhee, as you will see in the upcoming chapters of Rose Dust, Goes Through Some Stuff and her story doesn’t get resolved. I wrote her story, realised that I didn’t like where it was going, and scrapped half of it. 

And then, I realised, I was in a writing rut. I couldn’t figure out Go Sunhee’s story. We were so similar- we suffered the burdens of being the eldest daughter together, doing our best for our families despite the unhappiness in our hearts. Why couldn’t the words come easily to me?

I gave writing a break. It was autumn, nearly winter now. I had been writing nonstop since February and I needed the break. I needed to stop and let myself refill. I posted chapters of Midnight Ice, the side stories and Rose Dust for now. 

Then one day, I reread my comments. The flood of love and adoration for my writing and I realised, I wanted to write more. After writing Rose Dust, I yearned to write from Minjae’s POV, so it came to me early one saturday morning- a christmas special. 

As much fun as it was to write Minjae again, I was having trouble once more. Too much trouble and in my hurry to make the christmas deadline, I posted chapters without finishing the fic. 

Rookie mistake, I know. 

I know I will finish the christmas special soon, I don’t have any worries about that. I love this past year and what it did to me creatively. Despite the pain and trauma I had to endure to get to this point, I am proud of what I wrote and posted. Is it my best work ever? No, probably not. Writing is a skill that grows with you and I am sure I have more growing to do. I am excited to see what the next year of writing will bring, if Cherry Gold and Minjae will come back to me, with a new story or if something new or original will spark my creativity.

In the meantime, I want to thank everyone who read and commented on the Cherry Gold series! I say this with every comment because I ardently believe it- thank thank thank you. Without you readers, leaving such lovely comments, I would have given up after Cherry Gold. I would have kept Midnight Ice and the rest of the series to myself, if they got written at all. 

After all, for many many years, no one read what I wrote because I wasn’t brave enough to share. Now I am and I am thankful and grateful that I did. 

I’m so, so proud of Cherry Gold. I’m so grateful for my readers and I hope that you will all stick around to see what’s next!

[borreloadsavagedragon]

Maybe 10, 49, and 50 for the fic ask meme!

10. How do you decide what to write?

Oh boy

Half of my wips are decided on either stray ideas I have to satisfy my needs only

Anything else that pops into place is spur of the moment, so a lot of what I start won’t even see the light of day because it’s a writing itch to get a scene or some dialogue stuck in my head down rather than writing to finish a piece, sometimes it translates to longer projects but yeah, I don’t really decide based on anything except stray pieces of dialogue or scenes

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

AHHH TOO MANY THINGS, I’ve got a long 3+1 fic project for an upcoming shipweek in August, a MizaKai drabble bc I refuse to have my only work for them be nsfw rn lmao, there’s other pairs or post canon concepts

But also there’s this massive brainchild I have rn that’s very GOT/HOTD inspired, mostly in terms of the politics, warring kings, and the dragons parts

It’s a post canon/canon divergent au that’s kinda hard to explain and it’s told through present time in post canon and in past life memories back to the time of Nasch, so know there’s an entire past life of lore full of warring kings, dragons, politics, plus secret card lore, a way for me to write duels with decks I love, and an OC who I’ve been trying to design for months LOL

Without having to over explain anything specifically crazy like names, terms, etc, here are a few lines of just a little of what to expect-

—-

“You’re difficult as always, can’t give a straight answer even when your dragon could depend on it. There could be a presence calling out to him somewhere, perhaps where his roots are. Tell me,” Mizael turns his attention back to Kaito.

“How did you two meet? Because there is no chance your dragon was created by your father, not with how it reacted to me. To Tachyon.”

A difficult question. Because it wasn’t very… special. Kaito has a shallow memory of that day. At most, he remembers that his body felt numb from recovering from the operation that changed his life and he had been greeted by his father with cards to bolster his deck at that time.

Photons, Faker had called them. A fitting umbrella term to use when he finally saw their designs. His father and Heartland designed the archetype as a calling card for the Heartland government officials. Only those who passed Heartland’s inhumane training programs and high standards were given them.

And with Kaito’s own special place, naturally he’d passed. Not only would they be powerful tools for special, chosen duelists, this meant they would be strong enough to handle the Numbers he’d be collecting at the time.

It was at the top of the little card pile that had been his Galaxy-Eyes. Although… The dragon’s card admittedly had been a touch more worn out compared to the soldiers, machines, and spellcasters that followed it. So had the cards with the word ‘Galaxy’ in their name. As though those ones were older relics, maybe references used to finish the Photon archetype.

“… He was a gift from my Father.”

Mizael immediately makes a face.

“Humans. Dragons aren’t mere gifts you’d give to a person. They’re partners, their love and loyalty cannot be pawned off under the guise of a present.”

Kaito mirrors his frown right back.

“You’ve met the man. Not exactly the most respectful person in the world. I don’t know the rest or where he came from. At first I did think he was created solely for me and my deck, but that was until I met Yuma and Astral, then I knew for certain that couldn’t be the case once I met you.”

—-

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

I don’t have a question I wanna pick at but I do wanna talk about HOW UNDERRATED FANFICTION IS!!! GAH

I saw a take earlier that was like “don’t commission fanfic writers” and their reasoning was literally “just because” and like???????????

Fanfiction is SO taken advantage of in fandom space, writers and writing in general is taken advantage of outside of fandom even, look at the Strike rn, and it’s infuriating, writing like every other hobby and creative outlet takes a lot of time and not everyone can do it, AIs and machines can’t do it

LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS, SHARE YOUR APPRECIATION FOR WORK

REBLOG WRITER’S LINKS TO THEIR WORK

COMMISSION WRITERS WHO HAVE AND OFFER COMMISSIONS

I’m good now

[elderdragonblu]

For questions for fic writers: 1, 7, 38, 41, 49!

Answer for Tumblr

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Depends on the person and their taste. I’d say either Alexithymia or Lacuna. They’re both pretty good examples of my writing style and how I write and typically do things with fics in general. Unless people wanna go and read the owl house fics, which aren’t bad, but they are old and have a lot of projection put onto them :)

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

Actually yeah! Depends on whether we’re talking about posted or not quite finished WIPs. Cause there’s a bit of both. I particularly like the Wardfield AU I have for Max and Dana, while it’s not completely “original” I did spend a lot of time trying to come up with an interesting world that’s different from canon but is also relating back to it, too, if that makes any sense lmao.

As for wips, I have this Amberwardfield fic that I’m working on and I’m enjoying the world building for that!! The world itself isn’t the canon Blackwell, just a regular high school called Blackwell with typical high school shit and I’m having loads of fun constructing the world, probably some of best I’ve done. There’s more, but I’m afraid if I say too much it’ll ruin further wips.

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

There have been a few that have gotten more attention than I thought. I originally started fanfiction writing simply because I had so many ideas and I thought “hey, there’s billions of people out there, I’m sure this story will satisfy the same itch it did for me if they read this” so I never had high expectations of being noticed or particularly praised by people for my work.

I would say more than, like, half of what I post was surprisingly popular. But for the sake of actually answering question I’ll give a very specific fic: Forget Me Not.

I’m serious when I say I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually care about FMN. Like genuinely. I posted that fic as a fun, like, little trial run. I’d never posted a multi chapter fic and fully finished it so I wanted FMN to be that finished story while also soothing that same itch for Max with memory loss lmao. What I didn’t expect was for so many people to actually like that story!!

As to how it got that way, there’s various logical reasons. One being that it’s a multi chapter fic that gets updates, so it constantly bumps the fic up to the top of whatever ship/tags its under whenever I post a new chapter. Which allows for people to constantly be interacting with it. Not to mention the tags itself, a lot of the LIS fandom lives off angst revolving around Max. Not to mention the ship tags I use like amberpricefield or pricefield, etc etc.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

Sadly, I don’t have the link of this fic, but I do remember bits and pieces of it.

This fic was about Love is Strange Amberfield where Rachel is living in this house in LA and Max had given her these flowers before she left and Rachel was trying her best to take care of them, and by the end of the fic she’d managed to take care of them and she couldn’t wait to show Max the flowers once she visited LA (which was supposed to be soon in the fic).

That fic changed my life honestly. The way the author wrote made me want to write like that. To convey a similar vibe without so many words. That fic was just so… wow, you know? Shocked me right into my core. I knew right then and there I wanted to write like that author.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Hehehe, well I’m always working on new things. I’ve got a few stranger things fics I’m working on along with other LIS fics. A few multi chapter fics are making their way through slowly, with FMN being the top of my list atm, so it’ll take a while for those to get out. As for a snippet? Well… do you like Wardfield?

-

“What do you mean?” She signed, her brows furrowing further when Dana gave her an exasperated look.

“He was flirting with you, Max!” Dana threw her hands around dramatically, emphasizing her point. Max blinked for a moment, processing the words slowly.

It was quiet for a moment, the gears in Max’s brains shifting and turning autonomously.

A beat.

Then another.

Then, it clicked.

“Wait he was?!”

[carriagelamp]

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

[todoscript]

Syndicate — [ 1 ]

Parts | one ; two ; three

Genre | Mafia AU / Anti-Villain AU.

Pairing(s) | MafiaBosses!TodoBakuDeku x Fem!Reader

Rating | Mature

Words | 5.2k+

Summary | Being the lover of, not one, but three influential young men, who are the leaders of the most wanted crime syndicate in Japan, it is no surprise that other eyes are watching you beyond the three’s own.

Warnings | Violence. Cursing/crude language. Guns. Mafia talk/“negotiating”. Lots of fighting. Reader is inspired by the femme fatale archetype. Polyamorous relationship. Characters are aged-up. Sexual undertones/implied sexual content. Possessiveness. Heavily self-indulgent. Written in 3rd POV. Shouto’s “codename” is Mercury (b/c the planet is both half-hot and half-cold lol).

Author’s Notes | Hello all! This is the first ever fanfic I’ve posted on tumblr! Sorry, the idea was lingering in my head until I suddenly felt the burst of energy to start writing this out of nowhere in the dead of 3AM. I’ve written fanfiction before but I’ve never published anything for tumblr so this is exciting.

The air is still, nearly silent apart from the nocturnal creatures that scurry and prowl through alleys, navigating over the dewy darkness between the seams. The moon graces the gloom of the night with its luster across desolated areas in Japan. Business hours have longed past as services are halted until the next coming day. Civilians are nowhere to be found, tucked away in their homes with their lights flickered off.

What remains alive in Japan during this hour is the wind cast through the streets, the scamper of animals in the nocturne, and a low hum of an ebony vehicle driven down roads of street lights.

“Whatever the fuck Overhaul wants better be worth my fucking time, Deku,” hisses a peeved Katsuki Bakugou, leaning against the window of their sleek automobile and looking highly uninterested during the ride. Izuku Midoriya, the young man with the head of unruly verdant hair, nods his head. His expression is mild at his friend’s usual discontented tone.

“Kai Chisaki—the head boss of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza—wants to negotiate with us, Kacchan. Surely it would be advantageous for us to hear him out. If anything we’ll manage to at least squeak some intel from him to reference for later on.” A glint rises in the male’s eyes.

“‘Some intel’ ain’t enough. If they’re gonna drag all three of us out here, then it better be for something good, or else I might have to let off some explosions to satisfy my boredom.” Bakugou’s quirk begins to pop and crack around his palms at the idea of letting loose.

Shouto Todoroki—the third of the trio—sighs exasperatingly at his fellow inflamed mafia boss, running his hand through his red and white tresses.

“Bakugou, I’d advise against it. Knowing the location we’re heading to, your explosions would only cause a ruckus in the area that’d get the annoying heroes involved. I’ve had enough dealing with those fools as it is and we also don’t need the men in blue following after our trail.”

“Shut up Icy-Hot! If this ‘negotiation’ isn’t beneficial to us, I’ll find my own way to make them pay for wasting our damn time!” Bakugou yells.

These three young men—Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, and Shouto Todoroki—are known as the bosses of one of Japan’s most powerful organized crime syndicates.

Notorious, ruthless, and authoritative, these three, despite their youth, have secured a name for themselves within the underground crime world. Aside from their tenacity and skill, the strength of each of their quirks played a large factor in their rise among the rivaling crime groups. They easily snuffed out the weak competition without so much as a sweat, and working under them are other strong combatants, each of them possessing their own unique and powerful quirks.

With everything at their disposal, the Yuuei mafia group quickly obtained a vast, large territory within the capital of Japan—the epicenter of where all the shady deals and disputes occur.

“We didn’t even bring Angel Face with us. What a drag.” Bakugou gruffs. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed, and cushioned behind his head as the lamps flicker past them, the dim lights splayed across the endless road.

“Letting ____ rest was the least we could do after her successful infiltration at the political officials gala,” the middle of the three states matter-a-factly.

“Especially after the rounds she endured even after her mission,” Todoroki adds, vividly remembering the gala dress cascading down her skin and clinging to her body that night, as well as their antics that ensued afterward.

He recalls the beautiful, red formal gown she wore for the occasion, the material hugging her figure perfectly and accentuating her curves in all the right places. God, he prayed that something within him wouldn’t stir at the thought of it again.

They all remembered it quite clearly. It made their fingers itch the very evening of the event, yearning to touch all the dips and arcs that sculpted her body. Her hair, styled up and tied with a matching silk red ribbon, kept the skin of her neck bare and begging to be marked while gold lined her wrists and collar bones. To say she was a goddess that night would be an understatement. The three could barely keep their hands off her before she even left the mansion, let alone attend the gala. But once her mission was complete, she arrived home to be thoroughly loved and lusted, with three young and hungry men indulging in all the divine fruits this celestial being had to offer to them.

The girl they speak of is not only their right-hand woman but also the three’s beloved paramour. Since their journey into coming to power, ____ has been with them through thick and thin and has become an influential asset in attaining their position.

Beautiful, yet dangerous, she proved to be an incredibly powerful fighter in many forms of combat in combination with her quirk, along with having a gift for deception that allowed her to climb her way to the top of the pack. Naturally, the trio found themselves drawn to her, not just for her strength and beauty, but also her passion and ability to mend the spirits of those around her. If it weren’t her, the Yuuei mafia group would not be as intact and well-oiled as it is today.

“Besides, we have some of our best following in the car behind us in case anything suspicious happens,” Midoriya gestures to the similar-looking sleek and dark-tinted car trailing behind their own.

“I very much doubt we need them, but it’s best not to worry Angel too much while she’s resting,” Todoroki murmurs, crossing his legs.

A few more turns and they’ve eventually entered the area of a vacant warehouse located on the edge of Japan near the shore.

The moment their vehicle is directed to a stop, the three bosses exit. Bakugou vehemently slams his door, eyeing the building with a vexing glare.

“Let’s get this shit show over with. This better be good.”

The warehouse is eerily quiet in the dead of the night and smells of salt from the ocean behind it. Spotting them walking to the entrance, the watchmen of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza hastily open the doors enclosing the warehouse. The hinges bear an uncomfortable creaking sound that jars through the silence.

“Oh, he’s here! He’s here! My cute little Izuku is here!” hollers a shrill voice belonging to an all-too-energetic head of messy, bunned-up blonde hair. The said boy blinks twice at her enthusiasm as they approach the lone wooden table situated in the center of the warehouse.

Uh, do I know her? He ponders for a second before dismissing the thought.

A pale man with gloved hands and shaggy auburn hair holds a hand out to halt the girl behind him. “Calm down Toga, we haven’t spoken of negotiations yet, so I need you to be quiet.”

Toga pouts, nearly grasping a silver blade at her side but stills herself for now. In the meantime, she opts to fidget with the tubular machine wrapped around her body.

The three look up to view a small group illuminated by the light fixed above the wooden table. Their eyes swiftly count seven or eight of them surrounding that area, including the ringleader, and likely more hidden somewhere in the darkness around them. After all, any fine and experienced villainous group would know better than to invite the bosses of the most dangerous crime syndicate without being thoroughly prepared for a possible scuffle to occur.

However, for now, they all advance with the notion to talk first before unleashing quirks and violence (well most of them anyway).

“Welcome, welcome. I see you made it to this place without much trouble; you’re right on time,” Overhaul greets the three young men mildly, “Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury.”

Midoriya walks forward as the center of their entourage to return the cordial greeting. “Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you, Kai Chisaki of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza. Otherwise known as Overhaul.”

“Ah, so you know of me and my cause. It seems our reputation precedes us.”

“Of course. The Shie Hassaikai yakuza has long been in business in the crime world…” Midoriya muses, “Though they’ve wrung out past their former glory. Having since been pushed back into the underground after the rise of heroes.”

Bakugou smirks, close to letting out a snicker at the backhanded comment.

It’s true. While the Shie Hassaikai were one of the main criminal groups running the yakuza underground, that all soon fell and crumbled as the surge of heroes came into society. It was only after the former boss’ grandson, Kai Chisaki, came into power and took leadership that their name grew back into prominence once again, albeit little by little.

“Why you little–” A man donning a long white raincoat and plague doctor mask swiftly appears with a pistol pointed in Midoriya’s direction, none too amused by the remark. However, he’s cut off by a wall of ice erected at Midoriya’s side.

“Watch where you point those toys you little rat,” Todoroki sneers, and the tone of his voice nearly exposes chills to the air.

“Calm down, Chrono. We’re the ones that invited them as guests, thus we need to treat them like so.”

The white-haired subordinate withdraws at the words of his leader, retracting the gun back into the pocket of his coat.

“I apologize, he’s simply on edge over the fact we have some pretty powerful people at our doorstep. You’ll have to excuse him.”

“It’s quite all–”

“Did we come here to talk, or did we come here to fight?” Bakugou barges through, shoving past Midoriya with no restraint.

“I thought this was a fucking negotiation, not an apology fess. If one of your dogs is so edgy, I’d be happy to give him a good thrashing to satiate him if you want,” his raised hand sparks and flickers in the dark, “If not then get to it, Overhaul,” he threatens. Midoriya sighs.

“I think we’re simply all… piqued as to why this meeting was demanded out of nowhere and scheduled for the dead of the night no less, but I’m sure you have some important matters to discuss with us right, Overhaul?” Midoriya reasons, a sly grin on his lips.

“Right, let's get to it shall we?” Approaching closer to the table separating them, Overhaul continues, “First off, I must congratulate you on successfully infiltrating that gala the other night. Not many crime organizations can sneak into a party of that caliber. Especially when it’s so heavily guarded and kept secretive to all suspicious eyes of the dark,” he commends, digging a hand into the pocket of his jacket.

The three exchange quick, wary glances from the corner of their eyes that the opposite party misses.

“You were there?” Todoroki questions bluntly in which Overhaul hums in response.

“Hm, yes. But for different reasons, I’m sure. You see, I’ve been… examining little details of the Yuuei mafia group recently. It fascinates me how well-oiled and efficient you are at running your organization, so I began to ponder: ‘How do they do it?’ Little did I know, the answer all became more than clear to me from what I saw at that gala,” the auburn-haired man drawls, finally plucking out a photo from his pocket and sliding it across the wood under the light.

The moment the three recognized the image, their eyes widened, soon shifting into visages of sheer hostility at the next statement pronounced.

“This girl here? I want her.”

Within the confines of the paper is ____, dressed in the red gown she wore the very night of the gala, a masquerade mask over her features with the purpose to obscure herself in the throng.

The three before Overhaul seethe vessels of wrath.

“What did you just say? Do you even know what you’re asking of us?” Todoroki feels icy and heated atmospheres form on his opposing left and right sides upon hearing Overhaul’s words, sensing the tension rising around his fellow partners as well.

“The girl, I must say, does excellent work at her job. She’s skilled and tactical, having infiltrated many influential organizations and assassinated several powerful faces getting in the way of your mafia group. Such precision, efficiency, and beauty makes her the perfect woman, wouldn’t you agree?” He picks up the picture, bringing it up next to him.

Given the deadly pressure in the air, the next words he utters might be the final nail in his coffin.

“Well, I want you to hand her over to me.”

The nail is hit. There’s a lingering silence before hell nearly breaks loose and the next motions could deliver his soul down the River of Styx.

Fueled by blood-boiling anger and annoyance, Bakugou charges forward to land an explosive hit on the yakuza boss. “LIKE HELL WE WOULD, YA FUCKING BASTARD!” He’s thwarted by a yellow barrier emerging to shield the leader from the attack, courtesy of a henchman at his left side. The blonde jumps back, his hands still crackling and his rage not dissipating anytime soon. “Don’t go spewing a bunch of shit outta your mouth!”

“Now… let’s be rational or you’ll start getting dirt everywhere...” Overhaul dusts off his shoulder before resuming the conversation nonchalantly, “Of course I’ll provide you with compensation. I wouldn’t be so naive as to expect to be given something so valuable without offering payment after all.”

With a snap of his fingers a large, bulky man promptly lays a silver briefcase on the table. The locks click open to reveal wads of cash layering the case to the brim, enough to flabbergast and entice any common citizen in Japan.

“If this amount isn’t enough, I have another briefcase with—”

A jolting sound of the wooden table and metal briefcase breaking beneath Midoriya’s foot is enough to diminish the rest of Overhaul’s remark, signifying their blunt answer to his offer.

“What a waste of a night it’s been. Presenting money to us in hopes that we’d simply hand over our beloved like she’s some prostitute for sale? You're more of a fool than I took you for, Kai Chisaki,” Each word that rolls off Midoriya’s tongue is laced with venom. Such malice is enough to paralyze those who hear it, as if it would be the last statement they’ll ever listen to before hitting the concrete dead.

Reasoning with the trio any further is equivalent to bargaining with the god of the underworld, offering nothing but your knees on the floor and a sad pleading voice, only to be whisked back to the deepest, darkest chambers of hell.

Overhaul simply pauses before following with a long, testy sigh.

“A no then? Alright. Toga.”

The bun-headed blonde pounces forward at the command almost instantaneously, knife in her grasp and ready to swing. Midoriya moves to the side with ease, evading the blade as well as dodging a puncture from a needle. His agility is manifested in green electric currents of aura.

“Ooh, I finally get to cut up and obtain cute Izuku’s yummy blood!” She grins psychotically, keeping both eyes trained on the green-haired boy. “Heehee, I’ve been waiting for this day! Ever since I saw that photo of you all bruised up in a fight, I had to have you all to myself! I just love a man all red and bloodied!” Toga exclaims in utter glee, giggling like a schoolgirl meeting her celebrity idol.

Midoriya grimaces, nearly shivering at her excitement over announcing her neurotic confession to him. Her contorted facade is not earning her any points either. Taking notice of the wary expression that crosses his brows, Toga grins wider.

“It’s OK, even if you don’t like me now, you’ll definitely like me when I get a drop of that girl’s blood and transform into her! We’ll look so much alike, you’ll have heart-eyes for me too!” Her features curve into a look of pure hysteric that leaves Midoriya speechless, so much so it takes a loud blast hurled past him to finally bring his senses back to the conflict.

“Move it, Deku!” Bakugou’s attacks are relentless and powerful, but Toga’s nimbleness prevents her from getting hit.

“Deku, Ground Zero, back up,” Todoroki raises his left hand, the corresponding side flaring with heat before quickly igniting into bright hot flames enough to cover his entire arm. “You lot have some nerve to call us and arrange this abhorrent deal under the guise of a ‘negotiation.’ I’ll incinerate you all for even thinking you could take her from us.”

His quirk is unleashed in a flurry of fire that’s launched toward his enemies.

“Dabi,” Overhaul signals and a lanky man with patched, burnt scars and skin held together by staples and stitches steps forward, triggering his blue blazes to combat the red-orange ones. The infernos collide into a firestorm that soon scatters and disperses due to a power struggle.

“Tch,” Todoroki narrows his brows, annoyed.

“Hm, the brat’s not all talk after all,” Dabi’s expression remains stoic while his hand hovers in front of him, still swallowed by his azure flames. Wordlessly he releases his blazes once more only to be countered by Todoroki’s wall of ice diminishing the onslaught of fire.

On their end, Midoriya and Bakugou are in pursuit of the head honcho Overhaul himself, while attempting to throw blows at Toga along the way.

Now enveloped in energy that increases his strength and dexterity tenfold, it isn’t long until the green-haired young man catches up to crafty Toga’s momentum. With a grunt, Midoriya kicks forward, swinging his foot into the girl’s direction with tremendous force that’s too quick for her to avoid.

Toga braces herself for the impact but the attack never meets. Instead, a yellow shield materializes in front of her to take the blow, a crack now evident on the surface of the saffron safeguard. “Oooh! Izuku’s really out for blood! How thrilling!” she squeals, licking her lips.

“It’s that fucking barrier bastard again! Move over, I’ll kill him!” yells a pissed Bakugou who jumps over Midoriya’s head, running across the top of the manifested barrier. From there, he spots his offender.

Gritting his teeth, he dashes off the shield before it can disappear and uses it to propel himself forward. His palms glow and envelope themselves with heat as he holds them outward.

“Rappa! I can’t conduct another shield so quickly, get him!” Tengai, the one with the barrier quirk, hastens his partner. Rappa zealously swoops in front of him with iron-knuckle gloves ready.

“Oh no, you don’t! Try and fucking dodge this!” Bakugou brings his hands forward while still in midair, “Stun Grenade!” A radiant, gleaming light emits from his palms, effectively blinding all those within his vicinity.

Rappa and Tengai have no choice but to cover their eyes from the intensity of the light, leaving them wide open to strike!

Without hesitation, the ash-blonde creates two more explosions to launch himself forward, spinning in the air and gathering momentum before firing his attack encased in an explosive tornado.

“Howitzer Impact!!”

In an instance, a flash exudes in a fiery burst of nuclear reaction, which releases violent discharges of kinetic energy towards his enemies. The attack hits home, covering a chuck of the area with debris and rubble, and producing a hole on the right side of the warehouse.

Tengai and Rappa are incapacitated.

“Kac— Ground Zero, you went all out didn’t you…” Midoriya mutters while holding Toga down despite all her fidgeting. In a last-ditch effort, the girl draws out the spare knife tucked away in her utility belt, however the young man on top of her knocks it away before she can react any further.

“Toga, am I correct? I suggest you stand down, or I may have to break something to make you cooperate.” Midoriya’s warning exudes a menacing tone, in contrast to his former courteous character and the gentle features adorning his face. Yet Toga does not seem fazed by this.

“Heehee, you’re so cute when you make threats like that…” she giggles, shifting her head ever so slightly to catch glimpses of the male’s appearance. He’s quite disheveled down to his wrinkled suit, unbuttoned collar, sweat glistening on his forehead, and what’s this?

Toga peeks at a single crimson line split on the skin of his cheek with dilated pupils.

“Even though you were so fast, I at least managed to graze you just a teeny-tiny bit! That scarlet cut looks so nice on you, Izuku, aw how I wish I can give you more!” She prattles on and on, beaming over every utterance spoken past her lips. “I did say red is the best color on you, after all!”

Midoriya’s eyes narrow at her behavior, fists clenched and apt to deliver a silencing blow.

“Although�� blue wouldn’t look half bad either.”

Unable to express confusion at her remark, he soon perceives a blast of cerulean blue flames aimed and released in his direction, forcing him to jump up to dodge the attack. Toga makes her escape after the fire diffuses, withdrawing next to Dabi. The patched man continues his onslaught on Todoroki and Midoriya.

“They’ve managed to defeat our spear and shield, and nearly took out Toga,” Overhaul’s stance is methodical and calculating, overseeing the fight from the back lines of his unit with a gloved hand beneath his chin. “I suppose it’s time to use that,” he declares.

Chrono briefly glances at him before reaching for a gun in the pocket of his coat—a different weapon from the pistol he pointed at Midoriya earlier. In a container held behind him, he produces a peculiarly shaped bullet, one that takes on the form of a cartridge with a hypodermic needle sticking out on one end.

“Dabi, when these bullets hit, that will be your chance to burn them all away,” orders the auburn-haired man. He raises an arm to prep for the signal as Chrono readies the gun wielded in his hand, positioning his target onto the spiky blonde mafia boss.

“Ha! You think a pathetic little gun is going to stop me?!” While Bakugou exudes confidence and arrogance, his dual-haired comrade is not as keen about the situation at hand.

Why would those fools try to use such a primitive method of fighting at this point? They saw how useless that gun was earlier… ponders Todoroki in the heat of battle, Unless…

“Ground Zero! Be careful! There’s something fishy about that weapon they’re using!” he warns, making the blonde’s expression fix into an irritated glare.

“Shut up Icy-Hot; I know what I’m doing! Why don’t you pay attention to patchwork over there before you get another scar!” Bakugou quips back, eyes never leaving Overhaul. “I’m gonna make this washout yakuza leader regret ever giving us a call to this useless negotiation.”

The man is impassive at the blonde’s threats, lips remaining in a fine line underneath his mask. His arm stays raised next to him for Chrono to acknowledge.

At once, Bakugou’s body launches back into action like a jet engine propelling a rocket. His movements gather more and more sweat to strengthen himself for another devastating assault.

“Pesky thing won’t stop moving…” mutters Chrono, hand continually shifting aim at Bakugou’s unpredictable tumbling. “I’ll just make you sit still!”

On command, arrow-shaped hair pierces through the fabric of his hood and extends straight to Bakugou. His quirk’s versatility and quick instincts allow him to evade the attack to the left with ease. However, it seems Chrono was waiting for that very moment as the blonde is now within his gun’s line of sight.

Overhaul draws his hand down, giving Chrono the signal to finally pull the trigger. A crack of a sonic boom resonates within the single millisecond it is shot. The dart is fired.

The gunshot rings throughout the space of the warehouse. Todoroki and Midoriya can barely register the shot in time to yell out to Bakugou, whose head turns toward the capsule’s velocity in almost slow motion.

Crap..! he curses, unable to move away to escape the bullet in time and preparing to embrace the shot.

However, it never makes its mark.

“Boss! Watch out!”

A gruff voice suddenly makes its debut within the fray, taking everyone by surprise as the newcomer throws himself in front of Bakugou, hardened arms crossed.

“What the—!”

Chrono watches in despair. The bullet ricochets right off the rock-like body of a man with spiked tufts of crimson red hair.

“What the hell? Red Riot?!” sputters a bewildered Bakugou at Kirishima’s abrupt entrance.

“D-Dammit!” Chrono tries to fire again to rectify his failure, but his attempt is in vain. Something muscly wraps around his arm tightly, tossing him away.

“Froppy!” Midoriya calls out to the girl as she retracts her froggy tongue, currently clung to the wall, and camouflaged into her surroundings. She reveals herself into the battle with a small “ribbit.”

“While you guys were inside, a bunch of their goons started surrounding our cars. We knew something shady was up, especially when we heard explosions coming from inside, so we busted our way in here right past them!” Kirishima explains, now standing back-to-back against Bakugou, “Seems like you’re fighting a battle too!”

“I see, so they planned on ambushing all of us if we didn’t comply with their deal,” says Todoroki. He fires more flames in their direction. “How pathetic. They were woefully unprepared.”

“Agreed! Ambushing is no way to fight! Real men would come at us head-on!” Kirishima emphasizes his fierceness through clanking his hardened fists against each other, jagged edges sparking.

“Red Riot! Froppy!” exclaims Midoriya, “Where are the others?”

Asui ribbits before answering, “They’re handling the rest of the—”

“L-Leader..! Leader!” a frantic voice shouts from the entrance of the warehouse, where a ragged up Shie Hassaikai henchman tries to pry inside.

“T-The girl..! She isn’t h-here, she isn’t— GAH!”

His message is interrupted. A menacing shadowy figure looms over the goon like a monster hiding within the dark and throws him back to the struggle outside, proceeding to rampage across the battlefield. Desperate cries leak out but to no avail.

Overhaul discerns the sputtered message:

The girl he so desired was not with them to begin with.

To his dismay, this fight was pointless. If what he sought could not be forcibly taken right then and there, then there is no reason to continue the battle. There was no prize to be won by the end of it all.

Now, he must adjust his plans due to the unfavorable news. How tragic.

At the thought of having lost time, energy, and resources, the yakuza leader pinches the bridge of his nose, utterly furious. There’s a pause in which Overhaul seethes an aura of killing intent over this frustration.

But it eventually simmers and subsides. What happens now cannot be changed, no matter how enraged he is. So he must take logical steps to preserve and remedy the repercussions, which to him was simple:

“We’re withdrawing.”

“What?” Dabi looks at him incredulously, “After all this?”

“Yes, they've taken down our spear and shield, and have wiped out the majority of the soldiers. If what we want isn’t here, then there is no point in staying,” Overhaul’s husky tone bears weight and authority at every word.

“Nemoto, grab Chrono from wherever he was thrown.”

“Yes, Overhaul. What about Rappa and Tengai?”

The auburn-haired man doesn’t so much as spare a glance toward his two defeated subordinates lying on the ground, “Leave them. They’re expendable to me.”

Nemoto nods, going to gather a knocked out Chrono thrown across the warehouse and now lying unconscious atop broken wooden crates.

Midoriya’s fists clenched tightly at the scene, realizing what the yakuza’s next plan of action was going to be.

“They’re trying to escape!”

“Oh, the fuck they are. I won’t let a single one of you bastards leave!” Bakugou bursts into the air, propelled by the explosions from his palms in hot pursuit, with Midoriya catching up thanks to his heightened speeds.

“Sorry boys, party’s over!” Toga intercepts the two using twin knives flung in their direction, catching them off guard. Dabi follows the diversion by gathering a massive amount of flames into his hands before swiftly releasing the kindled energy to erect a blue wall of fire throughout his surroundings.

“Bye Izuku~!” a feminine voice shrills from behind the fiery wall, becoming the last words they hear as they wait for the flames to dissipate, ultimately revealing that their enemies had already fled.

“Those fuckers couldn’t have gone far,” Bakugou doesn’t relent, poised on finding them and having them pay the full consequences of their actions. Midoriya grasps his shoulder, stopping him.

“Let them go, Kacchan. Considering the location they decided for this meeting, they likely fled by boat. We have no way of following them at the moment.”

Todoroki agrees, adding on, “Besides, there are more important things to worry about right now,” he casts his gaze to the wooden table Midoriya had broken prior to the fight transpiring. “For one, they’re after ____ and are willing to go to any lengths to get her. We need to head back to the mansion to make sure she’s safe.” There’s slight urgency evident in his tone. Despite their tenacity, the idea of having their beloved wrenched away is enough to render them even a little bit fearful. Had she been present in the conflict, there’s no telling what could have happened.

“And two,” Todoroki walks off to another site of the warehouse, picking up something dropped on the floor, “we need to figure out what this is.” In his hand, he holds the small capsule bullet that is now slightly dented thanks to the impact against Kirishima’s hardened skin.

The other two examine the capsule briefly until Bakugou decides to take it from Todoroki’s fingers for closer inspection. If Overhaul was so keen on using a gun to do away with them all, despite how inferior it was, then this must be no ordinary bullet.

The three decide to contain the item for further examination for now as they, Kirishima, and Asui make their way outside again. There, bodies of Shie Hassaikai thugs littered the floor after having been thoroughly beaten into submission. Tokoyami, Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, and Kaminari lean against the cars casually but remain attentive after the fight.

“It was quite an ill-planned move to dare to attack us in the night,” Tokoyami’s eyes closed in thought at the havoc he wreaked thanks to the amplified powers of his quirk. Kaminari snickers and boasts with an electric snap of his fingers, “Yakuza didn’t know what hit them, the mafia always stays on top.”

“Excellent work everyone, it seems the henchmen were of no trouble to you,” Midoriya commends the squad, “Now, we must leave before the police arrive on the scene to assess the damage.”

Their six combatants all nod at the order, about to gather back in their vehicle until Bakugou huffs with a final statement before they make their getaway.

“Know that the next time we see those Shie Hassaikai bastards, we will take them down,” He narrows his eyes at the ocean, the moon still hanging above the sky and basking the waters in moonlight,

“without hesitation.”

Ending Notes | Whew.. thanks for reading! For the next part I was considering writing it in 2nd POV since the reader will actually be physically present during the events of the story now, but I’m not sure yet. Please let me know your thoughts and follow if you’re interested in this series <3

[yoon-kooks]

The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio​ for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game. 

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

[momtaku]

SnK 132 Thoughts... I guess?

I’ve been holding off answering anons because with only four out of 46 pages available there’s plenty of room for error, This is incredibly inconvenient for me because since Friday my fingers have been itching to write and I have only so much self control.

By way of compromise, I’m going to talk about the two parts of this chapter that are likely immutable.

Hange and Floch are dead. 

We can talk about the exact circumstances of Hange’s death once we get the full chapter. I’m sure it’s going to be epic and I can’t wait. But for now let’s stick to the fact that Hange is dead and as many anons have pointed out, this is something I was certain wouldn’t happen. 

My logic wasn’t fancy. My baseline assumption was that at least one person over the age of 25 would live beyond the final battle and since Hange was someone lacking a tragic backstory and plot relevant vendetta, it would be them. I believed a curious and forward thinking character like Hange would do well in a new world since they thrive on discovery and change. There was probably a healthy dose of wishful thinking in my rationale as well.

Instead Hange Zoe is dead, or should we say “dead” because while I’m not ready to label what I am seeing in these spoiler pages, Hange being helped to their feet by Moblit and comforted by Erwin is anything but conventionally dead. Whatever this afterlife is, whether it’s heaven, Hange’s dying idealization, or PATHS shenanigans, it is the curviest curveball in a series that tossed dozens of them.

There’s a part of me that wonders if this is good writing that thinks “probably not”. An afterlife lowers the stakes. Leaving the battle and reuniting with friends feels like a gift and not a tragedy. I don’t need to mourn the dead anymore. Why should I when they look so young, healthy and at peace. Instead I want Eren rumble all the characters I love so they can be together and away from harm. He can start with Levi. 

But mostly I am squeeing with delight at this fanfiction staple turned canon reality. Those visions of the dead watching were not hallucinations. Every character I’ve mourned over the last 6 years is together. Attack on Titan suddenly feels like Les Miserables with its army of dead watching and waiting and I am a-ok with that.

Floch’s death is the other immutable fact of the chapters. If spoilers are to be believed, it was a good death. He wasn’t played for a joke. He didn’t die a coward. He didn’t kill anyone important. He stated his ideology and implored the Survey Corps to see the logic of his way. I think most Flochstans will find that incredibly satisfying. I do. 

My final thought about their deaths is not my own but belongs to my friend Kingsgrave. He reminded me that Hange and Floch were both leaders of their respective movements. Both strove to be like Erwin. Both attempted to walk in his steps. Floch took Erwin’s anthem and a vague imitation of this leadership style. Hange lived in Erwin’s shadow, forever struggling to match his talents and abilities.  Had we not had a month delay, they would’ve both died four years to the date of Erwin.

Floch and Hange both wore the Wings of Freedom. Both were acting sincerely. They were both chasing after Erwins ghost but only one got to see it. I don't know where Floch is, maybe there's a Jaegerist purgatory where he can sit and seethe, but he's not part of this afterlife and that was incredibly satisfying to see. Those who persist in the idea that Erwin would support a rumbling never had much ground to stand on. This chapter was another mountain of evidence against that idea.

It’s almost funny that not getting what I wanted with regards to Hange isn’t a sad thing. It feels more like being rewarded. It’s too soon to pump my fist and cheer but I can absolutely sit here and smile.

[thebeltanequeen]

The (Blurred? Nonexistent? Inconsequential?) Line Between Canon and Fanon: An Impromtu Essay by Me

I’m currently have an existential crisis. An absolute, balls to the walls, pull my hair out, stare at the walls wondering what the meaning of existence is, kind of existential crisis. Why, you may ask? Because the older I have gotten, the more Fanfiction I have read. That’s normal. Millions of other people read fanfic like me. Well, in the past few years, I have also realized that the more fanfiction I have read, the less shits I give about the actual canon of the media I love. I care less and less about what “actually” happened, and delve into fanon instead. It’s as if the two have SWITCHED ROLES in my brain. The canon is the lie, and the fanon is the truth. This used to not be the case though, so how did we get here? And why… why is this realization sending me into an absolute spiral of insanity? Why do I feel like I have been sucker punched in the jaw? Let me explain.

I’ve been reading and dabbling in writing my own fanfiction for over twelve years. It used to be an escape, a way to further delve into my latest obsessions and become consumed by them. I have this annoying habit of also picking ships that do NOT become endgame, so I’ve always sought out fanfiction as a balm for my shipper’s soul as well. I still read fanfiction as if my life depends on it… but now it’s at the expense of reading new books. Watching new media. When I do eventually dip my toes into a new fandom, I either reject it quickly or become consumed again and make a grab for fanfiction… but in the past few years, something in not only me, but in fandoms in general has shifted.

The difference between me now, and me back then is this… I used to uphold the canon as sacred. Untouchable. Set in stone. The only credible source for the media I consume. All of the fanfiction I read was just beautiful window dressing. A lovely past time to further increase my dopamine intake.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I read and write fanfiction, it’s as if it is an act of protest. I am actively seeking to reform the narrative. It’s to “take back” the story, the characters, EVERYTHING, for myself. To make it anew. To make it perfect. I’m not alone either. I see you. I see all of you. Now more than ever, I see more and more of us doing this exact same thing.

THIS is why I am having an existential crisis. I have just realized that I will no longer be content with the canon. Ever. Even the canon of my favorite media. It’s not enough. It’s no longer enough. It won’t ever be enough again. Why? Because there will always be places where the canon is falliable. The authors of the canon, are falliable. As an author myself, this is at once an alarming yet powerful realization.

I went to college for creative writing. At the beginning of my academic career, I thought of fanfiction as a beautiful fairytale world. It was glorious, but it was other. Separate. Not as credible as canon. Had I read fanfiction better than the media it was based on before I entered college? Absolutely, but in my head it still didn’t matter because the canon was the word. The canon was the law. As a writer, I held the power of the author (and by extension the power of myself) as sacred. By the end of college, that began to change.

The more I was taught about writing, the more I came to realize that sometimes, authors are just straight up WRONG. Sometimes, there’s soooooo much potential… AND THEY JUST FUCK IT UP!!!!!!! The bones are incredible, but the canon is weak, the logic is lacking, the story makes no sense, the characters don’t reach their full potential and you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of it. This is why fanon is canon’s salvation. Fanon makes canon look pathetic. But… if I accept the fanon as the reality, and make the canon the lie, does that still make it fanon? No. I don’t think it does. I think fanon has become something other. Something greater.

I have become disillusion by “published” or “credible” books. 95% of the novels I actually buy at the store today are garbage. Trash. Half written nonsense that only serves the purpose of paying people. I’m TIRED OF IT. I’ve become disillusioned by the “power” of the author. I have become disillusioned by canon. FUCK canon, quite frankly. Rip it apart. Dissect it. Take out it’s beating heart and transplant it into a new body. Give it the soul that the narrative was begging for. REVIVE IT. LET YOUR OWN IMAGINATION MAKE IT ANEW. Characters mean too much to people. Fiction means too much to people. Stories mean too much to people for anything less. Only then will you or I be satisfied.

Now, even an impromptu, unedited, gibberish essay is not complete without examples. I’ll start with one that you probably thought of while reading this. Game of Thrones. I think that two years ago, the ending of the most influential show of the entire decade, is where my subconscious began to shift in this direction. Now, I doubt my opionions about GoT are the same as yours, but you know what? It DOESN’T MATTER because FANON CAN FIX THE CANON. The stories that meant so much to millions can be fixed by accepting the fact that THE CANON ISN’T THE LAW! IT FUCKED UP!!!! CANON DOESN’T DESERVE TO SPEAK ANYMORE!!!! TAKE BACK THE STORY AND TRANSFORM IT INTO A VERSION TRULY WORTHY OF THE GLORIOUS BONES IT HAS!!!!!

We also can’t ignore the role that monetization plays in the media we consume. Why leave our fiction in the hands of just the big names? Why let money dictate what is real and not real? WHY SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE STORYTELLING JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD TO YOU AND THEREFORE IT’S “LEGIT CANON”??? FANFICTION IS FREE, AND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF WRITING I’VE EVER READ WERE WRITTEN BY FANFIC AUTHORS WHO DID IT FOR THE STORY. WHO DID IT FOR THE ART. WHO ACTUALLY DID IT JUSTICE. FUCK THE CONCEPT OF FANON AND CANON. THE STORY WE WANT IS ALL THAT MATTERS. GET MONEY OUT OF HERE.

Ahem. To avoid going on even more of a tangent, I’ll move on and give the example that triggered my existential crisis in the first place. Sailor Moon. To give some background, Sailor Moon is it for me. I have grown up with it. I’ve watched it my entire life. As a child, I ran around with my toy moon rod and desperately wanted to be Usagi. Ironically, I grew up to be quite a bit like her (but with Rei’s temper admittedly). It is my comfort show, my happiness. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I never tire of it. It makes my heart swell. I have never, nor will I ever, love any piece of media the way I love Sailor Moon. Flash forward to today, I watched Sailor Moon Eternal, the two new movie adaptations of the Dream arc in the manga (stick with me non-manga and anime lovers). I liked the films, but I was left with a deep, disatisfied yearning. I want back the feeling of complete bliss I experienced while watching the 90’s anime as a child. The problem with this? I’ll never get it back. I’ve just realized this. I’ll NEVER get it back. Why? Because it’s no longer the perfect version of Sailor Moon that it was to my young eyes. Crystal, while good, is also not the perfected version I seek in my adulthood, and Eternal has not scratched my insatiable itch. I am heartbroken because I’ve realized that Sailor Moon in its perfect form doesn’t exist anymore. If I held any canon sacred, it was this. But the story is flawed. The manga is flawed. The anime is flawed. It’s not infallible, as much as it truly, deeply hurts me to admit to the world and to myself. The only perfect version of Sailor Moon is the one in my heart. It’s the one I choose to piece together for myself with the building blocks that others who came before me have handed over.

Another, more recent example of falliable canon is The Grisha Verse. More specifically, the Shadow and Bone trilogy. I was brought in to the fandom by Ben Barnes’ depthless eyes and magnificent scruff. And you know what? I liked the story, but I stayed for Ben Barnes. I liked the Darkling so much that I bought the entire grisha verse books. It was a premature decision. I’ve only made it halfway through Storm and Seige, and you know what? I’m tired of the canon already. It’s not that great. The bones are there, but it could be SO. MUCH. MORE. I haven’t read the crow books yet, and by all accounts Leigh Bardugo has improved tremendously as a writer. Which incidentally proves my point. Authors are falliable. Ergo, the canon is falliable. I can’t help but think while I read these books, “Damn. I could write this better.” and you know what? I’ve read fanfics that HAVE written it better.

Am I saying this to trash Bardugo? Or even GRRM? (Yes I admit to trashing D&D but that’s beside the point ahem…). NO. I am NOT trashing the writers. I’M A WRITER. I GET IT. YOUR STORY IS YOUR BABY. I G E T I T . But I’ve realized, and what I think future authors will also have to realize, is that fiction doesn’t belong to anyone. As soon as it’s out the door, the fiction no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to us. The people. That’s what is beautiful about fanfiction. It’s not here for the money. It’s not here for the clout. It’s here for the fiction itself. Plain and simple. It belongs to no one and everyone.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have wanted my work’s canon to be law. To be the word, the truth, the way etc. Now? I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t be selfish. It isn’t about the author. It’s about the vision. It’s about the story, the narrative, the characters. It’s about art. And sometimes, the authors give birth to the idea (and they deserve credit for that without a doubt), but it’s also true that sometimes, someone else just writes it better. Someone else quite simply saw the vision, the story, the characters, more clearly than the author did. I make this vow now, as an author, to strive for the vision. If someone takes my vision and does it better than me, that only improves my perspective of my own story. It improves the world of fiction as a whole. It makes me better.

So, canon? Fuck the canon. Take back the story. Take back the characters. Take back the art. Fiction is ours. It belongs to us, and we can do with it what we please. Let’s strive for OUR OWN perfected version of the media we love. Canon doesn’t truly exist. The concept of Fanon doesn’t even exist anymore in the way we used to think of it. The author’s version of events is their own Fanon of the story. Canon is meaningless now. There is only the story that you accept in your own mind. There is only the story that I accept in my own mind, no matter how different it is from yours. There is only the art. There is only the limitless potential of countless people’s imaginations. Let’s continue to collaborate and celebrate beautiful stories together, in any conceivable way, over and over and over again, until the end of time.

Fin

[cupsofsuga]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers.  I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - I changed up the plot just a teensy bit, love!! this is fanboy!bts with idol!reader

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Hcs of yan idol!bts with an idol!s/o uwu ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

jin is an old, childhood friend of yours that departed from your life as your career skyrocketed

he’s a distant memory, but, to jin, you mean everything

how must he move on when your smile sits in the sun? how can you expect him to simply forget about you when he feels your touch in the wind and sees your eyes in the stars!?

this life is not for you, rather, the sweet, mundane one you and him planned for in blanket forts during the time of your youth

oh, what he’d do to lay his hands upon your summer skin and to look into the ornaments of your irises…

jin’s obsession only intensifies when he found your address and broke into your estate days later

he left old polaroids with dates stamped from nearly a decade ago on your dresser

even going as far as to sleep in your bed

inhaling your scent, relishing in the ghost of your form, the revelation brought him to tears

luckily, you didn’t take notice to your damp pillow that jin had broke down on

but, god, does he miss you…

after one of your concerts, you stumbled sluggishly to your dressing room

there was no answer as to why you were so lethargic, but, you only assumed it was the downfall from the adrenaline rush you received from the shrill screams from fans

without even bothering to change our of the skimpy outfits you were obligated to wear, you nestled yourself onto the leather couch

with a numb body, before you fell into a slumber, you hear a relatively sweet voice as they comfort and coo your name like the melody of a dove

❝ it’s ok, it’s ok. everything will be ok, you’re safe now, y/n/n… oh, how i have longed for this single moment for so, so long! we’ll be happy together, i promise you. we’ll be just fine… ❞

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

min yoongi, a fan of y/n l/n!? that’s just absurd!

there’s no possible way that the cold-hearted, aloof, intimidating-as-all-can-be min yoongi could be some closeted fanboy… right?

but, just one peek into his rusted journal and you’ll uncover poetry that challenges oscar wilde and pages filled with doodles of your starlit face

one peak into his bedroom and you’ll find three cardboard cutouts with words of honey written on sticky notes that are strung upon your form

you’ll see posters littered all around the room, even a few taped on his ceiling so you’d be the first thing he sees when his alarm disrupts him of his slumber

one peak at his body and you’ll find tattoos littered upon his skin from everything to your name, to your favorite flowers, to your full-on face that he hides under chunky sweaters

there must be a million quotes of your songs that he deluded himself into believing was intended just for him inked upon his skin forever

all of those words he typed with the intention of escaping reality and joining you hand-by-hand into a new future are his source of light in these grey, gloomy days

and don’t get me started on all of those times he accidentally wrote your name during exams or how he spent his nights gazing into the cardboard cutout before him just praying that with some magic spell, you’d come alive and be there with him

yoongi is not just some devoted fan, no

he’s your soulmate

and this man is willing to walk straight into the depths of hell and crawl his way out just to prove it so.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

hoseok’s idea of a typical friday night would not be lying and rebelling against his parents just to join his friend and be packed like sardines in an abnormally-heated arena

the sweaty-scented mosh pit adorned with dozens of fans screaming for an idol he doesn’t even remember the name of, he’d just about rather be anywhere now

that is until you waltz out and the shouts intensify, everyone chanting your name as you show off your sugary-sweet smile like a king would with a crown

hoseok might as well have melted into the germ-infested floor before him from how stunned he was upon seeing you for the first time

and your voice!

god, the way you sang with such a level way of elegance sounded like the coo of a dove, the fits of laughter you shared had the poor sunshine in the crowd grow a weak-hearted smile

your eyes shined like wild stars as you looked upon the faces of every individual guest and beaming at the way they so cheerfully smiled for you

and you looked straight at hoseok! he swears you did!

as the glistening lights fade and you turn tail and walk off stage, you are completely oblivious to the boy in the crowd who’s left his heart on a silver platter just for your liking

he leaves the arena giddy, practically shaking with excitement in his seat and blabbering about every breath you took as his friend drives him back to his home

and this poor, but immensely infatuated boy doesn’t earn an inkling of shut-eye for the next 3 days due to him obsessively stalking all of your content

he’ll fake a cough and skip school just to lie in bed, listen to your music and fantasize about all of those lovestruck lyrics you sing being solely intended for him

hoseok will spend hours upon hours looking through photoshoots of yours

even spending as far as 4 hours staring at the same picture of you, tracing his fingers upon the pixelated screen and imagining it was your skin he caressing

you’re his whole life now!

hoseok doesn’t know what he’d do without you…

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

oh, the proper and pristine kim namjoon

how much more perfect could you get with a wealthy lifestyle, having the privilege to attend some elite school and terrible, terrible parents?

how he’s just a mangled heart in the hands of a monster

but, as the all-mighty, alpha-male facade drops, we’ll witness the truth behind all that faux dominance

pray into the truth that’s itched under his skin and you’ll find a soft, gooey centerpiece that’s sweet and submissive

after some pointless bicker with his father, namjoon will return to his bedroom, door locked as relishes in his only source of joy: you

he’ll lie down in his expensive sheets, fantasizing about your sweet voice and touch, caressing him and cooing him of his worries

namjoon will cling onto a body pillow, staining the fabric with his tears

his tenacious grip (on what he fantasizes being you) will not weaken and will remain to be his only form of comfort in these grey days

and on the laptop before him, he’ll turn on one of your lives from the past, pretending, just for now, that you are here and you are real

all those other eyes that also watch you, they’re not real!

it’s just you and him

and having the privilege to lie down and relish in your disgustingly sweet essence is all-too infatuating for his poor heart to handle!

knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll always have you saved his life in more ways than one

knowing that he is yours and you are his, he has found tranquility.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

hours upon hours of scrolling with those all-too-familiar but infatuating jolts to his heart, jimin comes across a photo

a photo of you and a friend, just a little too close for his liking…

and there, we witness a tsunami of insecurities and doubts who have biased jimin for its affection

his mind reels back and forth between the potential truth and reassurance:

you love him! yes, you love him! you liked his comment once! and you even noticed him during a live stream 3 months, 1 week and 4 days ago!

and he’s not crazy, he just loves you so, so much! i mean…

yes, he did strangle a girl that caught your sweatshirt when you threw it into the crowd, but that was all in the past!

this is in the present, and jimin loves you more than you’ll ever know!

and oh, how dreamy and overwhelmingly immaculate that night was…

how he savored every breath that left your mouth as you sang for the arena, how the tears fell down his cheeks as the revelation of your presence knocked the air out of his lungs, and how even months after the concert, he still keeps the clothes he wore that night safely tucked in a rack cover

not a single second goes by where jimin does not think of the luminescence of that single night and just how golden your single presence was

but, for now, he is departed from your form and must find comfort by his lonesome

jimin will scroll through fanfiction, feeling his heart quicken with every word that makes up for his fantasies, satisfying him of his deprived need for you

he has lost count of how many imagines he’s saved at this point, but, then again, he doesn’t care

all that is valid is the pandemonium he sits in while relishing in the fantasy of you being with him, and to hold the privilege of simply waking up next to you in his embrace

as your songs and his hushed sobs echo, jimin grips onto the pillow and lets your cherubic voice soothe him of his sorrows

and for just this short time, jimin can let your seraphic voice bring him serenity.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

yeah……… you’re fucked

after enduring the torture of public school and numerously writing down your name when he intended to write down some algebraic expression he couldn’t remember if he tried, taehyung has returned home

and nothing feels better than satisfying that eternal longing held within him

he’ll ignore his parents and their attempt at small-talk, mumbling something about needing to finish homework and locking himself in his room

and what we see in his room is………. terrifying…? infatuating…?

i mean, your face is EVERYWHERE

posters, polaroids, selfies, all splattered across the walls, ceilings, and even his locker at school

there’s even a single screenshot taped above his desk of the smile plastered on his face when you read his comment: “i love you” during one of your live streams

taehyung then open his sketchbook, smiling fondly with his heart battering in his chest as he flips through past sketches of your beaming face with flowers and fruits adorning the pages

he seeks an empty page, beginning another one of his trillion sketches of you, his muse

this boy doesn’t need a picture to follow from, he knows every one of your facial features from heart

from the shape of your nose to the single mole on your cheek, taehyung has got it imprinted in his mind

and as your song spills from his phone while he’s sketching your wondrous eyes, he thinks back to the sacred memory of when he attended your concert

hearing you serenade thousands upon thousands of fans, including him, wasn’t anywhere near the most momentous part of that night

claiming he was your boyfriend to the guards, shining his sugary-sweet boxy smile and having access to follow you backstage was the best moment of his entire life spent on this planet!

he snapped some photos of you as you scrolled through social media on the leather couch, relishing in the way you so simply… lived

yeah, the guards nearly killed him for that one, but, having the privilege to admire you in your natural state made everything worth it

after all, if it was for you, anything was worth it.

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

as jungkook lays sprawled out on dirty sheets, the voice of y/n l/n echoes and reverberates in his eardrums

this is what tranquility is; this is what peace means, even it’s only temporary

and god, there must be something laced with your voice because never in his life has jungkook felt something like this

floating through space, running on stars, dancing on saturn’s rings; this is the feeling that blossoms within jungkook’s chest

and for once, he can forget all the anger that lingers in the path of his past

trust me, these memories are not anywhere near pretty

from beating a boy to a bloody pulp for calling you a “dumb pop-star” to punching holes into the drywall after a drama channel gossips about a supposed new lover of yours,

jungkook is a complete psycho fan

and spending his rent on tickets for a fan-meet just proves how worthy you are to this stranger

words couldn’t do the emotion jungkook felt when he caught sight of you any justice

he might as well as stepped onto another planet because, god, he’s never seen a sight so astonishing

he finds stars in your eyes and finds himself lost in your smile which resembles a string of pearls

you are in every means perfect

and as his turns reaches near, you grasp hold of his hand to calm him of his nerves

alas, jungkook has found nirvana

he must have looked like such an idiot being so giddy and excited for the human who has never seen him in their entire life

but finally, he has the privilege to meet face-to-face with the love of his life, and you bet he savors every single second of the time spent with you

jungkook even went as far as to have the signature you signed on his forearm tattooed, so your touch would be imprinted on his skin forever

now, you’ll be intwined for eternity…

[snailg0th]

Anger Management

A TMA Fanfiction by me, @snailg0th! I used to write fanfiction in middle school for other fandoms, so I do have experience in writing, but it’s been a few years so we’ll see how I do! Likes and reblogs are VERY appreciated!

Words: 1,113 (yeah it’s short... what about it?)

CW’s: Loss of a loved one (mentioned), Grief

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

Sasha James was 14 when she first got truly angry. The kind of angry makes your bones shake and your stomach feel hot. The kind of angry that feels like the heat of a humid summer. The kind of angry that makes you want to break things. And so she did. She punched and she kicked and she yelled until her throat went raw. But it was ok, she reasoned with herself. It wouldn’t happen again. But it did. And by the time Sasha managed to send her ceiling fan crashing to the ground, her grandmother decided it was time for her to control her anger.

Sasha didn’t want to control her anger.

They went to psychiatrists, counselors, therapeutic art classes, and every relaxing retreat that they could afford, but none of it ever worked for her. Until kickboxing. Sasha fell in love with kickboxing. From the moment she walked into the gym, she knew it was hers. Her secret little passion to love and care for. And god, did Sasha throw herself into it. She trained and she trained and she trained. When she wasn’t studying, she was training. Sasha’s days consisted of ideas - ideas of literature and history and science. Sasha’s nights consisted of fighting - fighting against the chill that bit into her skin as she boxed in the dark street below her window. Sasha kickboxed her way through sixth form. She kickboxed her way through university. She kickboxed her way through job applications. She kickboxed her way through life. She took all of her anger and all of her stress and she kickboxed it out of herself.

Sasha didn’t expect much when she acquired a job at the Magnus Institute. Sure, she was excited to study the uncommon literature they stored there - that which was unavailable to her just days previously - but she didn’t expect to find someone like Tim. As she walked into the research department, she was greeted by a tall man with a crooked smile and a shock of black hair.

“So, you’re the new hire, huh?”

“That’s me.” Sasha wrinkled her nose in thought, trying to determine what she thought of the man who stood before her.

“Oh c’mon, the cologne isn’t THAT much. Rosie insisted I was ‘light-handed’ with it in the future... It’s DEFINITELY been reduced by at least 60 percent.”

“I was just thinking!” She insisted with a smile.

“What, about how devilishly handsome I am?”

“You wish.”

“Say, I haven’t even gotten your name yet.” The man said. “I’m Tim. Tim Stoker.”

“Sasha.” She said fondly.

And so began the friendship of Timothy Stoker and Sasha James. They would eat their lunches together and spend whatever free time they managed to get discussing the other people in the office - Who stole Sasha’s pen this week? Who had gotten pregnant? Was that guy bi, or was it just Tim projecting? But they never went beyond that for the first few months of Sasha’s employment at the Institute. But after a holiday party and a bit too much to drink, Sasha found herself in Tim’s bed, staring up at a ceiling fan that reminded her a bit too much of her own.

“What do you think happens when you die?” She uttered softly, lost in her own thoughts.

“I hope it’s warm.” Tim replied, with a voice that seemed far too small to fit him. A few moments of silence passed. “My brother always hated the cold.”

“My parents did, too.” The quiet that settled between them felt thick - yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt comforting, like a hug.

“Danny.”

“Huh?”

“His name was Danny.” Sasha let the name settle in the air before rolling it around her tongue like a smooth marble.

“Danny’s a nice name.”

“Yeah, It is.” Tim agreed. “Sometimes I just get so angry, knowing that I could have done more to prevent it. It’s not the sadness that gets to me. It’s the anger and shame.”

“I think I have a place for you.”

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

Tim wasn’t sure what to expect when Sasha told him she knew a way to help. Therapy? Interpretive dance? An animal shelter?

However, he certainly wasn’t expecting to be led to a kickboxing studio.

“Kickboxing? Are you serious?” He asked with an incredulous smile.

“Dead.” She replied. “Now, get on that gear and get over here so I can smoke you!”

“In your dreams, James!” He hollered back as he finished wrapping his hands. Tim made his way over to the row of punching bags that hung from the vaulted ceiling above, practically begging for him to throw punches into the dark red fabric.

“Okay, so are you right or left handed?”

“Why does this matter, exactly?”

“Answer the damn question, Stoker.”

“Right.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna want to keep your right side back. Your power side should support you.” As she spoke, she let her hands adjust Tim’s waist so that his body mass became centered. “Like that.”

“Thanks, Sash.” Tim grinned at her. Her eyes glittered as she smiled back.

“You’re on thin ice with that ‘Sash’, Stoker.” She walked him through a basic combination - jab, cross, hook, kick. Jab, cross, hook, kick. They repeated the movements until Tim was practically itching to fully release his anger onto the figure of the bag before him.

“You wanna give it full out, Tim?”

“Hell yeah.” Tim took a deep breath as he ran the motions through his head. Jab, cross, hook, kick. He thought about Danny and what happened to him - If he had just tried to convince him to not pick up urban exploration, he would still be here. He wouldn’t have gotten murdered by whatever clown creature got to him. That damn creature. He hated that thing. He hated the way it had looked at him and smiled. He hated the way it kept appearing in his dreams. Tim was mad at himself, of course. But more than anything, he was mad at the thing that took Danny away from him. As his anger solidified into will, he took another breath. He jabbed. He crossed. He hooked. And he kicked as hard as his body allowed him to, sending the bag swinging. He turned to Sasha, face lit up with joy.

“You did it!” Sasha squealed, running over to hug him. “You knocked it out of the park!”

“Well, I had the best teacher in the world.”

“You absolutely did, and don’t forget it!” Tim chuckled at her reply. “But did it help at all?”

“It really did, Sash. It really, really did.” She flashed him a satisfied smile.

“Wanna go another round?”

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

I hope everyone enjoyed this!!!! I think it turned out pretty good :)

[saikagerights]

Newlyweds- A Saiino Fanfiction

Gee has this idea transformed into its own monster. Last week I had the idea of writing out a few headcanons about Sai that were meant to be separated from the journal, which is also the reason why I haven’t updated.

It is still coming btw, I just wanted it to write this out first. This fic had started out as a few ramblings, so I personally had problems with structure. Luckily, I found my way through and made a cohesive story.

Anyway, I had to restructure this so many times, but I was hoping to use this as a way to cheer up @bauschblog. I hope it doesn’t look rushed.

Hope you enjoy!

*edit. I wrote and posted this days ago, but it never appeared in the tags, so I am posting a second time and deleting the first post. Thank you for your patience

Also available on AO3

If you ever asked Ino if she got what she wanted in life, then you would receive a yes and a no.

She was now as happy as she could be, newly married to who she would’ve called a literal dream years ago. A gorgeous man willing to walk to the ends of the Earth for her.

But that happiness was derived from pain and loss. She would never be able to share that happiness with her father, and she now shared the burdens of her husband, who had lost more than anyone else she knew.

But that didn’t make her love him any less.

Sai was a far cry from the young man she met. Over the years he had learned more and more about the bonds and emotions he had lost, many things she taught him first hand, and she couldn’t be more proud of his progress.

He was once empty, but now it was her job to fill him with as much love and care she could muster. And that’s what she found herself doing, seated beside him and resting her head against his left shoulder as he was immersed in a new sketch. This time it was a pot of primroses he had gathered from the shop below him. She secretly hoped it was a gift for her, as he would occasionally drop his pencil to awkwardly stroke at her head.

Observing his quiet focus made her reflect on her marriage so far. It had only been a month since their wedding, so she had yet to come down completely from cloud nine and she was sure that Sai was feeling something similar. Although it might be starkly different from hers. It didn’t take that long for them to marry either. They still had a lot of time ahead of them, and Ino was delighted to discover more about her enigmatic love.

Part of her joy came from observing common quirks that only a wife could. Like how he was so meticulously organized with his supplies but still fumbled with arrangements in the shop. Or how he’d gently stroke her face when he had to work early, not attentive enough to realize that she was only feigning sleep.

The amount of love she had for her new husband was immeasurable , but with the discovery of these cute habits only came the realization of darker secrets.

Sai was unresponsive at times.

When she would call out to him and would receive nothing but silence in return. It wasn’t as if he was ignoring her, he was simply far into the depths of his own mind.

She then tried to gently repeat her call. And if that didn’t work, her volume would increase, tone sharp and direct. That would usually do the trick and her husband’s head would snap towards her, indicating that she now had his full attention. He’d give a soft hum of inquiry, then his eyes would shamefully cast downward as it dawned upon him that he had done it again.

Ino knew that this was a common occurrence of those in her field of work, especially those who have seen war. There were times when she felt as if father’s guidance was needed more than ever, like on days when the responsibility of leading her clan had weighed most on her. But Sai wasn’t like most shinobi, something that she was reminded of every day. He had made leaps and bounds with his ability to express himself, but there were some things that couldn’t be improved with just awareness and lessons on sociality.

Just like how his fingers would flex and he would grasp at air in moments of silence as if they yearned for something to feel secure. Her left hand would gladly supplement the presence of his brush when he needed it most. In private she would allow him to let his itching fingers run through her long bright blond hair, rubbing the ends of strands between the pads of his thumb and index finger until he was content. His hands would then begin to wander to other parts of her body, desire beginning to cloud his mind and slowly overtake him until he wrapped her up into it.

Ino could hardly articulate how wonderful it felt for him to be able to physically love her. It seemed so long ago when he’d freeze up any time she touched him, but now he was capable of proving to her that his natural instincts were that of any man. She adored nights of tangled limbs and resting on his still heaving chest that took it’s time to settle into a steady rhythm as he drifted into a blissful and dreamless slumber.

Without the exhaustion and comfort that came from sex, Sai was probably the most restless sleeper imaginable. The smallest rustle or bump in the night would force him awake, as if alerted to a nearby enemy. It was a stark contrast from how she slept on missions as a genin, among two of the heaviest sleepers in the entire world. But even then, she felt that neither her or her boys could sleep as soundly as they used to. Unrest and insomnia were another common trait for experienced shinobi, which tended to be spurred on by night terrors.

The first one she experienced with him was shortly after he moved in with her, frightened awake at the feeling of arms constricting her body and hands grasping brutishly at the fabric of her night shirt. The loud air-starved noise her throat produced was enough to yank him from his subconscious, jerking away from her. Ino couldn’t see Sai’s hunched form sitting on the edge of the bed that clearly in the dark, but she could very well hear his slightly ragged breathing tear through the silence. He was too far from her to reach with a soft call, frozen in place with his head in his hands. As desperate as she was to reach out to him, she knew that she had to be cautious when dealing with him in this state. Testing the waters, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt a shiver coarse through his body upon the contact, so she gave him time to get used to the touch. She gradually added to that, scooting her body over to him so that she sat behind him, legs dangling off the bed encompassing his. She waited once more until his breathing settled before she fully took the plunge, resting her chest on his sweat soaked back and wrapping her arms around his torso.

After that incident, Sai had admitted to her that these dreams had become common shortly after their mission in the Land of Silence, serving as another hangoff from Gengo. Ino could never forgive that man for taking advantage of her Sai like that and even a year later he is still experiencing effects from his influence. The same could be said about Danzo, who’s authority still had her husband within its grasp even in death. She believed that the more in touch with his emotion Sai became, the more likely his sense of duty were to weigh on him like this, only to lead to more nightmares.

Ino wasn’t sure how often Sai experienced them, but she knew that it was difficult for him to return to sleep, as she often awoke to him intently staring at her or even missing from bed completely. The panic that settled into her chest would quickly be dispersed when she felt his presence still within their walls. It had become a routine of hers to search for him and use all of her power of suggestion to get him back into bed.

The worst kind of nights were when soft words and kisses were simply not enough and he pleaded for her to return to bed alone that night.

As much as she worried for his well being, there were selfish reasons behind her insistence. She realized early on that she couldn’t sleep soundly without him beside her and it had only comforted her further when he had assured her in his own way that she was “imperative in improving his sleep practices since they began their courtship.”

Crowds were also a struggle for him. This was something she learned after attending weddings attached by the hand. Upon arrival, his body tensed beside her and his eyes darted around as if surveying the area for possible threats. It couldn’t be helped when they suddenly became the center of attention. A quick squeeze of the hand would direct his eyes down to her and the glance she cast that was meant to keep him cemented in the atmosphere. With that, he would relax into a comfortable vigilance for the rest of the event as he partook in festivities. They would later find a secluded place to exist frozen in time while the rest of the world persisted. It seemed as if his introverted nature had only complemented her extroverted status in times like that.

Not everyone could understand this, though. The prospect of marrying Sai came at the cost of angering her clan’s elders. After the mysterious fate of Fuu had been revealed to her clan, they immediately dismissed the idea of their next patriarch being another member of Danzo’s ranks. But for all she was concerned, she was marrying Sai whether they liked it or not. Luckily for her, the entire Ino-Shika-Cho trio had all decided their betrothed to be from beyond the realm of tradition, In a political sense, the Yamanaka clan elders couldn’t complain about foriegn affairs like the Nara and Akimichi clan, making Sai the lesser of three evils in this case. They accepted the union only on the condition that they regulate his responsibilities as the newly dubbed patriarch. He accepted this condition with no question, and Ino was concerned to find him reading through every little stipulation with a critical eye.

“It is not that I am finding a reason to oppose marriage. I simply want to satisfy them so I can make you happy.”

She wanted to argue that it didn’t matter what the elders thought of them, but she was too moved by his determination to appease her that she didn’t dare complain.

But alas this couldn’t ease her worries over what came next.

The baby.

There wasn’t a physical baby in question, but there would be soon enough.

She was the clan’s matriarch just as she was its leader, which meant her responsibility was the same as it had always been. She had to produce an heir to continue her bloodline along with all of the values and traditions that she had been granted by her father. It would seem strange to any woman to just accept the decision of becoming a mother made well in advance, but it wasn’t just for the sake of her family. She wanted this as well, and the idea of raising a child with Sai made her heart race.

But she still wasn’t sure how Sai really felt about it all. She had been abundantly clear about this back when they had started dating, as she was already sure that the man would be the father of her children. But Sai was an objective man who was raised on the value of having a purpose to serve, and she was afraid that he took this as another objective, which was confirmed by his statement.

“I vow to uphold this responsibility.”

She still hadn’t gathered the courage to have that conversation yet. To properly tell him that raising a child was more than just another task to complete. There was emotional value that came alongside the immense responsibility and hardships, and Sai had to be ready to adapt to that, especially when it was barreling toward them with every passing day. She could allow him to look through books when the time came like he always did, but a good wife would at least try to give some perspective for him in a way he could understand.

It seemed like now was as good a time as any, when they were both sitting around in a blissful silence like this. Oh how she hated to break up a moment to bring up something awkward, but it had to be mentioned or she would never get her peace.

“Darling.”

The word seemed almost accidental, as it came out only a little bit above a whisper

She was dreadfully wrong to expect a non committed response from him, as he directed his head away from his sketchpad to look down at her, the lightest flicker of worry lining his features.

“Is everything alright? A soft voice from you usually means there is something wrong.”

She hated when he figured her out so easily. What happened to that clueless man she married?

“Is it so out of the ordinary for me to be nice to you?” She shifted her gaze to the wall. Her eyes narrowed, but she was unable to focus on anything in particular. “You must think I’m a monster or something.”

She waited for his hastened apology for misunderstanding, but was surprised to find him still staring at her when she pulled her eyes back up to him.

She clicked her tongue when he didn’t respond in the way she wanted. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid this any longer. She huffed out a sigh.

“It’s about the baby.”

“You want to conceive now?” His response was so immediate it was almost as if he had it on standby. The bubble of laughter that escaped her lips caught her off-guard.

There it was. The quickfire statement that was capable of ruining any conversation. It was almost as if that answer actually comforted her.

She swatted his shoulder, laughter dying down. “Of course not, you lech!” She returned to her previous position leaned against his shoulder. “You know it’s still too soon for that. We all have to meet about that, remember?”

His attention was then brought back to his drawing with a hum of agreement. That wasn’t able to conceal the blush that found its way to his cheeks, she noticed. Changing the topic to sex would be a good way to end the conversation, but no. She had to ask him.

“How do you feel about all of this?”

He pondered for a moment, looking down at his drawing as if there was something wrong with it. A crooked line or a misplaced shadow.

“I promised you I would uphold your obligation.”

“Sai, that’s no-”

“But I am still unsure if I have what it takes to be a father.” He interrupted her, unaware that he had just bewildered her.

“From the knowledge I’ve attained. Successfully raising a child means meeting their emotional needs along with their physical needs. It isn’t just about helping them survive, it’s also about giving them support and guidance as they develop into a person. It seems so complicated, but it’s supposed to be natural.”

Ino stared in awe at his ramblings. He really did understand.

His obsidian eyes suddenly targeted her, startling her from her stupor.

“I don’t know how I can do that for a child the way that I am. I hardly have the instincts of a normal person, let alone a father. I don’t have many positive childhood experiences to pass onto a child. But I will try my hardest.”

“Sai…” Ino was left speechless and sputtering. Sai understood everything. In fact, he held the same issues that she held. The worry drained from her mind, leaving her with pangs of guilt for underestimating him. She wondered where he found his conclusion. Surely no single book would be able to articulate that point to him.

“Naruto has confided me a lot these past few months about Hinata’s pregnancy. He is afraid that he won’t meet the standards of a good father because of his lack of fatherly figures growing up. I-”

He paused, finally noticing clear eyes focused intently on him, hanging onto every word. Sai centered his head forward to divert himself away from her immense pressure before continuing.

“I also am afraid that I don’t have a good reference for fatherly behavior. I’d hate for my child to withstand the same experiences as me, so I did more research and found-”

Her husband halted once more when he heard her sniffle. His head snapped in her direction to find tears clouding her eyes.

“It’s okay if that’s how you feel.” Ino choked on her words, trying to hold her husband in place with her hands on his cheeks. “That’s why we have to figure it out together.” She struggled to hold back a sob that was only freed when Sai brought a hand up to swipe away her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” Her shout was uncontrollable, as now she was wailing into her husband’s chest. Ino knew he was probably confused that the conversation took this turn, but she did appreciate that he still tried to sooth her with warm hands running along her back. He patiently waited until her sobs quieted before answering.

“I already promised you and I will try my hardest to fulfill that promise. I didn’t think I needed to doubt that.”

“What?!” Ino cried incredulously. She jerked away from him to stare him down, making zero attempt to conceal her dripping face. “I’m your WIFE! I’m supposed to know these things so I can help you!” She gripped both of his hands, bringing her knuckles together, voice softening once more.

“I was afraid you didn’t fully understand what we are up against.” Her eyes  dropped down to their conjoined hands.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I just want to be ready so I can support you when the time comes. The last thing I wish for is to make you worry about me.”

Her face scrunched up into a pout as she unhanded him to wipe at her face. “You idiot, I will always worry about you. And besides, no one can ever be ready for children. The only way this will work is if we are open and honest about this. I’m scared about this too, you know?”

His hands rose in front of his chest in surrender to her will. It was relieving to know that he still knew his place.

“From now on, we will tell each other all of our insecurities about this matter.”

Sai blinked, slowly realizing what that entailed.

“E-Everything?”

“Yup, everything. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t grow up with a father. Not every parent is the same. I think you’ll be great.” She closed her eyes as she continued. “ And if you are really struggling, then I can tell you all about what dad used to do with me.”

Ino’s chest swelled with pride at that, impressing herself with how well she handled that.

“I would love that!”

Her eyes slipped open to reveal a rather enthusiastic smile blooming on his face. It made her melt to see how far that smile had come. It seemed her influence also affected his charms as well.

He suddenly raised from the sofa before scooping her up into his arms. Ino panicked at the look on his face transformed before her. His eyes lidded into a trademark squint and his one sweet smile became a teeth bearing grin.

“Wh-What do you think you’re doing?!” She sputtered. Her panic increased as he had now abandoned the room . He hummed at that as they turned the corner towards their bedroom. Never a good sign.

“I know you said we had to wait, but I figured that we could perhaps get a head start.”

“Sai, wait-!”

They would be just fine. She just knew it.

[zukofenty]

always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way. 

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU 

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!” 

 “Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip. 

 “I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth. 

 “Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day. 

 She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko. 

 Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now. 

 “About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .” 

 “That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes. 

 “Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

 Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.” 

 Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek. 

 Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

 “Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.” 

 “My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests. 

  This is the happiest day of his life. 

 Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement. 

 When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech. 

  It should be the happiest day of my life, too. 

  Right?

 Katara thinks she wants to cry. 

 //

 Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades? 

 Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with? 

 Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?  

 But, you know, he’s her piece of shit. 

 Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late). 

 Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since. 

 Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.  

 He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier. 

 Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn. 

 His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

 It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

 Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”). 

 Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school. 

 Zuko’s jealous. 

 (Sometimes.) 

  She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him. 

 “Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit. 

 The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?” 

 Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!” 

 She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home. 

 “You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch. 

 He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger. 

 Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.” 

 At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace). 

 Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun. 

 Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal. 

 Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative. 

 Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days. 

 It was easy like this, just the two of them. 

 He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

 At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.  

 At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts. 

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.” 

 Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped. 

 The first person she tried to roll a joint with. 

  “I don’t need to learn that.” 

  Katara purses her lips. “And why not?” 

  He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ” 

  Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room . 

 The first person she (almost) fucked. 

 His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town. 

  “That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache. 

  She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno. 

  “Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.” 

  “You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly. 

  He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?” 

  “Zuko, you’re so fucking — ” 

  “What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board. 

  “So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?” 

 But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again. 

 She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too. 

 She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

 “Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks. 

 “Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

 “Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect . 

 “Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet. 

 “Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs. 

 “Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?” 

 She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed. 

 Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute . 

 Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure. 

 But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara? 

 He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

  “Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

  Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?” 

 She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.) 

 He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands. 

 “You look cute.” 

 “You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?” 

 Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.” 

 She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”  

 “Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts). 

 “What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

 “You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

 She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door. 

 “But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!” 

 “Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .” 

 He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class. 

 “I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?” 

 Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away. 

 “Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot. 

 //

 He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense. 

 “Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked. 

 Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom. 

 He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world. 

 //

 “Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features. 

 “You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

 “You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara. 

 “Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.” 

 “ You’re not helping! ” 

 “Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs. 

 “Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—” 

 Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror. 

 //

 “You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B. 

 “No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.” 

 “A simple yes would have sufficed.” 

 She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically. 

 “I am well aware.” She ekes out. 

 The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh. 

 It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy. 

 He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself). 

 She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry. 

 “Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes. 

 “ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?” 

 She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.” 

 Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much . 

 “It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better). 

 She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight. 

//

 “Zuko, please look at me.” 

 He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos. 

 “Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment. 

 Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

 She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?” 

 “You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?” 

 Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.” 

 “Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?” 

 Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !” 

 “Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace. 

 At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side. 

 He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks. 

 “Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.” 

 “Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

 She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her. 

 She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back. 

 “You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her. 

 “Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?” 

 The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.” 

 Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her. 

 “Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!” 

 “Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

 “You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

 Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.” 

 “Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home. 

 “I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

 Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

 “I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic. 

 “Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her. 

 “I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists. 

 “Like?” Katara quirks up her brow. 

 “Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.” 

 She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time 

 She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara . 

 “I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .” 

 “Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full. 

 “I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.” 

 //

 At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world. 

 Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working. 

 She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays. 

 Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about. 

 Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless. 

  (Mostly) everything was working out.

 “How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

 Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

  He’s so good to her . 

 She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead. 

 **

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

**

 He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh. 

 The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl. 

 His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is. 

 “Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.” 

 It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves. 

 When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

 “Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder. 

 Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back. 

 He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible. 

 The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked. 

 She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was. 

 Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

 //

 In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart. 

 While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen.  “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake. 

 Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap. 

 But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life. 

 “I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced. 

 Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

 “Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.” 

 “Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.” 

 “God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole. 

 “Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye. 

 Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to. 

 Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city. 

 He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.” 

 “Me too.” Jin says quietly.

 “Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch.  “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.” 

 “You’re lying .” 

 “Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night. 

 //

 “I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better. 

 He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase. 

 “You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying . 

 “What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away. 

 “You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws. 

 Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?” 

 The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy.  “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?” 

 He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.  

 She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?” 

 “I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !” 

 Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.” 

 Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?” 

 “You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!” 

 He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.” 

 “What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?” 

 “No! I’m not saying that—”

 Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .” 

 “You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .” 

 Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .” 

 When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly,  Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it  two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework. 

 The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second. 

 //

 At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life. 

 She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later. 

 When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed. 

 She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet. 

 “ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.” 

 She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.” 

 “Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

 Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma. 

 “And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.” 

 Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !” 

 “They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!” 

 “Oh right, my bad! It whispers!” 

 “ Toph !” 

 “Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!” 

 It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to. 

 “Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it. 

 Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through. 

 “Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!” 

 Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction. 

  “Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face. 

 And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too. 

 She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

 “What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

 He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up. 

 In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.  

 A letter from him. 

 “ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .” 

 “The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B  B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.” 

 “It was innovative at the time,” she whispers. 

 “Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

 She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

 “You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her. 

 She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand. 

 “I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too. 

 "Fuck." 

 //

 Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier. 

 “Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’” 

 “Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

 “I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out. 

 Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold. 

 Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all. 

 But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera. 

 What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned? 

 Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

 “I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly. 

 Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her. 

 “It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!” 

 Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.” 

 “But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile. 

 “It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.” 

 And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her. 

 She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt. 

 “Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof. 

 “On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes. 

 “The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too). 

 It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone. 

 He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some. 

 “The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.” 

 “Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy. 

 “I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!” 

 She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof. 

 When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by. 

 “I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around. 

 As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her. 

 “W-What?” Katara blinks at him. 

 “I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.” 

 “I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.” 

 Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down. 

 “So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her. 

 But it did. 

 It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes. 

 “What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.”