#having the correct voice can help me portray them more accurately in my head

[quibbs126]

Oh yeah, so I went back and colored this in with his proper colors (or at least the ones in his Gacha illustration)

Maybe with the delay I’ll draw him again, but with the official full design, because I actually really like it

Also I was just going to put this in the reblog of my original, but I’m too lazy to go back and find it, so

[gleamglowsgraveyard]

hii since you said the requests were all fluffy and sweet here I am with smut 😌can I request something with James x bratty reader pleaseeee

asking for it

pairing: james/reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: james’s brat taming method.

content: ‘daddy’ usage, spanking (tiny bit), fingering, mocking? (i mean there’s a little), praise, james has this ego thing i don’t know how to explain it, i don’t know what else to add i guess there’s not much, ITS BRAT TAMING WHAT ELSE DO I SAY

um hey, YES THE FUCK YOU CAN!!! okay so i actually wrote and rewrote this like three times just cause i really wanted it to be perfect but i’m still not that happy with it. HOWEVER, i’m gonna say that it’s all james’s fault!! this whole thing made me realize i have to write brat taming blurbs for remus and sirius too because i just don’t think james is as good of a brat tamer as them and i felt it was my DUTY to portray that as i wrote him. anyway YEAH thank you for this request, sorry it’s a bit short!!

“Hands to yourself,” James chides as you start to snake a hand towards your wet heat.

He’d settled between your legs after having rid himself of all his clothing except his boxers, and you were nearly drooling at just the sight of him. Hair messy as ever, prominent bulge tenting his boxers, pupils blown wide in a lust filled haze - really, it was his fault for looking so good.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you drew slow circles against your clit, very much against James’s wishes.

“They are,” you offer in retaliation and he gives you an unamused look.

“Be quiet and hands off.” He repeats, tone harder now, quickly losing his patience. “You know that’s not yours to touch.”

“Yes it is,” you counter with a cheeky grin, feeling particularly bold as you continue to run your fingers through your slick folds.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he warns.

You don’t remove your hand. Instead you give him wide, faux innocent eyes as you bring a finger down to your entrance. You’re just about to slide it inside but then you’re quickly being grabbed by your hips and turned onto your stomach.

With your backside now exposed to him, James lands a sharp smack against your bare ass.

“Ow!” you hiss out, squirming a bit.

You had only just gotten finished with a spanking, and your skin was still sensitive from it.

“I thought we were done,” he tells you, sounding disappointed. “Wasn’t twenty enough? Did you want more?”

“No!” you snap angrily, but it only earns you another harsh blow that knocks the wind out of you.

“‘No, daddy. I’m sorry, daddy.’” James corrects you, voice sardonic, and you have to fight the urge to kick at him.

Instead, you huff. “No, daddy,” you grumble stubbornly. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

“That’s better,” James says, and then flips you back around so you’re lying face up, on your back once more.

The sudden friction against the sheets has your sensitive backside stinging unpleasantly, but you have no time to dwell on the pain. Without warning James is lazily running a thumb along your folds, occasionally grazing your clit, and you let out a pleasured sigh despite yourself.

“What is it, hm? Why aren’t you being a good girl?” he murmurs as he shifts his hand.

Now his middle finger gathers up your arousal, effortlessly sliding around and starting to prod at your entrance. Your breath hitches in your throat as James pushes the digit into you just an inch before pulling right back out.

“I am good, I-” you attempt to retaliate, but James doesn’t let you.

“Not right now you’re not,” he interrupts, pushing that finger into you all the way until you’re squirming beneath him, desperate for more. “I think you’re misbehaving on purpose,” he adds with a wry smile, and you can’t help but laugh.

“S- so?” you voice, pretending to be unbothered by his (very accurate) remark.

In turn, James slides a second finger into your pussy and you let out a quiet, drawn out moan as he starts to slowly pump both fingers in and out of you.

“Should I fuck some manners into you?” he asks you, but the way his fingers are stretching your inner walls leaves you speechless. “You’re fuckin’ asking for it with all this bratty behavior, aren’t you?”

When he starts to thumb at your swollen nub you moan out in bliss as the sensation sets all your nerve endings afire. You then remember that he’d asked a question.

“Y- Yes! Yeah!” you manage to get out, writhing under his touch.

“‘Yeah’ I should fuck some manners into you or ‘yeah’ you’re asking for it?” James questions with a grin and you groan.

“Yeah!” is all you can say as his fingers start to curl inside you, prodding at your g-spot so deliciously that you have to grapple at the sheets around you to anchor yourself.

He laughs at you, delighted at all your reactions. “You’re much nicer once I start making you feel good, huh?” he observes, sounding as if he’s talking to himself more than you. “But you don’t have to be a needy brat for daddy to touch you, baby. You can just ask.”

You nod blearily, feeling too pleasured to form any more bratty thoughts. Perhaps that had been his plan.

But then his fingers leave you and you whimper, feeling empty once more.

“Ask, then,” James says, wiping his fingers on your bare thigh, eyes focused on the way your arousal coats your skin. “Show me you know how to be a good girl.”

“Daddy,” you start, wasting no time at all. “Will you please fuck me? Need you so bad, daddy, please.”

James smiles, triumphant and smug. “Atta girl. See?” he starts to pull down his boxers and a quiet breath escapes you as his hard cock springs up to his stomach. “Knew you had it in you. And now you can get what you want.”

He hooks both hands around your thighs and pulls you towards him before lining himself up, the tip of his cock tantalizingly sliding along your folds in a way that leaves you whining.

“Daddy,” you groan, but James shushes you.

“Come on, keep being good for me,” he croons, and then he slowly starts to push into you and you gasp.

He fixes his gaze downwards, eyes glued to the way his cock is sinking into your heat completely. He lets out a quiet groan as you involuntarily clench around him, his grip on your thighs tightening.

“Whose pussy is this, do you remember now?” he asks you voice gruff with restrained sounds of pleasure.

You whimper a bit, but your need for him to move outweighs your embarrassment at his words.

“Yours, daddy,” you answer emphatically.

“That’s right.”

And then he pulls almost all the way out of you before pushing right back in, setting his pace against your pussy. He starts slow, letting you adjust to him first, and then gets quicker as you let out moans and whines. His cock stretches you out so wonderfully that your eyes flutter shut for a moment, relishing in the feeling of fullness he’s giving you.

James takes all your reactions as encouragement, greedily drinking in every sound and movement you make and doing everything he can to pull even more out of you. One of his hands leaves its place on your thigh and then you feel him thumbing at your clit, rubbing quick circles against it that tear guttural moans out of you.

He keeps at it until you bring your hands up to palm idly at your breasts, just for something to do while you’re completely at James’s mercy. The action has him cursing under his breath.

Suddenly he stops, and then in one quick motion he tugs you towards him and up higher so your hips are elevated off the mattress. When he resumes his thrusts he reaches deeper than before, and you cry out in pleasure as the head of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly.

James barks out a laugh. “Is that the spot, pretty girl? Does that feel good?”

You try to respond, but all that comes out of your mouth is a long, staccato moan as the force of James’s hips against the backs of your thighs repeatedly jolt you around. You’re in such a state of bliss that you can’t even seem to speak.

He snickers amusedly. “Forgot all about being a brat, didn’t you? Did daddy fuck you speechless?” he questions mockingly.

You somehow manage to nod your head and moan your assent, thoughts too muddled with pleasure to form words. There’s a pressure in your belly growing more unbearable by the second, and you know that at any moment you’re gonna give in to it. James can tell too.

He grins down at you. “Gonna cum around my cock, baby? Say ‘please’, yeah?”

“Please!” you blurt out in an instant. “Daddy- Can I- Please!” you blabber, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Go ahead, then,” he tells you, clearly close to his release as well. “Give me it.”

And then the pressure becomes too much. You’re overtaken with euphoria as your orgasm hits you, the pleasure causing you to writhe and squirm and bury your fingers into the sheets around you. Above you, James’s hips are stuttering as your cunt clenches around his cock, and then you feel the warmth of his release painting your inner walls.

“Fuck,” he hisses out in pleasure as he pounds into you, riding out the last waves of his own orgasm.

Your chest heaves and you shudder as James’s thrusts start to slow down, and you watch through heavy lids as he bends down towards you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You reach up and wrap your hands around the back of his neck, wanting him closer, and he smiles into the kiss before pulling away.

His cheeks are a lovely flushed pink, pupils still dilated, hair messy as ever. He grins at you.

“Told you I’d fuck some manners into you, didn’t I?”

.

.

.

taglist <3 // @isxfisticated @l-adysansa @tomshollandz

[itsapapisongo]

“AS YOU WISH”

Pairing: Johnny x Female Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2.0K 

Parental Advisory Note: The following contains explicit content like slight choking, language, and masturbation (fingering, clitoral stimulation). This is purely for entertainment and this in no way represents who Johnny is in real life or accurately portrays foreplay/sex/intimacy between two consenting adults.

Author’s Notes: This is a second attempt at writing smut—the first, featuring Hwang Hyunjin is still in development—and it came into fruition to see if a) I could make it work and b) tease Ro (@binniesthighs​). What first started as a small scene sort of transitioned into something a bit longer. I wasn’t going to post it but after some encouragement from Ro and some feedback from  I decided to just share it as a way to get it out my system. Hope you enjoy it. #HardHours.

PS: Special shout-out to @binniesthighs, @hanflix, @satanssmuts, @lilixeu, and @moonlit-lixie for being incredibly supportive and beta reading this. You are all amazing so this is kind of a Valentine’s Day gift for all the advice and support you’ve given me. I’m beyond grateful.

To set a Mood: Thirsty by Taemin.

AS THESE stories often begin, this one starts in the middle of something.

In this case, it starts in the middle of the night—a bit past midnight—when you hear frantic knocking on your front door and open it to find Johnny smiling down at you. The height difference is noticeable so it’s not unfair to say that, well, you quite literally don’t see eye to eye.

He’s dripping wet, from head to toes, hunched over, and trying his best to speak as his entire body shudders.  Not wasting time, you reach out, pull him into the apartment, close the door behind you, and chuckle when you hear him mumble a sheepish “thank you.”

“Better get a change of clothes before you catch a cold,” you say, gesturing toward your bedroom.

Johnny nods and chuckles. “Sure,” he replies, teeth clattering. “How about a shower first?”

“Do you even have to ask?” You raise an eyebrow and giggle when he shrugs. “Mi case es tu casa.”

“Oof,” Johnny exclaims, holding himself a bit tighter, waddling towards your room. “Gracias.”

You can’t help but smile. This is the man you’re dating and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

ABOUT TWENTY minutes later, nothing has changed.

It looks like it’s going to be one those nights where it’s colder than usual and it won’t stop raining anytime soon. You smile because rainy days with Johnny are usually days where you both seek warmth from one another; days where you can be lazy and not feel guilty about that.

And as you join him in the living room, watching him sit on the futon, you think to yourself if it rains, it pours—but, y’know, without all the shit about one misfortune after another because the phrase here only applies to the deluge outside your apartment window.

Johnny sits with his head thrown back against the wall, legs spread so that they almost reach the knee-level coffee table he bought in Ikea and spent the good part of an afternoon putting together. He’s bathed, dressed, and unwinding after a shift that was longer than expected. He still smells of coffee, not too strong but enough that you can smell it as you sit next to him and kiss his neck. His eyes flutter open and a knowing smile spreads between his lips, eyes glistening with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” he whispers, half-smiling. “Mi futon es tu futon.”

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Definitely.”

“Do you know of any fun activities that—“ You lean in, meet his gaze, then slowly kiss him in the lips. “—I’d be interested in while I crash on your futon?”

“Our futon,” Johnny corrects you. “I can think of several,” he asserts, his voice suddenly low. There’s a hint of dominance when he speaks again, “But instead of talking, I can just show you.”

“Show me—“ You begin but can’t finish because he leans in and kisses you.

His right hand holds your chin, the left caresses your thighs, slowly but surely making its way to your core. Johnny doesn’t ask or hesitate to spread your legs, his left hand suddenly playing with the waist-band of your lingerie. His touch is delicate yet firm, his movements paced and deliberate. He kisses you softly then roughly, as his right hand transitions from your chin to your neck and stays there; his fingers envelope your neck, compressing every so often but not quite choking you.

Feeling his light touch on your skin, a moan escapes your lips and you immediately crave him. Your eyes are closed, your breathing uneven, your entire body tingling as his digits linger so close to your pussy. You feel him lean closer and closer, his breath warm against your ear, and you shudder when he speaks in a low, alluring voice.

“What’s the point of talking when I can just do it, right?” Johnny bites your earlobe then lightly kisses your cheek, gradually descending to leave marks on your neck and left shoulder. He stops to lift your chin, leaning close to whisper, “Look at me.”

“Johnny—“

“Look at me,” he repeats, firm but not unkindly.

You oblige and see him staring at you. And while there’s lust in his eyes, you notice that he’s not simply looking but admiring. His eyes take you in—up and down, down and up—and a smile appears between his lips; a knowing, lustful, loving smile that makes you want him even more.

“Are you gonna stare or are you going to make me yours?”

The question slips out before you can stop yourself. He raises an eyebrow, his expression that of someone who’s surprised and amused. You’d try and fail to infuse confidence in your voice but instead it comes across as a needy and impatient demand.

Johnny notices and smiles even wider, eyes narrowing with malice. “As you wish,” he says.

MOST OF your clothing, both yours and his, are off: on the floor, neglected, no longer needed.

Johnny is behind you, legs spread to accommodate you. With his left hand he cups your breasts and teases you with his right. He’s leaving marks on your shoulder, lightly biting on your skin after each kiss, whispering ‘I love you’s and commenting on how wet you are. He tells you in a low, sultry voice how much that turns him the fuck on, how he’s going to take his time, and how euphoric you will feel soon. Your moans elicit such a strong response from him that you feel his cock throb against his jogger pants.

He lifts your neck, leans in so that you’re facing him, and hold your chin with a firm grip. Johnny looks at you, eyes narrowed, then his lips brushed against yours; it starts rough, passionate, as if this might be the last one you share, then gradually softens until he’s once again leaving traces on your neck. His left hand envelopes your neck, a stable but dominant gesture; with his thumb against your jaw, he lifts your neck once more and smirks at you.

Motherfucker, you think, mouth agape as you feel his right hand swiftly undress you, dexterously taking off your lingerie. With an idle gesture of his wrist, you hazily make out your panties fall to the ground but you don’t get too think too much of it because you feel his digits caress your pussy, hovering above your labia.

“I want you in me,“ you say, gasping. “Now.”

“As you wish,” he whispers in a low, haughty tone. He tentatively rubs your labia then brings his right hand forward and offers it to you, his index and middle finger inches away from your mouth. “Open wide.”

You suck on his fingers, lick them when he pulls them from your mouth, watch in awe as he directs them back to your pussy; the moment he introduces them in you, his thumb softly rubbing your clit, you tense up and immediately relax, moaning a whiny yet indecent “fuck!” as he very slowly fingers you. He’s left hand is still wrapped around your neck, his thumb still lifting your head so that you’re maintaining eye contact.

“You like this, don’t you?” Johnny whispers not before nibbling on your earlobe then leaving a love-bite on your neck. “Love the way I’m inside you, making you mine?”

“Fuck—Johnny—fuck, don’t stop!”

He smirks. The motherfucker smirks. “Who said anything about stopping, darling?”

You gasp and collapse against him, feeling his erection on your lower back; this only adds to your euphoria because you know he’s enjoying the fuck out of this. You know he can’t wait to fuck you silly and that keeps you going, that keeps you yearning his touch because eventually it won’t be his fingers inside you.

Johnny’s driving you close to the edge—fucking teasing you, building up, taking his time—when he unwraps his hand from your neck. He pauses briefly to adjust his position behind you but his right hand haven’t left your pussy; is fingers are still there, you still feel his fingers in your core—moving in and out, out and in, slow as fuck but nonetheless pleasurable as hell.

He lifts you up, enough so that you’re sitting on his lap instead of between his legs, and wraps his entire left arm around your neck; his palm rests on your right shoulder, the crook of his neck having replaced the hand that a second ago was gripping your throat. Johnny does all of this without breaking his stride, swiftly, with the experience of a man that embraces balance.

“You think you can last, baby? Think you won’t cum yet?”

“You—ah shit—you keep this up and I’m gonna cum.”

“Soon, baby, soon. Hold on a little while longer,” he coaxes and you can feel his smirk, you can practically picture it. “I know you want to cum but I want you to enjoy this moment. Flow with it—“ he thrusts his fingers faster then pulls them out slow, to softly pinch your clit and rub it again with this thumb “—stay here, embrace this, and lose yourself in it.”

“You fucking—just like that—” your breathe hitches, caught in your throat.

You feel your entire body tighten, your back arch against his chest, against his hard cock, and you immediately grip the edges of the futon. Your body is shaking and you’re just embracing this sensation; flowing with it, losing yourself in it. He doesn’t stop—in fact, the motherfucker doubles down, moving faster, his grip around your neck tighter—and bites your earlobe as you moan louder and bite your lower lip to keep from bothering the neighbors.

“You wanna cum?”

You nod, unable to respond. Yes, you think, yes, fucking yes!

“You wanna cum, baby?”

Another nod but this one is feeble. You’re too caught up in the moment to speak, too lost in your pleasure to form a full, coherent sentence.

“I can’t hear you,” he whispers. “You wanna cum?”

“Yes!” You exclaim against his chest. “Please—fuck, Johnny—I wanna cum.”

“Look at me,” Johnny says in a firm tone, his hands moving slowly now. He moves so that you can face him and you see in his eyes that he’s enjoying every second of this. Just as you feel close to coming undone, like you can’t hold any longer, he purrs, “As you wish.”

And you do cum. Right in his hand, right in his fingers, because he doesn’t stop nor does he slow down. He keeps thrusting his fingers in your pussy, faster than before, then pulls them out to spank, grip, caress your thighs; his left hand lets go of your neck and instead steadies you by your stomach. Your entire body feels light, electrified, sensitive to contact, and yet you yearn for more. He knows it because you feel his touch on your clit and labia.

You collapse against him, smiling as you catch your breath. He moves you so that you’re both facing and straddling him. Johnny has that frustrating but irresistible shit-eating grin that crinkles his eyes and he sports whenever he’s proud of himself.

In between breaths, you smile. “Is that all?” you ask, trailing a finger across his chest.

Johnny’s grin falters but doesn’t disappear. It’s instead replaced by a look that you know very well; that look that says, I see your challenge, I’ll take it, and you’re gonna regret it.

“That was just one of the activities,” he replies with a wink. “Let me just—“ he moves again, lowering his pants with a wiggle, showing yet again how dextrous he is with making clothes disappear. “—get more comfortable.”

Johnny’s cock, hard and veiny, is on his hand, the tip glossy with precum. You lower yourself and sit on his thighs; the moment you make contact, you can’t help but hold back a small groan of pleasure. He’s warm and sweaty and ready for you just  as you are ready for him. Johnny wiggles his eyebrows and strokes it, pleasuring himself, then bites his lip as his eyes linger on your figure.

“I could tell you about this activity—“ he takes your right hand and offers you his cock. “—but it’s best if I just show you.”

[na-na-na-nanna]

Catching Feelings

Part: six

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Wordcount: 5980

Pairing: goblin!Yoongi x reader

Warnings: cursing, drinking, smoking, kissing

Summary: Yoongi, a 700 year old goblin who has grown tired of his eternal excistence and wishes to become human, must gain all the human emotions before he can achive this, but the only way to do so is by kissing the humans who possess them

A/N: this got a lot longer than i planned, so i hope it’s not too boring. Also hope the shift in narrator won’t be too confusing. Anyways I’m a little nervous about this chapter

[20:28]

Yoongi had experienced human parties before, but to be frank it had been quite awhile. The last time was probably back in the Joeson era if he remembered correctly. At that time Jin had dragged him along, and forced him to partake in every human activity imaginable, and so he did. He drank their alcohol, sang their songs and played their games much to everyone else’s amusement. Yoongi didn’t particularly understand why his old friend and the humans he used to surround himself with wanted to dedicate so much of their mortal time doing such silly things, but then again he never really understood much about them to begin with.

“Which one of these say ‘I’m down to do it, but I’m not a slut?’” Yoongi was immediately snapped out of his trip down memory lane as Jungkook waved, what looked to him like, two identical black t-shirts in front of his face.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi answered truthfully.

The younger man was clearly unsatisfied with the lack of help and let out a big sigh before turning his attention to Jin.

“Same question,” He said, and Jin examined the two options that had been laid before him for a second before he let out a short “left one”.

For the next couple of minutes Yoongi just sat on the coach and quietly watched as Jungkook and Jin were bickering with one another over some expensive watch of Jin’s that Jungkook wanted to borrow for the party.

“You never let me borrow any of your stuff” Jungkook whined.

“That’s because they’re my stuff” The older one huffed in response.

“But you have so many, and you never go out,” Jungkook began to argue. “Don’t you think it’s a shame that no one gets to see them?”

“Not my problem,” Jin said without giving an ounce of care for what the boy had just said, and said boy knew he had lost yet another argument with his immortal master.

Jin had changed a lot since Yoongi had last encountered him, he had noticed, and he couldn’t figure out if it was simply just the passing time or if it was living in the human world that was the course of his drastic change of character. The great and beautiful Kim Seokjin, that Yoongi remembered from centuries ago, loved humans and would never pass on an opportunity to be around them. Back then Yoongi had struggled to understand Jin’s fascination with mankind, but had nonetheless always followed his friend's request to indulge in anything the human world had to offer.

It was strange how the tables had turned, and it was now Yoongi that was chasing after humanity while it seemed like Jin had left it behind. This change was truly strange, Yoongi thought, he could have sworn that Jin at some point even had a human…

“The car is ready for you now,” Jin said to the two party goers in his house.

“Sweet!” Jungkook exclaimed “I call shotgun”

[21:02]

The moment Yoongi and Jungkook stepped out of the car, the cold winter air hit them like a titlewave, and Jungkook was regretting his decision to wear the short sleeved shirt. He tried to hide the shiver that was taking over his body as two girls, which were also wearing outfits that did not seem to fit the weather conditions, walked by. It didn't make sense to wear so little clothing this time of year, Yoongi thought, and he wondered what could be the reason why humans choose to expose so much skin despite it being so impractical.

As the two girls passed them, Jungkook sent them a slight head nod followed by a cheesy smile, which immediately sent the girls into a fit of giggles. Once the girls were out of hearing distance Jungkook nudged Yoongi in the side with his elbow and with a smug smile on his face he said “See what I mean? A smile like that will make any girl’s knee weak”. Yoongi nodded as to show he had heard the information given to him, but he was still processing what actually to do with it.

“You should try it”

“Try what?” Yoongi asked.

“Try smiling for once,” Jungkook commanded “Like this” To demonstrate his face morphed into a big warm smile, almost textbook perfect. Yoongi studied his face for a bit before he tried to mimic the expression. He slowly opened his mouth to show off his teeth like Jungkook was doing. It seemed a little awkward, maybe he wasn’t showing enough of the inside of his mouth, maybe he needed to make the smile even bigger. And so he did, putting his gums on full display for anyone to see.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell is that?” Jungkook exclaimed in terror upon seeing the goblin’s miserable attempt at smiling.

“Am I not performing it accordingly?” Yoongi questioned his teacher.

“If your a bloody psychopath, maybe”

“So I am doing it correctly?”

“No that’s not what I meant,” Jungkook said, a bit frustrated. “Maybe you should just stick to not smiling for now. You know, go for the whole dark and quiet mysterious guy type of thing instead. Girls dig that too.” Yoongi didn’t really need the humans to “dig” him. He just needed them to be able to share their emotions with him, but he did like the idea of doing it quietly. He wasn’t so sure about the mysterious part though.

“You just let me do the talking, okay?”

“Okay”

Yoongi barely got to respond, not that he had much to say anyways, before Jungkook was dragging him into the apartment complex where the party was taking place. Even though it was still early in the evening the small apartment was filled to the brim with intoxicated humans who all looked to be enjoying themselves, at least Yoongi thought so. He had observed that humans were a fairly social species and liked to be around each other, even though it meant being packed together in limited spaces like this. This fact was also a mystery for Yoongi, but then again solitude had for the most part of his long life been the only thing he had known.

“Taehyung!!” Jungkook shouted from across the room. “Over here!” Once Jungkook had caught the attention of the man he was calling, said man made it through the crowd of people to where they were standing.

“Hey, good to see you man” the guy said as he pulled Jungkook in for a half hearted side hug. “Who’s your friend?” The guy shifted his focus to Yoongi.

“This is my friend Yoongi,” Jungkook introduced. “He’s new in town. Hope it’s okay I brought him”

“As long as he doesn’t break anything” Taehyung said, a little tense and probably referring to some of the other party attendees. It seemed like Taehyung stock out of norm and didn’t enjoy a lot of other people in a small space.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi is cool” Jungkook answered for Yoongi.

“Well, drinks are in the kitchen. HEY!! What are you? A caveman?” Some guy had now caught Taehyung’s attention. “Use a fucking coaster!”

“Guess you have your hands full,” Jungkook laughed.

“You have no idea,” Taehyung sighed “I’m literally going to kill Jimin after I teach this guy some etiquette” and just like that Taehyung was back in the midst of people slowly disappearing “Come on guys! The table is antique”

[21:43]

Yoongi was sitting alone on the couch next to a couple that were too invested in each other to even notice he was there, while Jungkook had gone to the kitchen to get them something to drink. Yoongi thought his seat on the couch was a good spot for observing the humans and maybe even spot one he himself could kiss, but he found it hard to concentrate due to the couple making out, which kept catching his eye. Maybe this was actually a good opportunity for him to learn about the way humans do kissing. The male was seated on the couch while the female was on his lap with her hands around his neck. The male’s hands were all over her, one minute they were in her hair, the next on her bare thighs or waist. The way the couple kissed was a lot different from the way the TV couples Yoongi had watched as reference did. The couch couple were much more engaged and almost animalistic in their movements and sounds. Yoongi had thought that the kisses he had seen portrayed in dramas were probably pretty accurate, but now he wasn’t too sure. He decided that the couch couple next to him was probably a better representation since they were not actors in a role. The both of them did seem to be very skillful.

“Hey creep!” Jungkook shouted as he returned with a drink in each hand. “Don’t drool on the carpet”

“I wasn’t” Yoogi corrected him as he received one of the drinks from him.

“Then stop perverting on them”

“I was just observing them,” Yoongi told him.

“Is what a pervert would say,” Jungkook joked.

[22:00]

“What about her?” Jungkook pointed at the crowd filled with dancing bodies. “She’s hot”

“I don’t think she’s what I’m looking for” Yoongi dismissed Jungkook’s suggestion.

“Are you for real?” Jungkook exclaimed. “Just look at her,” Yoongi took a closer look at the woman Jungkook was talking about. “She is definitely feeling it.” The woman in question was dancing closely with another guy to the rhythm of the song and seemingly enjoying the way all eyes were on her.

And Yoongi too caught himself staring at her for a bit longer than he did the other humans around him. Could she maybe be the one to make him feel?

“And then he left me!” A loud female voice sobbed from across the room and managed to steal Yoongi’s gaze away from the woman dancing.

Even to Yoongi it was clear that the woman crying was extremely upset and therefore also extremely emotional, Yoongi thought.

“I have to go after him” she cried out to her friend who was trying to console her. She was headed towards the door, and Yoongi couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip through his finger, so without much thought he ran through the crowd determined not to lose sight of the crying girl. This resulted in him taking a few hits as he made his way through the sea of people, but because he was so focused on reaching the girl in time, he didn’t notice who he bummed into.

[22:40]

“Do you think she could have gone home?”

“I think that’s very likely,” Jungkook said. “We’ll probably have much better odds at finding another girl crying her eyes out in Tae’s bath room, besides it’s fucking freezing out here”

“You go in,” The older said. “I’m just gonna take a few more rounds around the block”

“Suit yourself, pal,” Jungkook gave Yoongi a pad on his shoulder before he began running towards the building entrance.

Yoongi then began walking again, looking at every bypasser to see if it was the one that he was looking for. He eventually made his way to a convenience store where a young couple were standing closely up against one another.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” the guy said. “I’ll never do it again”

“You promise?” the girl said with teary eyes.

“Yes, I promise” The two of them now began kissing as well, and this time it looked exactly like in the k-dramas. Once again Yoongi was left not knowing how this act between two people was supposed to be performed, but he knew that the girl had stopped crying and it would therefore no longer make sense for him to also lock lips with her.

Yoongi began heading back to the building where the party was, hobing it wasn’t too late for him to find a human to kiss. He was about to cross the road when he noticed a woman walking in his direction. It looked like she was coming right at him, and the closer she got to him, the more apparent the look in her eyes became, a look Yoongi had never seen displayed on any human before.

[17:05]

“Y/N!” The sudden knock on the bathroom door almost caused you to slip in the shower stall out of surprise. You had gone straight to Teahuyng’s apartment after class in order to help him get ready for the night, on the condition that you could shower at his place. “I need you to go to the store with Jimin.” Taehyung's voice came from the other side of the door. You turned off the water which you immediately regretted now that your body was missing the warm embrace it was providing.

“Jimin is a big boy. Why do I need to go with him?” You complained, wishing desperately that you could stay in the shower until you had used all of Taehyung’s hot water.

“Because we both know that this big boy will end up only buying booze and forget all the practical stuff,” Taehyung argued. “Oh and you have the best taste in snacks”

“Aghh fine,” you sighed in defeat. “Just give me 10 minutes and I’ll be out, okay”

[17:26]

Even though you had borrowed Taehyung’s sweats for your quick trip to the store, you still found yourself clinging to Jimin’s left arm in hopes of stealing some of his warmth.

“Why are you only clingy when you gain something from it?” Jimin said with annoyance as you still hung off of him as you entered the store.

“Survival of the fittest, baby” you sent him a teasing smile, which he returned with an eye roll and an attempt to push you off, but you were stubborn and stronger than you looked, and if Jimin didn’t wanted to cause a scene right in the middle of the supermarket, he would have to let you stay right where you were.

As expected Jimin steered the two of you in the direction off the alcohol aisle first thing. You didn’t have much say in which and the amount of bottles Jimin so carefully picked out from the shelves with his free hand.

“This should do it,” Jimin finally said proudly after almost 15 minutes of picking and choosing.

“You do know that Tae only agreed to a small gathering, right?” You asked your friend in disbelief.

“Yes, but what’s the fun in that?” he said with a mischievous grin growing on his face.

“He is going to kill you” you tried to warn him, but Jimin seemed to care more about making this night one to remember (or rather forget) than his potential murder.

You knew there was no point in trying to talk some sense into Jimin so you just shrugged your shoulders and said “Whatever. It’s your funeral”

Once you made your way to the snack aisle of the store, it was now your turn to be in charge of what needed to be selected, which by the way was just as important as the liquor. You knew that the difference between a good party and a great party was the snacks, no doubt about it, so you always took your time when deciding which ones would be the perfect choice for the maybe not so small celebration of Taehyung. Chips was always a safe choice, everyone likes them and they won't leave you full but they’ll still be satisfying nonetheless. Now what flavours to choose? You knew it was always a good idea to have something with a lot of salt, so the sea salt flavoured ones would be the smart choice to go with, but personally you found them so boring. Popcorn was a much better option for a salty snack.

“Jimin, can you grab the popcorn for me?” Jimin did as you commanded and threw the box into the already filled shopping cart. Okay, back to choosing chips flavours. Your personal favourite was sour cream & onion, though controversial, but you had to admit it was hard to find a good dip to go with it. Maybe you should just stick to the classic that was cheetos.

“What do you think? Sour cream & onion or cheetos?” You asked for guidance.

“Uhm Y/N…”

“You’re right. We should just take boht” you said and grabbed the two bags of chips with your left hand from the lower shelf.

“What? No that’s not it” Jimin stammered hesitantly. When you looked up and in the direction of Jimin’s gaze, you understood why. On their way into the aisle, was your fuck buddy, or ex fuck buddy, with his other fuck buddy turned girlfriend holding his hand. You immediately made eye contact with Johnny and suddenly became super aware of the way you were still clinging to Jimin’s side. You tried to distance yourself from him, but it was now Jimin’s turn to not let go of you.

“Hey guys” Jisoo said in a cheerful tone as she and Johnny made their way over to you and Jimin. “Wow That’s some party you’re throwing” she giggled as she noticed the interior of your shopping cart.

“Oh yeah” you said “Taehyung got an internship so we’re celebrating. You should come”

“No we wouldn’t want to tag along” Johnny said for the first time.

“It’s fine, you wouldn’t. Right Jimin?” you looked to your friend for back up.

“Uhm sure,” he said “The more, the merrier”

“Okay, see you there then” Johnny sent you one last awkward smile before he and Jisoo went back to their own shopping.

[17:45]

“Now why would you invite them?” Jimin asked in all seriousness once you left the store.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, trying to sound surprised by his question. “Johnny and Jisoo are cool, and I’m sure you’ve already invited a dosin of people”

“Yeah but they’re not my ex”

“Johnny is not my ex, though” you corrected him.

“You know what I mean,” Jimin said annoyed.

“So if you and I stop messing around, would you want me to not invite you to parties anymore?” you said teasingly.

“Shut up. You would miss me to much”

“In the bedroom or at the parties” you questioned him with a growing grin on your face.

“Both” he said confidently, and rightfully so. “But don’t you think it will be awkward?”

“It’s only awkward if we make it awkward” you told yourself.

“And you’re not the slightest bit jealous?”

“I’ve told you I’m not”

“You’re a fucking ice queen, you know that?” Jimin laughed at your seemingly lack of any human emotions.

“It’s one of my biggest virtues” you smiled at him.

“Except this ice queen is very bothered by the cold,” he joked before pulling you into his space again making sure you were warm.

[19:13]

“Is that what you’re wearing?” It slipped out of Taehyung when you stepped out of the bathroom where you had gotten ready. You looked down at the outfit you had brought with you from home and didn’t see why Taehyung would question it.

“Yeah, why? Anything wrong with it?” You asked.

“No, nothing wrong with it. It’s just a lot,” he clarified. “Or less, I guess” he grinned. You suppose he was right, but you had worn similar outfits in the past. The short skirt, showing of your legs and the skin tight top hugging your curves was nothing new.

“Yeah I know” you said “It’s kinda the whole point”

“Gonna show Johnny exactly what he’s missing” Jimin chimed in. Jimin wasn’t entirely wrong, but you were never going to admit that and it wasn’t like you had planned to run into him at the grocery store.

“No,” you said firmly “I picked this outfit out way before I knew Johnny was gonna be here”

“Johnny’s coming?” Taehyung asked with both a confused and concerned look on his face.

“And Jisoo,” Jimin said.

“Seriously!?” Taehyung whined “I told you guys not to invite friends”

“Whatever grandpa,” Jimin dismissed Taehyung’s words. “So tell me Y/N, if you’re not planning on making Johnny boy jealous, why the outfit then?”

“I always wear things like this” you tried to defend yourself.

“Yes, but not in the middle of winter, you don’t” Namjoon’s rational self joined the conversation that was unfolding. You were taken aback by Namjoon’s sharp optivational skills and searched your brain for a clever comeback or a perfectly rational reason for your decision to wear the revealing outfit, but nothing came to mind.

“I-l” you stammered “I don’t have to tell you anything” you said in defeat, knowing all too well that your friends would never let it go until you in fact told them.

“Let me guess then,” Jimin said with a devil-like expression on his face. “You plan to find Johnny’s replacement tonight” Fuck, you didn’t even realized that was what you were doing when you picked out what to wear. Why did Jimin have to know you better than you knew yourself at times?

Jimin took your silence as a sign that he had been right on the money. “Am I not enough for you?” he said, faux offended. “I’m hurt”

“Will you just shut up!” you exclaimed at his annoying teasing.

[21:26]

Hobi was a saint, that much you knew, and he had made it his life mission to make sure that you were okay, and tonight that meant never leaving your glass empty, especially everytime you would run into Johnny and Jisoo. Hobi would try to steer you in the opposite direction saying either you or he needed a refill. You appreciated your friend’s efforts to spare your feelings, but it really wasn’t necessary, you were fine. You had no reason to be anything but. You didn’t want what Johnny and Jisoo had, and you knew you could never give that to Johnny, so it was a good thing that they had found each other, you truly believed that. You tried to explain this to Hobi, but he still looked at you with pity in his eyes.

“Seriously Hobi, I’m fine” you reassured him “The only thing a feel is sorry for the poor guy trapped next to them on the couch as they make out” you sent Hobi the biggest smile you could plaster on your face to really convince him that everything was just fine. Hobi seemed to finally buy your words as he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to the living room that had become the unofficial dance floor. The amount of people in Taehyung’s small apartment made it difficult to fully unfold on the dancefloor, so you and Hobi opted for a more grinding close up at each other kind of dance.

This was nice, you had fun and was drunk off your ass, something you probably wouldn’t be able to do if you were in Jisoo’s position. You wondered if Jisoo would get jealous if she caught Johnny looking at you like this. You glanced over, and, wow, they were still going at it on the coach. Did they even care that there were others around them? Probably not. That was how it was to be in love. For a second you couldn’t help but think that it could have been you on Johnny’s lap if you had let him get close to you, blissfully unaware of your surroundings. It looked nice though, but no, that was not what you wanted. You liked your freedom and you liked simple, and one thing you knew was that once you gave that part of yourself, things stopped being simple. You liked how things were, and maybe you just needed someone new to remind you of that. That guy in the corner had been staring at you for a while now, not that you could blame him. You tried sneaking in a few glances at him to see if he was your type without being too obvious about it. You couldn’t get a proper look at him, but it didn’t really matter since he had this weird energy around him, which told you everything you needed to know about him.

“What are you doing?” Hobi had noticed the way your dancing now seemed a lot more calculated from only moments prior.

“7 o’clock” you whispered to him.

“What are you talking about?” Hobi asked over the music.

“The guy in the corn…” Wait where did he go? You looked around, your eyes searching through the room when your eyes landed on a moving silhouette who was charting towards you. Oh shit, he had finally gathered his courage and decided to come talk to you. “Okay stay calm,” you told yourself “you’re the ice queen, remember”. You straightened your back and pushed your chest slightly forward ready to show this guy exactly who he was up against.

“Hi, I-“ you were cut off before you could even get to the verb of your planned sentence. The guy had just walked straight past you, and bumping into your shoulder in the process. The fuck! Who did he think he was? Even if you had completely misinterpreted his intentions, the least he could do was apologize for the shoulder injury he had coursed in the collision.

“Man down. I repeat, man down” Jimin was dying of laughter because of the scene that had just unfolded in Taehyung’s living room. Seriously, why did Jimin’s annoying ass had to see you fail so miserably. You knew he would never let this go.

[22:56]

Upon your failure and the intense dancing session with Hoseok, you had lost most of your energy, and your feet and legs felt heavy. It seemed like Johnny and Jisoo had decided to move their make out session to somewhere more private since the couch was now all abbonned, and you saw a unique opportunity to get to sit down.

Like a sack of potatoes you fell into the soft cushions followed by Hobi, and for a brief moment you closed your eyes and leant back, but the moment soon passed as you could feel a pair of concerned eyes on your face. You forced your eyes to open again, and they of course were met with Hoseok’s.

“Are you okay?” he asked for the hundredth time that night.

“Yes, I just need to relax for a bit” you told him truthfully.

A cheeky smile appeared on your friend’s face “I might actually be able to help you with that” You looked at him with confusion painted on your face “Uhm okay that sounds kinda sketchy” Hoseok didn’t seemed to mind your weariness as he began to search the insides of his pockets.

“Tada!!” he cheered excitedly as he held out a neatly rolled blunt in front of your face. “This should do the trick”.

You didn’t normally smoke and the couple of times you had, it had been with Hobi. Both times you had been a giggling mess, which now that you thought about it wouldn’t be too bad. You could also need the relaxed and warm feeling you had experienced the other times you had gotten high.

“Fuck it,” You finally said. “You got a lighter?” But as Hobi fumbled after one, a dark looming figure appeared behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shit! You jumped in your seat and nearly kicked over the bottles that were placed on the small coffee table.

“Uhm… N-nothing” you managed to stutter even though the evidence of what you were planning was still on full display in the palm of Hoseok’s hand.

“For fuck sake!” Taehyung exclaimed. “Do you want me to lose my depositum?”

“No,” Hoseok chimed in. “But don’t be such a party pooper. She needs this” The death glare Taehyung sent Hobi shut him up immediately.

“I’m so fucking stressed” he whined “But please just go outside” he almost pleaded. You would have felt sorry for him, but then you remembered he had made you go to the store with wet hair, something that was still causing you to shiver.

“But Tete it’s freezing outside” You tried to convince him, but there was no use in trying as he coldly responded with a “Not my problem.” And that was how you found yourself outside on the sidewalk in your miniskirt in the middle of winter trying to get high. Your hands were shaking as you tried to guide the blunt to your lips, which made it way more difficult than it needed to be. This made Hobi, who had just passed it to you, laugh uncontrollably. You found yourself starting to laugh along with him since it kinda dawned on you how ridiculous this whole situation was and how much of a fool you had made of yourself in the span of this night.

“What are you two maniacs laughing at?” Jimin and Namjoon had gone outside as well to get some fresh air, Jimin with some drunk girl under his arm and Namjoon with his red solo cup in hand.

“Y/N she’s,” Hobi said between giggles. “She’s fucking saking”

“Facts!” You yelled.

“You really should have worn something else” Mr. Know-it-all-Namjoon said.

“I know, I know, I’m a dumbass” you admitted.

“Yes you fucking are,” Jimin said “Want to borrow my jacket?” You looked him up and down before making eye contact.

“Won’t your friend be cold?” You referred to the girl haning to his side.

“Mhm…” He looked down at the girl. “You cold, baby girl?”

“No, daddy” she said with a sweet voice, and you couldn’t help but blur out a “Ew” upon hearing her nickname for Jimin.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Jimin teased. “And I bet it’s not entirely because of the cold” You knew he was referring to your brutal rejection in the living room.

“Listen the guy was in a hurry, okay,” you began to defend yourself. “If he wasn’t, he would have been all over me”

“You sure about that?” Hoseok annoyingly joined the conversation.

“Yes, not that it matters anyways. He was fucking rude. Lucky he got away before I could give him a piece of my mind.” You said seriously.

“Guess it’s your lucky day, then” Namjoon said and pointed to somewhere across the streets, and everybody’s heads turned to see what he had meant by his statement. You squeezed your eyes trying to see more clearly who it was standing alone on the other side of the street across from you. Something about the unidentified silhouette somehow drew you in, like a special energy. Wait a minute, it was him! The guy from earlier. Seriously, what were the changes?

“Now’s your chance,” Jimin dared you. Why did he have to know exactly how to get under your skin. You couldn’t stand to lose face once more that evening, so before you knew it you were crossing the street. And to be honest you were ready to go tell this guy exactly who he had been oh so rude to. On your way over you were gearing yourself up and practically fuming when you finally reached your destination, but that all disappeared once you found yourself standing face to face with the stranger and all the things you had planned to say in your head was completely gone the second the stranger had captured you with his gaze. He didn’t say or do anything, just looked at you, awaiting your first move.

“I-I uhm.. You” you stuttered trying to go somewhere with your words, but the man in front of you didn’t let you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked abruptly which caught you off guard.

“What?” Were you hearing this correctly or were you just hearing what you wanted to hear.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked nonchalantly. Was he really being serious, or was he just being a jerk like earlier? Your better judgement told you it was the latter, but you still found your body leaning in closer and closer to the man.

“Okay” you agreed mindlessly as you closed the gap between the two if you as he placed his hand on your cheek and began to move his lips gently over yours. As he did so, you were passively taking everything in, enjoying being kissed on the sidewalk on a winter's night by a stranger who seemed to know exactly how to use his lips. You rested your own hands on his slim waist, slightly tugging at his jacket, while you began to reciprocate his kiss. He tasted so deliciously, it made your head spin, and before you knew it you were eagerly kissing him back with everything you got. His lips parted ever so slightly and you felt both greedy and bold, and seized the opportunity to sneak your tongue passed his lips. He followed your lead perfectly as both of your tongues entangled themselves with one another. The contact with his tongue send a shiver down your spine nonetheless, but weirdly enough ever since you had entered his space, you had stopped shivering from the cold, a first for the night, and now the only thing that made you shiver was the warm bubbly feeling you felt inside every time his tongue would grace yours, making you muffle soft moans against his mouth. His kiss was intoxicating and addictive, and you just couldn’t get enough of it, and to your surprise, you were so desperate for more, but somehow you didn’t care to try and hide the fact. For some reason he had this power over him that made you lose all senses and better judgement.

The kiss was getting sloppier now as you found it hard to control yourself with him, but when he put his hand on your hip, you almost lost it completely as your skin was practically burning under his touch. Who was this guy, seriously? And why did he have the ability to get you this rilled up merely from just kissing? You didn’t care enough to break from his lips to ask, you just drank in every last bit of him, dreading the moment you would have to let go of him. He must be some kind of god of kissing to have you feel this way, since kissing was normally your least favourite part. It was more times than not just something to get out of the way before moving on to something more daring. This was so unlike you.

In a perfect world you wouldn’t have to let go of him, but you had to break from his lips to catch your breath, and as you pulled away from each other a string of saliva was still connecting you. Neither of you said anything, and Yoongi was looking at you like he was trying to solve a code. All of a sudden you felt shy under his intense stare as if you hadn’t just sucked his face.

Yoongi was the first one to break the silence. “Nothing,” he blurted out.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked.

“I felt nothing,” he sounded disappointed. ”Just now”. And just like that you were back to being cold.

You opened your mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out, and much to your surprise he stripped himself of his jacket and placed it over your shoulders. “Here, this is better” he said matter of factly before he turned on his heel and started walking away without another word, leaving you dumbfounded. You would probably have stood like that until the sun came up if you hadn’t been pulled back to reality by the sound of your long forgotten friend’s laughter from across the street. This was really a miserable ending to a just as miserable evening.

Taglist:

@strawberriewithchocolate-blog @salad-bar-but-with-more-options @sugaaddiction @min-yus @tonightletspretend @preciouschimine @ggukkieland @peterparkerspjsuit @simpinforyoongi @loveyoongles @kevinssecretplace4546

[spencers-renaissance]

I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for.��

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia 

Pairing: Gen 

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered. 

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis. 

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label. 

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information. 

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods. 

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised. 

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well. 

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases. 

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps. 

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes. 

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?” 

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case. 

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner. 

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better. 

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.” 

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.  

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully. 

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly. 

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that. 

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively. 

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away. 

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air. 

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer. 

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand. 

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning. 

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important. 

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.” 

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you. 

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it. 

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it. 

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

[starleska]

when Logic twists: an analysis of Logan, cognitive distortions, and a future Side

spoilers ahead! this is a little deep-dive into some foreshadowing in the latest Sanders Sides episode, and what i believe the team are going for in terms of Logan’s arc. just some thoughts i had after the episode - i hope you enjoy, and would love to hear your thoughts too :) tw for discussion around mental illness, trauma, abuse, intrusive thoughts, therapy, etc. 

so, we all know that Thomas does a marvellous job portraying difficulties with mental health. he uses interactions between his Sides to carve out fun stories that dramatise the the internal struggles which come with facing complex situations, including those which arise from your specific history and mental illnesses. the writing behind Sanders Sides often uses consideration of real symptoms and therapeutic techniques in order to impart useful advice to the audience who may be struggling with similar issues. with all of this in mind, i thoroughly believe that a good chunk of you are correct about this new Side (foreshadowed in Logan’s eyes) being Wrath, or some variant of Stress or Anger, and here’s why: 

Logan is the side of Thomas which is constantly needing to pick up the slack. not only does he spend a good deal of his time de-escalating conflict between the other Sides, he is constantly letting his own dreams (and consequently, needs) fall by the wayside to comfort, validate and assist Thomas' overall desires. we even literally see him benched during the court case with Janus - his input is considered unimportant unless he is deemed as the voice of reason. with this understanding, Logan is viewed by the other Sides as a Side who doesn’t need help. He’s Logic, so they believe he always knows what is appropriate, and how to control himself - or even that he doesn’t need to control himself at all.  yet i don’t believe this to be the case, and i think ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ foreshadows this in an intriguing way: by utilising the dynamic between Logan and Remus. for context, i am speaking as an individual who suffers from Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), a form of PTSD. whilst the Thomas we know in the Sanders Sides universe is of course somewhat sanitised and simplified for the easier imparting of moral lessons, we know that this Thomas suffers from issues with intrusive thoughts, low self-esteem, and high anxiety. whether or not these can all be attributed to an underlying condition is irrelevant, but what is intriguing is whether these symptoms are being exacerbated by traumatic, triggering or otherwise stressful events affecting Thomas’ life - which, based on the direction ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ went (using the relationship with Nico as a conduit), i think is true. when you experience a number of traumatic events or an acute amount of stress, your Logic can become faulty. let’s think about Logan not as a super-genius who just knows what is the correct thing to do all of the time: his knowledge comes from a bank of information and experiences, which he constantly uses to provide a ‘rational’ stance next to the more ‘emotional’ traits of each Side. yet Logic relies on evidence in order to build up this ‘rationality’. let’s think about a scenario wherein you are told every day by someone that you are ugly. now, if this occurred later in life, your Logic might have already rationalised that this is not the case - that you are beautiful just as you are, that this person is seeking to hurt you, that they are projecting, etc. your Logic would make those reasonable counterpoints based on past experience. however, if you were told by multiple people throughout your life, every day, that you are ugly - say, from caregivers, or close friends - you would internalise ‘i am ugly’ as part of that internal Logic. in the first scenario, you would be able to accurately evaluate the thought, ‘i am ugly’ as a cognitive distortion. however, in the latter scenario, you may be unable to, because you have this bank of ‘evidence’ that other people perceive this as reality. even if those people are abusers, or have an ulterior motive, the notion will be internalised and become your reality - so your Logic will say, ‘i am ugly, based on all of the evidence.’  i find this interesting because in this latest episode, they specifically had Logan call attention to cognitive distortions. we must remember that Logan is a part of Thomas. this is Thomas attempting to rationalise with himself, to implement mindfulness and CBT techniques which he knows to be successful, because they have worked in the past and he has it on scientific authority that they help with intrusive thoughts. but this leads us to a question: what happens when you experience so many traumatic events, or so much stress, that your Logic turns against you and begins to validate your intrusive thoughts?  imagine for a moment Logan’s awesome rational power - but levied in support of all of Thomas’ deepest fears. in my own experience with CPTSD, a horribly thorny mental trap is the one you fall into when you start down the path of ‘i must be a horrible person, just like they said. i must have deserved everything done to me. look at all of the evidence.’ these thoughts often appear rational due to the intense nature of the sufferer’s pain, particularly if that pain is repeated or prolonged. i believe that Logan’s outburst, paired with Thomas’ fretting over not receiving a call back from Nico, are supposed to represent the building stages of this mental trap. such thoughts are difficult to emerge from, but they become even more difficult to deal with when met with a powerful emotion: Rage. if you have cause to think thoughts of the ‘i am a disgusting human being’ variety thanks to trauma, stress or similar negative events, often there is a good deal of pent-up Rage stored alongside. justifiable Rage, one might say - it certainly feels so in the mind of someone who has suffered so terribly. if one is prone to hating themselves, feeling inadequate or other fertile breeding ground for intrusive thoughts, they may also sometimes snap into the opposite extreme - becoming infuriated by everything that has happened to them, and that they are still needing to deal with yet more pain in the present. this is something i have suffered from personally: when mixed with trauma, it is equal parts emotional dysregulation, and being triggered by something. you might be enRaged by the idea that you were ever ‘passive’ as a victim of something terrible, and want to ‘fight back’. in other words, the emotional state of your Rage will feel justified - and this can cause you to engage in some deeply destructive behaviours. this is why i believe this new Dark Side will be Rage (or an equivalent). Logan’s ‘STOP IGNORING ME!’ speaks of a breaking point brought on by years of fixing other people’s problems, only to receive very little in return. there’s a misconception that people who are ‘good’ at handling stress or fixing other people’s problems (i.e., not showing much of the strain) are simply less stressed as a whole, and therefore should be saddled with yet more stress. Logan’s screaming at Remus, and Remus’ delight at Logan’s response, shows us that Logan is exhausted from all of the hard work that he’s had to do in order to fight Thomas’ intrusive thoughts and cognitive distortions, alongside the massive amount of stress in his life. likewise, by giving into his impulsivity and opening up more opportunities for further stress, Thomas has allowed Logan - and his Logic - to become vulnerable to Remus and intrusive thoughts. Logan may have successfully been able to dispel the intrusive thoughts which had no basis in reality (for instance, a murderer hiding in Thomas’ closet) - but what happens if Thomas is given validation for an intrusive thought? in other words - what if Logan feels he has reason to listen to Remus? i believe this Rage has been simmering within Thomas for a long time, and his debut is going to be explosive. there are lots of ways this debut could be written; some have theorised that Logic and Rage will be a kind of antithesis to the Creativitwins, wherein the two are fused as Thomas has internalised his Rage as having a Logical root. this would have Rage not as a separate side, but a kind of version or alternate mindset for Logan, a bit like how he was when in Virgil’s room. i would not be surprised at all for this episode to include both Remus and Janus - Remus, revelling in the intrusive thoughts which Logan/Rage is now allowing to fly free, and Janus, delighting in Logan/Rage’s validation of destructive behaviours, which may well include Deceit. i could also see Virgil being drawn in by this irresistible combination of Anxiety-fuelling thoughts - intrusive thoughts inspiring inadequacy, Deceit inspiring fear of being found out, and the terror of Logic being twisted to validate every fear Virgil has ever had for Thomas. you know when someone has hurt you really badly, and so in your head you come up with countless (awful, unrealistic, hurtful) ways to ‘get back at them’? that’s what i think the next Sanders Sides episode is going to be like.  of course, like Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts and Deceit, Rage will have his uses too. i believe, if any of this theorising is correct, that the next Sanders Sides episode will follow a narrative discussing if Rage is justified when one is hurt to a massive extreme, and what Logic can one follow when it backs up every destructive impulse. are you being Logical if you are full of Rage? basically, i think Logan (influenced by a breaking point and giving over to Rage) is going to do everything in his power to be destructive, under the idea that it is the only Logical thing to do. i believe he will fall to the horrific power of cognitive distortions and mental illness, and that the other Sides will need to use their strengths to bring him back. anyway, that’s all my thoughts! my apologies for any inaccuracies, or if anything in here was upsetting. i’d love to hear what you think about this, and your own theories! :D take care 💏

[juliandev0rak]

Into The Wild  

Chapter 1: Daisy

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧ 

words: 2468

Willa Clary gets out of her car and shuts the door with a dull slam, sending up a cloud of dust and scaring off a lizard who had been sunning on a nearby rock. She surveys her surroundings with a grin, taking in the trees, the small clearing of wooden cabins, and the shiny blue lake in the distance. She pulls a faded brochure from her pocket and reads the words she’s read about a thousand times over the last few months:

“Camp Vesuvia: eight weeks of summer fun!” 

The photograph on the front shows the same view she’s looking at, but the scene in front of her is far more beautiful than the photo. The trees are more green, the sky more blue, and the cabins around her look even more charming. In the summer heat the air seems to shimmer, giving everything a slightly magical quality. Willa decides that she loves the place already.

When Asra, her best friend and old college roommate, told her about the job opening at the summer camp he works at, she’d jumped at the chance. Asra has told her plenty of stories about what goes on during a summer at Camp Vesuvia and with every story she found herself wanting to be a part of it. He told her about the other people who work there and how fun it is to get to know all of the campers, he told stories of roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories around the fire. He’d also mentioned how beautiful the scenery is, but his description hadn’t done it justice.

All of Asra’s stories brought Willa back to her own childhood, spent in a tiny rural town where exploring nature was pretty much the only activity available. She’d moved away to the big city for college, where she’d hoped to find her way. But after graduating she’d found herself with a degree, but no job, and an aching feeling that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

And since Willa loves nature and children (and also really needed a job) she figured a job at a summer camp would be a perfect fit for her. So she’d packed her bags and driven out into the middle of nowhere, her home for the next eight weeks.

The door of the cabin closest to her opens with the sound of a bell, and Willa’s eyes are drawn to the tall woman standing in the doorway. Her height draws attention, as does her brightly colored purple hair. Willa takes in the woman’s perfectly styled outfit and heeled boots, she doesn’t look like she belongs in the middle of the woods, but something about her seems very welcoming.

“Welcome, Willa, we’ve been expecting you!” The woman calls, beckoning her over with a perfectly manicured hand. 

“Hi! You must be Nadia?” Willa asks, moving to shake the camp director’s already outstretched hand. 

“Yes I am, if you should require anything over the course of the summer I can be found here in the office. I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival, Asra has told me quite a bit about you,” Nadia smiles, shutting the door behind them as Willa follows her inside. 

The front room of the cabin is small but well decorated. A large polished wood desk takes up the majority of the room and bookshelves and filing cabinets cover most of the remaining wall space. Nadia settles into the chair behind the desk and Willa takes the empty seat in front of it. She looks around as Nadia searches for a file, taking in the stylish furnishing and decor which looks surprisingly perfect in the wood paneled cabin.

Nadia finds the correct file and riffles through it briefly before pulling out a small stack of paper which she hands to Willa. “I’ll just need your final signature on some of the paperwork and we’ll get you all settled in. We expect the first round of campers tomorrow morning at nine, and things will only get busier after then.”

“How many campers do you expect in total?” Willa asks. She looks through the paperwork quickly as she signs it, standard onboarding and personal information, all as expected. 

Nadia frowns slightly at the question and her forehead furrows, portraying a bit of the stress hidden behind her cheerful facade. “We have nearly seventy campers staying for the entire summer, the most we’ve ever had at one time. Which is precisely why I decided to take on more help. We have a small but reliable staff here but I thought it was time for some reinforcements.”

Willa hands over the completed paperwork and watches as Nadia carefully looks it over. “Wow, that’s a lot of kids, but I’m sure we can handle it!”

“That’s the sort of encouraging spirit we need around here,” Nadia smiles. “Asra told me you were an ‘eternal optimist’ and I hoped his description would prove accurate.” 

Willa blushes slightly at the compliment and smiles back at Nadia, making a mental note to thank Asra later for his apparently glowing recommendation. “It’s easy to be optimistic in a place as beautiful as this.”

The sound of a bell alerts them as the front door opens and Nadia stands to greet the person entering, “Ah, here’s Asra.” 

“Willa!” Asra calls from behind her and WIlla nearly knocks her chair over in her haste to hug him.

“Asra! I’ve missed you!” Willa takes in the familiar appearance of her friend. Asra wears a pair of overalls over a “Camp Vesuvia” shirt. A name tag pinned to one of the straps says his name, written in familiar handwriting and accented with a sparkly smiley face sticker. 

“I’m happy you decided to take my advice and come to Camp Vesuvia, you’re going to love it here,” Asra says. 

“Yes, I hope that you will, Willa,” Nadia smiles at the two of them before taking her seat again. She points to the wall behind Willa, “Your room key is hanging on that board, it’s the one with the red ribbon. I’ll leave Asra to show you the way. I'm quite busy with last minute preparations, but I hope you’ll find the lodgings comfortable.”

Willa turns to the board, spotting the key hanging all the way at the top. “Thank you, Nadia!” She stands on her tiptoes to reach for the key and Asra laughs, reaching up from behind her. He easily grabs the key and hands it to her, ignoring the annoyed expression on her face. 

“Still as short as always,” Asra teases. 

“Still as rude as always,” Willa frowns, but she’s too excited to stay mad.

“Let’s get you moved in. Did you bring that scarf you said you’d give me?” Asra heads for the door and Willa follows, laughing at his enthusiasm. 

“Yes, and I brought extra yarn so I can make you another if you’d like—” Willa’s words are cut off as the door opens before Asra can get to it. A large figure stands in the doorway, and Willa and Asra step to the side to let him in. He has to duck a little to enter the room, and Willa looks up at him, noticing shoulder length dark hair and a park ranger’s uniform. 

Nadia stands to greet him, “Ah, Muriel, excellent timing. I was just going to call you. We’ve had a few bear sightings around camp and I wanted to go over our safety plans, perhaps we can ensure all of the trash receptacles are in working order.” 

The man nods in agreement, but his attention moves away from Nadia and over to Willa. When he notices that she’s looking back at him he swiftly looks away, clearing his throat as he takes a step closer to Nadia’s desk and away from Willa. In the near split second when they looked at each other, Willa noticed how bright his eyes were, green like the trees outside. Her eyes stay on him, noting the way his posture slumps a little as if he’s used to being too tall for a space.

“Oh, pardon me for not making introductions sooner. Muriel, this is WIlla, she’s our new counselor and the arts and craft director,” Nadia gestures at Willa, “And Willa, this is Muriel. He’s the park ranger assigned to our area. The ranger station is about a mile from here. if anything goes wrong he’s the first to call.” Nadia gives Muriel a warm smile and he flushes faintly, eyes resolutely staring down at the wooden floors.

“Muriel’s great, he’s the best at roasting marshmallows,” Asra says, finally pulling Willa’s attention away from the man. Asra raises an eyebrow at her in question and Willa looks away, brushing past him to move towards the door. 

She turns to glance over her shoulder at Muriel, who still seems to be finding the floorboards exceedingly interesting. “It was nice to meet you, Muriel,” Willa says, giving him a cheery smile. Muriel looks up in surprise and stares at her for a minute before nodding in response. Willa turns to leave, Asra right behind her.

“‘It was nice to meet you, Muriel’” Asra imitates in a sing-song voice that sounds surprisingly accurate to Willa’s. She scoffs and fights the urge to shove his arm as if they were twelve, she sticks her tongue out at him instead— much more mature.

“Clearly he’s attractive, you can’t blame me for staring,” Willa says, rolling her eyes at Asra’s over-eager expression. 

“True, I can’t blame you, and like I said— Muriel’s a great guy. He’s a bit shy and doesn’t like to socialize much as you may have noticed, but he’s saved us from quite a few scrapes over the years,” Asra recounts. “He repaired the roof of the main hall after a thunderstorm knocked over a tree last year, and he even put out a fire once when a campfire got out of hand.” “Well, he sounds like quite the man.” Willa hides her smile as she turns to open the trunk of her car. She hauls out a suitcase painted a bright blue color and dotted with daisies, she’d done the art herself one day when she’d run out of canvases and needed something new to paint on. Asra grabs her other bag and shuts the trunk, giving her another smirk. 

“Let's get going, I’ll give you a full tour along the way.” Asra hoists her duffle bag over his shoulder as he walks. Willa follows behind, taking in all the sights as he leads the way through Camp Vesuvia.

Asra delivers on his promise of a tour, pointing out everything they pass along the way. “The building we just left is the office, but we all call it ‘the palace’ because Nadia’s the queen around here. Don’t worry though, she’s a benevolent ruler,” he laughs. Nadia seems kind, but she clearly expects the best from everyone and Willa would hate to disappoint her.

They pass the arts and crafts cabin, the main hall where meals are eaten, and each of the cabins for campers. Asra stops in front of a small building next to the main hall, it looks homey and a small puff of smoke comes out of its chimney. A wooden sign by the door is marked with a large pot and a spoon and judging by the delicious smell of bread emanating from the building, this is the kitchen.

“Here’s the kitchen, Portia works here along with Hestion and Selasi. You’ll meet them at dinner. I’m convinced they’re the best cooks in the world, and Selasi’s pumpkin bread is legendary.” For a minute it seems like Asra might go in to look for the aforementioned pumpkin bread, but he turns away from the door and continues on the dirt path forward.

He points to another small cabin to their right, “And here’s the first aid center. Julian is our resident doctor, he’s Portia’s older brother,” 

“Ah, I seem to remember someone named Julian from quite a few of your stories,” Willa says, jokingly waggling her eyebrows. Asra grimaces and looks straight ahead, not meeting her eyes.

“Yes well, that was in the past. Those stories are old,” Asra waves a hand as if to show how unimportant those stories were. “Let’s move on, over here is where we store the canoes! Lucio is our recreation director, he’s kind of an asshole but the kids think he’s cool.” 

The tour continues on until they reach a larger looking cabin tucked back into the trees. It has a wrap-around porch dotted with comfortable looking chairs and a bright green door. It looks welcoming, and there's a great view of the lake from the front porch. Willa can picture herself out there enjoying a cup of coffee or knitting. 

“And here we have our final destination for the day, the counselor's cabin where everyone on staff here lives.” Asra shows her through the comfortable three story cabin, it’s more modern than Willa had expected. She thinks back to the well decorated front office, the palace, and decides that Nadia must be responsible for this cabin’s design as well.

Finally, Asra leads her to a closed door on the second floor and she unlocks it, entering a small but cozy looking bedroom. The walls are painted sky blue and a vase on the dresser has fresh flowers in it, she immediately feels at home. Willa sets her suitcase down by the dresser and flops down on the bed facedown.

“This is going to be so fun!” she squeals, her words slightly muffled by a pillow.

Asra flops down next to her, “You’re going to love it! The camp comes alive when the campers get here, and I bet you’ll be great at teaching art.”

“I hope so, but it’s been a while since I made a friendship bracelet,” Willa laughs, pointing to Asra’s wrist which is bedecked with half a dozen colorful string bracelets. 

“Campers made these for me,” he explains proudly, lifting his arm up so Willa can see the bracelets better. “A lot of the same kids come back every year and most of the staffers do too. I think you’ll fit right in, this is going to be the best summer!”

Willa looks out the window next to her bed and catches a glimpse of Nadia and the park ranger, Muriel, out inspecting the grounds. Muriel looks up at the window as if he can sense her gaze and she smiles and waves at him. He doesn’t respond, quickly walking away towards the trees, but Willa thinks she might’ve seen a hint of a smile tug at his lips as he looked at her. 

“I’ve got a good feeling about this summer, too,” Willa says, turning back to Asra with a giddy grin. “I can’t wait!”

✧

[kats-baku1999]

Little Lies... Part Four

Warnings: angsty a little bit.

This is also a time jump!! So yeah enjoy :)

part one , part two , part three

Part five

——————————————————-

Working as a summer intern in college was one of the smarter choices that (Y/N) had made. It led to an actual job right out of college, and an easy way for her to help Kirishima pay the rent. The two of them walked through college together, after everything that had happened that night. It was the both of them against the word, or maybe just a bad case of codependency.

Bakugo and Kirishima weren’t together long, but they had chased each other in circles all of high school. The two had always been friends, but Bakugo was always more open than Kirishima. Everyone in school knew that Bakugo wasn’t interested in girls. Kirishima was always a little more nervous to be as open, but when he did finally come out their first year of high school.. Bakugo was the one who helped him through it. For hours on end Kirishima would practically make my ears bleed going on about Bakugo. When they had finally gotten together the summer before their last year of school, Kirishima was on cloud nine. It had taken years of a mutual crush for them to finally admit how they felt. They did it though, and it didn’t take much for Kirishima to believe that he was the one.

I couldn’t lie, I felt a lot of guilt that he had broken up with him because of me. Kirishima promised me that he didn’t blame me at all. He would always go on about how he couldn’t be with someone who would carelessly hurt his best friend. I figured once we moved into our first apartment in college, he would be able to get over Bakugo. I was poorly mistaken when his type became random blond haired boys he met in the bar. He would always treat them with respect, but then would ghost them. Not once committing.

“Anyways, I have to go, Mr. Takami wants me to meet with him about something,” I walked over to Kirishima and kissed his cheek, “Make sure you don't use my coffee for this one,”

Kirishima smiled at me, and blew me a small kiss as I walked out the front door. I walked through the apartment building as quickly as I could. The last thing I wanted was for this to be my first time being late. I had been working for Hawks Publishing Agency for about a year now. The owner Keigo Takami had taken me on as a summer intern my last year of college, and automatically offered me a job. I loved the job, and it was actually a fun place to work. I had actually ended up working with Kaminari, which was cool.

“Hey pretty lady!” Kaminari shouted, waving at the front steps. He had two coffees in his other hand, and of course that bright smile painted across his face.

“Good morning Kami,” I smiled, skipping up the steps towards him. I grabbed the other coffee and began taking a few sips from it. My hands were shaking a little bit, which of course he took notice of.

“Maybe you don’t need the caffeine boost this morning?” He laughed, opening the front door of the building for me. We walked inside, and I gave a small wave to the front desk girl. Mina was a sweet girl, and we had actually gone out together a few times. It turned out that she and Kirishima went to the same middle school.

“Hey, (y/n) Hawks is waiting for you in his office!” Mina smiled, and Kaminari walked over to the front desk to lean against it. He was more than likely going to either wait to flirt with Shinsou, or Jirou. Whatever mood he was in that day, and whatever one rejected him the slowest.

I walked over to the elevator and clicked the top floor. Don’t get me wrong I loved working for Mr. Takami, but he was probably the most over the top person I knew. He made it a point to completely renovate the top floor of this building, to make that his entire office. He also called it the Birds Nest. I think he bought one of the bigger offices on purpose too, just so he could have a higher up office. The elevator doors opened, and I walked down the hall a little bit to his office doors. I tapped on it two times, and it was swung open. I came face to face with Mr. Takami grinning at me like a mad man, and yanking me into his office.

“Uh, good morning sir!” I smiled, and he gave me a look before leaning against his desk.

“(Y/n) cut it out with the formalities, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Hawks?” He sighed, smiling at me with a bright grin, and then handed me a manuscript… Correction, my manuscript.

“Sir, I mean uh Hawks, how did you even get this?” I blushed, looking at the title page. White Lies.

“Your friend Kirishima is a very passionate person, and practically stalked me until I had it in my hands,” Hawks laughed, “The real question is, you have been working for me for two years now, and didn’t tell me that you could write?”

“We usually don’t publish teen tragic love stories,” I laughed, “I mean sure you love romance stories, but you said that you wanted to really focus on the magazine and I-”

“You didn’t want to ask me for a favor did you kid?” Hawks smiled at me, and I slowly nodded my head, “(Y/N) if you tell anyone else this I will deny it, but I think you are probably one of my favorites that work here,”

“Oh, uh, thank you sir,” I blushed a little bit, “Still though I don’t want you to publish this story just because you favor me, the story really isn’t that good,”

“There is a lot of emotion and passion behind this story, it felt like you were coming from a place of knowing what this felt like,” Hawks explained, “You can ask my fiance I couldn’t put it down until I finished it, and I am very picky about what stories we put out,”

“What about the magazine though, I mean we are all focusing so hard on that right now trying to publish-”

“I will personally put together a team for this specific story, and all I will ask of you is that you make sure you claim this story,” Hawks tapped the manuscript in my hands, “My fiancé also informed me that this was definitely a personal experience,”

I froze up a little bit. Sure it was based on a personal experience. A girl falling for her least favorite person in school, all because he asked her to be his tutor. They ended up hanging out with each other more and more. Just when she thinks that they’re going to become something… She finds out she was nothing more than some game for him. What a tragic teenage love story, right?

“Uh, was it that obvious?” I blushed, a little embarrassed I had put so much of my personal emotions into the story. Hawks handed me a picture frame from his desk. He tapped the picture a little bit, and my mouth opened in shock. There he was, smiling with Touya Todoroki.

“You know, when I met Touya, he went by Dabi,” Hawks smiled at the picture, “And he was a real dick, and remained a dick for years to come, so I think the way you portrayed him in this story was perfect,”

I tensed up a little bit. It was obvious I made sure to make Touya seem like the biggest asshole ever. Then again that night I met him, he was.

“Sir, I am sorry, I was only writing what I knew about him-”

“Oh no he agreed that you described him pretty accurately,” Hawks laughed, “That was the night everything turned around for him, he hated what he did to Shoto, and he actually bonded with Shoto that night,”

I looked down at my feet a little bit. So he knew that this story was about his future brother-in-law. It had been years since I had heard Shoto’s name, and I couldn’t help but frown a little bit.

“Can I ask why you want to publish something that is slandering your fiancé’s brother?” I raised a small eyebrow, and Hawks shrugged his shoulder.

“Shoto was a spoiled brat back then, and you don’t use his name,” Hawks smiled at me, “Speaking of my fiancé, I am handing these out to everyone today, so here is yours,”

He handed me a wedding invitation. It was decorated with what looked like blue flames, and beautiful cursive lettering. The date was two weeks away, not a whole lot of notice. Then again, Hawks was never one to be on time.

“Oh, thank you sir!” I smiled, “Do you want me to take those down to everyone else?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I have to start getting things together for your big story,” Hawks smiled, and I traded him the manuscript for the wedding invitations. I gave him a small nod.

“Before you publish anything, I want to think about this okay?” There was a lot I needed to go over, like checking with Kirishima, to see if it was okay that I wrote about him and Bakugo. Also Midoriya and Ochaco were involved too so I needed to double check with them.

“Not to give you some pesky deadline, but how about the night of my reception you give me an answer?” Hawks offered, and I nodded my head. Giving him a small wave and walking out of the office.

——————

I burst through the front door of the apartment. Kirishima was sitting on the couch watching TV, and jumped out the sound of our front door swinging open. I slammed it shut and ran over to the couch, grabbing a pillow. Smacking him with it continuously, he let out small screams trying to get me off of him without hurting me.

“(Y/n) get off you rabid animal!” Kirishima laughed, and I gave him one last smacked. I was panting slightly, glaring at him.

“How dare you turn in my manuscript, I let you read that for fun!” I smacked him again, and he ripped the pillow out of my hands.

“It was an amazing story, people deserve to read it, and I think you deserve to have your work put out there for once,” Kirishima took his turn smacking me with the pillow. I held up my hands in defense, glaring at him even more than before.

“I can’t just publish that, it’s personal, for me and you!” I stood up, and paced around the living room a little bit. Kirishima watched me, smiling a bit.

“I give you full permission to exploit Bakugo and I’s tragic love story, and I already talked to Midoriya he said he would not be upset at all if you published it,” Kirishima’s voice was a little softer, “(y/n) I know you wanted to act like that whole situation never bothered you, but after reading this it’s good to know you were hurting too,”

“Kirishima, it was never about me hurting, you-”

“Don’t, don’t write off your own feelings because you felt like you had to take care of me,” Kirishima smiled, standing up to grab me by my shoulders, “I love you (y/n), and I want you to be able to express your emotions, even if it’s been years,”

“Do you think it’s morally okay that I even write this story without his permission?” I frowned, “I mean yeah he was an asshole when we were younger, but it still brings up some personal things about his family,”

“Maybe you could reach out?” Kirishima suggested, “Ask him if he would be okay with it, and let him read it?”

“I don’t even know where I would-” I looked down at my purse that was holding the wedding invitation. The idea hit me, and I hated that I was going to have to ask Hawks for a favor like this.

—————-

I stared down at the phone number that was left scribbled on my desk’s notepad. Hawks was quick to leave that for me. I had just messaged him last night. This felt more personal than just hunting him down on social media. Which wouldn’t have been too hard considering he was some famous model or something now.

“Hey Kaminari, I am going to make a quick phone call. Can you watch my desk?” I smiled across at him, and he gave me a thumbs up.

I had gone down to the lobby, and walked outside. Sitting down on the front steps I stared down at the phone number now displayed on my screen. All I had to do was press the green button, and ask him if it would be okay for me to have a story published about him. Surely that would be fine, considering his name was not used at all. I also made sure no one could connect the dots back to his father either.

“(Y/n)?” I froze up at the sound of a familiar voice. My eyes slowly went up, and I began mentally screaming. What are the chances that he would be here? Now? I quickly shot up to my feet.

“Bakugo?” I questioned, and he just nodded. Smiling at me a little bit.

“Long time no see, weird running into you here?” Bakugo smiled awkwardly. He seemed a little uncomfortable by the entire situation. Which was fair, because I was definitely feeling awkward myself now.

“I actually work here,” I looked him up and down, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

“You work for half and half’s brother in law?” Bakugo looked a little shocked, and I just nodded my head. We both stared at each other, and down at our feet.

“Why don’t you just ask about him you big jerk?” I sighed, rolling my eyes. I knew he was wondering about Kirishima.

“How’s he doing?” Bakugo was quiet about it, and I could tell by the look in his eyes he still thought about him just as much as Kirishima thought about him.

“He is okay, he works as a trainer at a pretty big gym some days, but his main job is physical therapy at a hospital,” I smiled at Bakugo, “And for what you are really curious about, he is still single,”

“I, I wasn’t even going to-”

“I know you weren’t, but I know you were curious about it,” I pulled out my phone to give him Kirishima’s phone number, to help them both out. When I looked at my phone screen though I felt my heart stop for a second. I hadn’t locked it before placing it in my pocket. Which then led to that stupid green button being pressed. I held the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” I mumbled, and could hear someone’s breath hitch on the other line. Bakugo was staring at me with a confused look, but also a little worried. Judging by how my body felt right now, I am sure I was as pale as a ghost.

“(Y/n)?”

———— that night

I threw back another shot, groaning again. Bakugo and Kirishima were awkwardly sitting across from me. Neither one of them was talking about themselves personally, both of them were just focused on me. After I heard Todoroki’s voice, I panicked a little bit. Maybe a lot. Bakugo had to help me inside the building, trying his best to calm me down. He wasn’t pleased to see Kaminari, but the two of them worked together to get me to calm down. Which led to them having to call Kirishima… Which then led to Bakugo and Kirishima reconnecting.

“And she just hung up?” Kirishima asked for about the fifth time, watching me grab another shot.

“Yup,” Bakugo nodded, an impressed look painted across his face as he watched me throw back the fourth shot of the night.

“Did he get a hold of you?” Kiri asked Bakugo, and the blond nodded his head.

“He will be here in about fifteen minutes,” Bakugo sighed, and I let out another groan. Reaching for the last shot on the tray, but Kirishima grabbed it before I could. I sent him a dirty look, and he just shook his head. Taking the shot himself.

“I didn’t think I would have to see him already,” I whined, feeling a little drunk, okay correction a lot drunk. Bakugo and Kirishima both just kept watching me, Kiri reaching across to pat my hand.

“You’re at least a little intoxicated now, that should make it easier, right?” Kirishima offered a solution, and Bakugo and I shook our heads at the same time.

“I wouldn’t want to be drunk seeing you for the first time in years,” Bakugo offered, and I pointed a finger his way, as a way to say “ya see”.

“You make a fair point, but still, this should make it easier!” Kirishima grinned positively, “I mean after all high school doesn’t matter anymore right?”

Bakugo tensed up noticeably at Kirishima’s words. I gave him a sad look. Mouthing a quick “I’m sorry” his way. He just nodded his head, before looking towards the door. Everyone clearly took notice of whoever it was that just walked in. I could tell by all whispering that seemed to spread throughout the bar. I turned my head towards the entrance, and felt my breath hitch in my throat. My memories instantly flying back to the last day of our third year.

———

“Okay, you got me here, what do you need to say?” I whispered, staring him straight in the eye. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me still hurting over everything that happened at the beginning of the year. I absolutely refused to.

“I think I was starting to fall in love with you,” Todoroki whispered, not making full eye contact, just glancing at me before looking back down at his feet, “Maybe it’s crazy for me to believe, but I think in someway we are meant for each other, I feel so at peace with you (Y/n), and I promise you one day I will get you to forgive me,”

“Todoroki, you’re chasing after an empty dream, I want nothing to do with you,” I sighed, turning around to walk away. My feet moving quickly so he wouldn’t see the tears falling from my eyes. I think in some way I was falling for him too. All of the laughter, those few intimate moments.. They all meant so much to me, but they were nothing but a lie.

————

“Well, if it isn’t half and half himself,” Bakugo smiled, as all three of us stared up at the taller guy. He was looking straight at me, not even paying any mind to his best friend. His bicolored eyes scanned over my face.

“Uh,” I stammered not sure how to react to his prying and eyes, “Good to see you again Todoroki,”

Kirishima shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, so did Bakugo. Both of them trading looks, before looking back at me. He still hadn’t spoken a word, just continued staring at me. After what felt like months, he finally let out a sigh. Smiling at us all brightly.

“I figured I wouldn’t be seeing you guys until Ochaco and Midoriya’s wedding,” He grinned, taking a seat in the empty one next to me.

“Oh yeah, that is coming up soon isn’t it?” Kirishima smiled. Overtime we grew apart from Ochaco, so although we weren’t in the wedding she still wanted us there. Bakugo and Todoroki were still close with Midoriya, he had eventually forgiven them after everything that happened, so they were in the wedding.

“My brother’s wedding is right before theirs, so I figured I should stay in town for an extended amount of time,” Todoroki sighed, he sounded so formal now, it was a little strange.

“Bout time you came back around, Hawks was really starting to piss me off asking me a shit ton of questions about you,” Bakugo laughed, taking a drink, “Miss (y/l/n) over here is working for the bird man now,”

“Touya actually mentioned that to me when we talked on the phone,” Todoroki looked back towards me again, “And that you had a pretty great story to talk to me about?”

My breath hitched. So we were going to do this now? I figured I would have a little more time. To get myself warmed up to the idea of talking to him. Apparently I wouldn’t get that luxury.

“It’s actually based on everything that happened in our last year of school,” I mumbled, and Todoroki tensed up a little bit. His face stayed soft though, he didn’t look angry, “I would like for you to have the chance to read it before I do anything with it,”

“I wouldn’t mind, if you don’t?” Todoroki questioned, and I just nodded my head. Kirishima and Bakugo shared a look before both of them stood up.

“Hey, Todoroki do you mind making sure (Y/n) gets home?” Kirishima looked towards Todoroki, “I am going to go to Bakugo’s apartment for tonight so we can catch up,”

I looked at my best friend in shock, wanting to protest.

“Yeah, it’ll give me a chance to read over your manuscript?” Todoroki suggested, and I just nodded. If Kirishima ever asked me to do his laundry again, I would remind him of this moment.

“Text me when you make it back to Bakugo’s I guess,” I sighed, standing up from my seat, “I’m ready to go if you are?”

Todoroki nodded, walking up to the bar. He left money on the table, and placed his hand on the small of my back. Leading me out of the bar. Kirishima and Bakugo followed us closely. Bakugo walked to his car, and Kirishima paused for a second. He gave me a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

“Behave yourself,” I smirked at him, and he just rolled his eyes. Walking away from me grinning. Bakugo opened his door for him, and gave a small wave to Todoroki and I.

“You behave too!” Kirishima yelled before getting into the car. I blushed a little bit before looking towards Todoroki.

“Well, we can head out?” Todoroki suggested and I just nodded my head. Walking over to his passenger side door.

This was going to be something.

[hyunllx]

The Christmas Baker

A Hyunlix Hallmark Fic Chapter 1/5 wc: 4k Hwang Hyunjin is a rich, cocky, famous dancer that prefers to keep to himself during the holidays. When his roommate drags him along to visit his hometown, however, Hyunjin meets a boy who helps him believe in the spirit of the season. Primarily Hyunjin’s pov with Felix’s pov added in occasionally. series warnings: Extremely cliche. You will probably cringe at some points but its okay. chapter warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol. note: This fic is not meant to accurately reflect or portray the members of SKZ. This is just for fun. Next Chapter

--------------------&--------------------

    A deep pounding in the temples roused Hyunjin from his sleep, a groan escaping him as he tried to sit up, his head spinning. He remembered he’d crashed on the couch again in the middle of the night after coming home from another company party. As usual, he’d had too much to drink and couldn’t make it all the way to his bedroom to undress or sleep properly. Now his neck and shoulders hurt from the uncomfortable couch and he felt like he needed a year long hot shower.

  The smell of cooking registered in his nose, turning his stomach but waking him up a little more. He could hear the soft voice of his room mate and best friend, Chan, chiming from the kitchen, singing along to a christmas song he couldn’t quite make out.

  Chan emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl, grinning wide as he noticed Hyunjin up and somewhat alert,

  “Hey sleepyhead, you’re finally awake.” His voice was high and babyish as he approached the couch.

  Hyunjin groaned again. No matter how close they were, he was still embarrassed whenever Chan pulled out his cute charms around him. Lacking the energy to complain so soon after waking up, he just took the bowl from Chan and brought it to his lips without a word. Despite expecting the taste of Chan’s famous hangover soup, Hyunjin still recoiled as the spices burned his tongue and throat. He coughed sharply, earning a pat on the head from his friend,

  “That’ll wake you up for sure.”

  “What’s that?” Hyunjin pointed to the luggage piled next to their apartment’s front door, distracting himself as he took another scalding sip of the soup broth. Chan tilted his head like a confused puppy, frowning,

  “I’m leaving to stay with my brother for break, remember?”

  “That’s today?”

  “Of course. Christmas is only four days away you know.” He didn’t know, but Hyunjin didn’t want to say that out loud. People were always either appalled that he didn’t celebrate the holidays or they pitied him. In reality he never got to celebrate like others did when his parents were busy with holiday music events and parties. He was used to being alone this time of year. Still, he couldn’t help eye the stack of bags with jealousy. The thought of waking up on christmas morning without his best friend was not something he looked forward to.

  Chan noticed the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door,

  “Are you sure I can leave you alone for so long?”

  Hyunjin scoffed, “What do you mean? I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

  “Getting drunk every night until Christmas is not taking care of yourself, Hyunnie.” Hyunjin grimaced at the nickname. Chan only used it when he was sincerely worried about him, and Hyunjin didn’t want to have this serious of a conversation when he’d be leaving right after. He focused on finishing his breakfast instead, skin burning where Chan was watching him.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Hyunjin choked as he inhaled broth in shock at the proposition,

  “Excuse me?” He managed between coughs.

  “I mean it. I don’t want you to be here by yourself.”

  The witty come back on Hyunjin’s tongue burned away when he met Chan’s sad eyes. Truthfully, he didn’t want to be here alone either, but the thought of staying in a stranger’s house in a strange town was equally unappealing. 

  “I know my brother won’t mind. He loves company, and we’ll make room for you.”

  “I’m not going to win this fight, am I?” Hyunjin sighed, defeated.

  “Nope!” Chan grinned and dragged him into a one-sided hug, “I’ll help you pack once you wake up.”

  It didn't take long for Hyunjin to shower and collect his things. Though what he owned was luxurious and expensive, he didn't own much of anything. His clothes for the trip took up a rolling suitcase and everything else fit neatly in his shoulder bag. How Chan managed to fill three duffle bags, a laptop case, and his backpack, Hyunjin would never know. Still, between the two of them packing up Chan’s car, they managed to get on the road by the time he’d wanted to leave. 

  “Do you mind if I call him to let him know we’re coming?” Chan asked, fiddling with his dashboard to connect the car to his phone.

  Hyunjin shrugged, putting in his ear buds to respect the privacy of their conversation. Even with his volume turned, though, the reverberating bass of the deepest “Hello?” he’d ever heard cut through to his ears. 

  Hyunjin had never seen Chan’s brother, but he couldn’t imagine the person that voice must be coming from. His eyes widened as he listened to them talk,

  “I’m on my way over now!” Chan said, flashing Hyunjin a bright smile when he noticed his friend’s face, “Hey, I’m sorry for not asking earlier but my roommate didn’t have a place to celebrate Christmas, so is it alright I brought him along?”

  “Of course, of course!” His brother responded, his voice lightening only slightly with warmth, “I’ll get the guest room ready. Will he be coming to the party?”

  Hyunjin sat up straighter at the mention of a party, looking toward Chan, who only rolled his eyes,

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be good for him to go.”

  “Sweet! I’ll see you guys when you get here.”

  “Love you, Lix.”

  “Love you too!”

  “Party?” Hyunjin asked curiously as soon as they hung up the call, “I thought you wanted me to stay away from parties.”

  “It’s not the kind of party you’re thinking of.” Chan shook his head, a laugh hiding behind his lips, “It’s a celebration on Christmas Eve. Everyone comes together for free food and gifts.”

  “Sounds boring.” As long as there’s liquor for the adults, he thought to himself. He knew he’d need it to get through that kind of Christmas cheer. Chan only hummed in response, turning on the radio. It didn’t take long for him to start singing along to the holiday music, definitely not helping Hyunjin’s mood, even with his own music playing through his headphones.

  It took a couple songs passing without him registering the music for Hyunjin to realize he was still thinking about the voice on the other end of the car speakers. So warm yet so deep and mysterious at the same time. Chan talked often with pride about his younger brother, but Hyunjin had never taken the time to envision what the boy was actually like. In his head he was just a younger Chan. Clearly not with that voice. If he’d heard someone speak like that in a club or at a venue, he’d be flirting with them in an instant.

  After an hour of passive contemplation and at least ten plays of Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas Is You, Hyunjin finally pulled out his ear buds and turned down the radio. Chan turned to look at him mid-lyric,

  "What's wrong?"

  "Tell me more about your brother." Chan opened his mouth to gush like usual but paused, looking at him curiously,

  "You've never asked about him before."

  "It would be rude to show up at his house and not know anything about him."

  “I talk about him all the time?”

  “I don’t listen.” He lied.

  Chan rolled his eyes, “Well… his name is Felix. He’s the same age as you are, 6 months younger. I basically raised him when we were kids because our parents were gone all the time. He owns and works at a little bakery in town-”

  “He’s a baker?” Now Hyunjin was really confused. 

  “The BEST baker!” Chan corrected, a little over-excited, “Seriously, all your stress will melt away the second you taste his brownies. He’s also a great cook, of course. And he’s a dancer, like you!”

  Hyunjin couldn’t figure this boy out. Every detail Chan shared over the following half hour was like gaining a new jigsaw piece that belonged to a completely different puzzle. “Felix” was a baker at heart with a passion for singing and dancing. Somehow he’d never followed in his elder brother’s footsteps despite being a gifted musician. By the time he was done listening, he both regretted asking and was unimaginably curious. All because of that stupidly deep voice on the other end of the call. 

  They drove from late morning until sunset, the city passing by them giving way to towns and eventually just an expanse of highway and trees. Occasionally an off-ramp would lead to some semblance of civilization beyond the humming of the cars around them, otherwise there was nothing this far out of the city. Clouds on the horizon turned deep red and purple as Chan finally took an exit, a storm in the distance squeezing the last drops of golden light from the sun before it set.

  They took several winding turns through the trees until the sun disappeared behind them and lights flared up around the car. Hyunjin stared in amazement as the trees lining the main road held strings of christmas lights in their branches, leading them straight to the town’s center. Though he would never admit it out loud, Hyunjin thought they were beautiful. 

  The entire town was decorated as though they had just entered the north pole. Every light pole held an oversized wreath, every tree strung with lights, every hovel and storefront decorated as if they wanted to see their tiny town from space. Hyunjin was dumbstruck; he was used to this kind of sight in big cities. It was to draw tourists and commerce for the big stores and the attractions. But here, this tiny town had none of that. They did this for the joy of it. How anyone could be in love with this holiday in such a way, he did not know. He was so lost in wonder he didn’t even notice they’d stopped until Chan turned the car off and the radio stopped playing, snapping Hyunjin’s attention back to reality.

  They’d pulled up to the small driveway of an equally small house. It was two stories tall, but only wide enough to fit the front door and a window on the first story. Thin trails of smoke rose from the back of the house, and a porch enclosed the entrance, orange light spilling out onto the wooden steps from the door’s frosted glass window.

  Shivers ripped through Hyunjin as he stepped out of the car, his breath swirling around him in a puff of steam. The temperature had dropped below freezing already, the cold eating away the nerves that started bubbling in Hyunjin’s stomach. The house in front of him looked cozy and warm and he just wanted to get inside.

  “Come on!” Chan grinned, motioning for Hyunjin to follow as he nearly sprinted up the stairs. The door was unlocked for them, and he shuffled after his friend into the heat of the home. He rubbed his hands together as he stood over the humming radiator of the entryway, taking in the overwhelming sensory experience of the home. Other than the warmth, the first thing to hit Hyunjin was the smell of food cooking somewhere deeper in the house, making his stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten much more than a few snacks since his breakfast soup. 

  Secondly, everything was covered in christmas decorations. Everything. The walls, the stairs to the second floor, the doors, the dining room to their left. Even the crown molding lining the ceiling of the old house. The warm orange light he’d seen from outside was emitted by dozens if not hundreds of little warm-white bulbs. It was as if Santa Claus himself lived there.

  “We’re here!” Chan called out, waddling into the hallway with Hyunjin right behind. A half-laugh half-yell of excitement burst from what Hyunjin assumed was the kitchen, startling him. Yet the human that emerged from the doorway was the most shocking part.

  The boy was just a tiny bit shorter than Chan, and petite enough to be swimming in his oversized sweater and apron. His hair was a shade more platinum than Hyunjin's own blonde, his skin a soft russet with splashes of dark freckles across his nose and cheeks.

  "Hyung!" He exclaimed in a high-pitched voice as he ran into Chan's outstretched arms. Certainly this wasn't the same boy that spoke over the car speakers.

  "You must be Hyunjin!" His deep voice returned as he pulled away from his brother, beaming up at Hyunjin with the world's brightest grin, "It's nice to meet you!"

  "Nice to meet you t-" Hyunjin had extended a hand for a handshake but Felix quickly ignored it, pulling him into a sudden hug. Hyunjin stiffened at the informality, entirely unprepared to meet someone that was even more physically affectionate than Chan. He could see the family resemblance. 

  “Don’t be nervous,” Felix tried to soothe him, patting his back before pulling away, “You’re hyung’s friend, so this is your home too.”

  Hyunjin couldn’t respond, his brain was short-circuiting from the physical affection and the deep voice and all the lights. All he could process was Chan trying desperately yet failing to suppress a laugh in his direction. Thankfully, an obnoxious beeping from the kitchen saved him from having to formulate a response.

  “Ah! Dinner’s ready, you guys made it just in time!” He scurried off to fetch the food, bouncing along with excitement as he ran like a child.

  “You alright?” Chan chuckled, smacking Hyunjin between the shoulderblades to grab his attention.

  “What have you dragged me into?” He whispered, hoping his host wouldn’t hear.

  “Come on Hyunjin, I know you guys are going to end up getting along just fine.” Chan winked at him, which Hyunjin thought was odd, but at this point everything around him was twisted backwards and upside down so he didn’t think much more of it. 

  They hung up their jackets and Chan led him into the dining room where Felix was setting out three large bowls of rice next to three bowls of the most delicious smelling kimchi stew Hyunjin had ever seen. The chandelier that hung over the small table was turned off, the room illuminated instead by the vibrant white glow of the christmas tree in the corner of the room. Felix’s smile as they entered was just as bright; Hyunjin felt he couldn’t look too long or else he’d get lost in it. Instead he turned to Chan as he took a seat next to him, watching his friend’s nose scrunch up at the thought of a spicy meal.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not very spicy.” Felix assured, reading Hyunjin’s exact train of thought. Of course he’d know Chan couldn’t handle spicy food. He couldn’t even eat the hangover soup he made Hyunjin in the mornings. 

  “Thank God.” Chan nodded with relief, “Shall we eat? I’m starving.”

  “Of course, please help yourselves.” Felix said as he took a seat across from Hyunjin at the table, still smiling. Hyunjin still couldn’t look at him, his heart skipping at the sight of his grin. Instead, he dug into his stew. 

  An involuntary groan rumbled in his throat at the flavor, his body warming instantly as he slowed to savor the taste. Not that he’d had many home cooked meals in his life, but Hyunjin couldn’t help but think it was the best tasting meal he’d ever had.

  When he came back up from his bowl, Hyunjin froze under the stares of both Chan and Felix. They looked at him eagerly, leaning in as if waiting for him to speak.

  “Uh…” He struggled to find words as he swallowed a mouthful of beef, “It’s really good.”

  Felix let out a sigh of relief then a loud, sudden laugh. His grin swallowed his face again as he picked up his chopsticks,

  “Good! I was worried whether or not you’d like it.”

  The comment came off so casual that it left Hyunjin’s ears burning with embarrassment. Why did he care what Hyunjin thought about his food? They were strangers. Yet the longer he lingered in this house the more it felt familiar. Like he was visiting a beloved family member after years apart. He shook off the feeling. 

  He’s a stranger. Hyunjin reminded himself.

  “Is Seungmin still working at the bakery after moving out?” Chan asked when Hyunjin’s senses were ready to return to the conversation.

  “Yeah, but I gave him the week off.” Felix waved his hand dismissively, though a smirk lingered on his lips, “He deserves to spend as much time as he can with Minho.”

  “They’re back together?”

  “Do they ever really break up?” Both brothers laughed in agreement, nodding vigorously. Hyunjin was lost in the conversation, so he just sat and smiled awkwardly. Chan giggled teasingly as he continued, 

  “What about you? Is there a special boy I should meet while I’m here?”

  Hyunjin and Felix immediately locked eyes at the question. Felix’s face grew tomato-red, and the intense fire in his ears told Hyunjin they looked much the same. His head reeled as he realized that’s why Chan was never awkward whenever he came home to find Hyunjin with a boy, or why they never had the talk about it after. 

  “Uh.. No- no. I’m not seeing anyone.” Felix stuttered, stuffing his mouth with rice so he wouldn’t have to keep talking. Hyunjin felt sorry for him as the boy’s sunny smile vanished. He could sense Felix’s anxiety at being outed to a stranger. Even if he’d welcomed Hyunjin with open arms, this was a different level of personal information. He tried to catch Felix’s eye again but the boy was too focused on his food. Hyunjin cleared his throat instead,

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping to meet a cute boy while we were here.”

  Felix perked up a little at that, a smile entertaining the corners of his lips while he chewed. They finished their dinner in mostly silence, the sweet hum of christmas music filtering into the room via the kitchen. Though he knew he’d regret it when he returned to the dance studio after break, Hyunjin ate until he was completely full, letting himself indulge in the delicious food just this once.

  “So… just you in the bakery tomorrow?” Chan asked as they all leaned back in their chairs, finished and satisfied.

  “Yep!” Felix smiled and nodded as he stood to gather the empty dishes from the table, “I’m only aiming for 1000 this year so the two days should be plenty of time. As long as you’ll help?”

  “Of course! What are brothers for?”

  “1000 what?” Hyunjin looked between them, confused and apprehensive about being in a stranger’s home by himself.

  “Cookies! For the Christmas Eve Party. You’re welcome to come help too if you want.”

  Hyunjin screwed up his face at the idea; he was NOT a good cook, or baker. Hence his lack of experience with home-cooked meals, “I think I’ll just take the day to look around town.”

  “Well you’re welcome to stop by. It’ll just be us in there.” Was that disappointment in his deep voice? Hyunjin shook his head at the thought. While he certainly had a reputation for being cocky, he wasn’t typically this full of himself. There was no reason for this boy he’d just met to have such an impact on his emotions. Felix didn’t care about him or what he did. They didn’t know each other. Hyunjin was only here because of Chan. 

  “I’m going to start unloading the car.” He said, already heading for the front door. He needed to clear his head. The cold night air would help.

--------------------Felix--------------------

    “Is that everything?” Felix asked as he helped his brother tuck the last of the gifts he’d brought under the giant tree in his living room. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he had to restrain himself from shaking the boxes whenever he glimpsed his name written on the tag.

  “Yep!” Chan smiled just as wide, pretending to dust off his hands, “Just have to unpack my clothes and stuff.”

  “Do you want help?”

  “Nah. I’ll be back down in a bit.” He scratched his fingers in Felix’s hair as he stood, making the younger boy giggle. Felix hadn’t realized how much he had missed his hyung; Chan was gone to the big city to chase his dreams and rarely got a break to come home. Whenever he visited, it felt like Felix’s heart was whole again. 

  As he stood up from his spot in front of the tree, Felix’s mind wandered from his brother to the stranger upstairs, Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin. 

  Being a dancer himself, Felix was familiar with the dancers that Chan worked with, spending hours memorizing their routines. The fact that Hyunjin was here in his home made nervous, star-struck butterflies flutter in his stomach. Even despite his cold demeanor.

  Felix could tell it was an act; the mask had slipped when Hyunjin rescued him from Chan accidentally outing that he liked boys in front of a stranger. It slipped in the way Hyunjin looked to Chan like a brother, for comfort and reassurance. There was a kind person underneath all that ice. He’d warm up once they got to know each other, Felix was sure of it.

  “I’ll go check on him, I think.” He mumbled to himself as he checked his pulse, a nervous tick he’d had since he was a child. He stopped to grab a pillow and blankets from the closet under the stairs, just in case his guest needed an extra one, before heading up.

  The door to the guest bedroom was ajar so Felix opened it with a nudge of his foot. He found Hyunjin standing in the middle of the room, vigorously texting on his phone. His long, golden hair hung loose, free from the ponytail he’d had it in before. His plump bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. It was the first time Felix really recognized how breath-takingly beautiful the man was in person.

  When he noticed light spilling into the room from the hall, Hyunjin looked up from his phone, startled as though Felix had caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. Frowning, he paused in the doorway,

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Y-yeah. Sorry, you just surprised me.” Hyunjin spoke as if finding his breath again, his ears turning pink again like they had been at dinner.

  “Um… Is there anything you need? Like another blanket or something?” Felix shuffled his feet awkwardly. The star-struck butterflies were back in full-force and he was sure he looked just as embarrassed as Hyunjin himself did.

  “No thank you, I’m alright.” An awkward pause, “Hey… is that offer to help at the bakery still open?” 

  Felix’s heart flipped up into his throat,

  “Yeah of course! You… you changed your mind?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of the town.” He stepped back and pointed to the small window. Half an inch of snow already clung to the outer windowsill while large, heavy flakes sparkling in the lights lining the house dove through the air. The storm that had been threatening the sky all day finally arrived. 

  “Oh that’s alright,” Felix grinned at the sight, excitement mingling with his nervousness making him bounce on his toes, “We’ll have a white christmas at least! You’re welcome to join me and Chan any time.”

  “Thank you.” Hyunjin bowed slightly, still being awkward, “Um… good night.”

  “Good night, Hyunjin.” Before he could see his reaction, Felix stepped back and shut the door. His heart raced and he had to take a moment to catch his breath.

  

“It’s going to be a long three days…”

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

APH China Musings

When I start thinking about China, and sometimes countries in general, I get this total disconnect between how the anime/manga portrays the country (especially China) and how a lot of headcanons have them as, especially reading headcanons and art about ancient days. 

Ok China-specific content below (headcanons at the very end): Very long post warning

Most of the canon shows him as a sort of weird old grandpa who doesn’t really have all his nuts and bolts in his brainpan and pretends to be cool or whatever (when he’s really not) while his kids all mock him. That APH China has a soft spot for cute things and can’t really understand the others ig, which again kinda makes him a laughingstock for his kids. But, the headcanons I’ve read show him as a really manipulative, sly Old Man who enters contracts/treaties/friendships to benefit him, not for the sake of being kind, and doesn’t really see everybody else on an even level with him which... clashes somewhat to a lot with the canon. HOWEVER, this cunning, darker (?) version of him is way more historically accurate... I like certain things from both versions (and I also like being historically accurate as much as possible) and the fact that headcanons vs canon is so contrasting makes it kinda hard to have one concrete China for my headcanons, it’s like he has split personalities or something lol.

Side note: I’ve never heard/known of anyone Chinese ever saying -aru in English, so... It might be just a voice tic of Chinese people when speaking Japanese, but I sort of get annoyed when it’s added in every other sentence he says in a fanfic. He doesn’t talk like that in the English dubbed anime either, and it seems that the English translations of the manga have also omitted the -aru (except for one strip I believe, correct me if I’m wrong). So please don’t add it in fanfics unless you want the characters to all be speaking Japanese with their own unique voice tics.

However, I do like some parts of the canon portrayal, SUCH AS: his doing tai chi every morning, the portrayal of his relationship with Japan before the “betrayal”, and apparently how he “isn't one to waste a second of time” (from the wiki). So in my head, I try to meld the canon and Sly Old Man together, because I like some aspects of China that may not be explained by either the country’s history, culture, or stereotypes, and honestly I feel like some parts of a country’s personality can just appear spontaneously; you don’t need to be able to explain every part of you from your past experience or the people and country that you make up and represent.

Without further ado, the Headcanons!

- MORNING PERSON, does the whole tai chi thing in the morning with the birds in his garden or something, finds it very relaxing, and then goes back inside for an actual breakfast (I have no idea what he’d eat because Chinese cuisine varies A LOT from region to region, ex. in the north/Beijing region there’s usually soy milk, “Chinese oil stick” which is basically like salty fried dough sticks, and “tofu brains” <-- literal translation, it’s a sort of soupy thing with very soft tofu (very good). In the south, there’s a lot of sweet meats and dim sum, almost like a mini lunch sort of thing, etc.) He’d also drink tea, and never adds sugar (I don’t think restaurants in China ever actually give you sugar packets with tea)

- I feel like he’d be a CAT PERSON nowadays dogs as pets have become more popular in China but before, cats were more common (I think) because of their usefulness as pest control and the fact that they can get their own food; dogs weren’t really kept except to be guard dogs. I feel he’d have gotten used to cats, and also he’d enjoy a quiet pet’s company more

- ANCIENT DAYS/RELATIONSHIPS: He’d probably be slightly manipulative, and ENTER relationships for a trade benefit/power/control/good stuff, but if the relationship goes well and the person is charming (Rome cough cough), he’d slowly warm up and become real friends after a while.

- I agree with the Sly Old Man treatment of COLONIES/TRIBUTE STATES, he’d probably just protect them for the benefits instead of actual Love (but isn’t that what all countries do these days). I do see him as very patronizing to his underlings, because of a) his age and him thinking that he’s seen it all with his dynasty changes and wars and stuff and b) Confucianism, which said to respect your elders and all that, so I think it’d make him slightly full of himself and patronizing (the wiki says this is also his current attitude and I can see that). But I see a situation similar to the relationship one playing out here; as he gets more and more contact with a tribute state he actually grows closer to them in the Normal Human Feeling way, so that would explain his feeling of betrayal when Japan left (literally back-stabbing him), as well as his feeling sad (not just because he lost a trade partner and revenue maker) when Korea was taken. For his tribute states, my headcanon for their relationship is pretty much summed up in this post (esp his relationship with Korea, but also Japan a bit): https://stirringwinds.tumblr.com/post/119403708770/tsk-look-at-you-all-battered-and-bruised-its (patronizing but still caring)

- VERY PRAGMATIC AND EXTREMELY BLUNT. I have no explanation, he just seems like this kind of person (and according to the wiki, he “isn't one to waste a second of time”). Doesn’t care at all if he offends you, intentionally or not (unless he’s trying to impress, of course).

- VERY TRADITIONAL. He probably knows at least a handful of traditional instruments, pipa, ma tou qin, gu zheng, erhu, xun, etc. And will roast people on the internet if they play them wrong (a while back at some really fancy gathering, there was a performer who was in front, mind you, playing a yu (wind instrument) upside down and totally wrong, and that caused a huge firestorm in Chinese social media. I’d like to think China would have been one of those people to be like “what are you doing you know you just made a fool of yourself right?” Incidentally, there’s also an idiom related to the yu that is literally about playing it wrong (literally it’s something like one bad apple can be covered up in a sea of good ones but one by one, people will see you’re bad))

- TRADITIONAL pt. 2: good at calligraphy and also very good at guessing dui lian (apparently called antithetical couplets) hung up during the Lunar New Year. Also adhering to tradition, he gathers up everybody for every single big Chinese/Asian festival to eat together. I know Japan doesn’t interact much with China and China still feels betrayed by him in the manga (the Japanese and Chinese relationship nowadays still isn’t the greatest/closest for multiple reasons) but I’m going to take liberties (and my heart needs fluff). Also, if China invites/drags everybody but Japan to his house, I feel like that’s awkward and one of his kids/siblings would get Japan to come anyway. There would be a lot of arguing at the dinner, about food, politics, memes (from HK), trends, or anything really, but it’s all in good fun, yeah?

- MODERN POLITICS: still a bit of Sly Old Man, and probably very stuck in his ways. Some countries he doesn’t really respect. For example, he doesn’t see America as a fully respectable adult, probably because a) he’s still older and b) I think China agrees with his government’s structure to a point? Like with the way he suffered during the collapse of the Qing Dynasty (Boxer Rebellion, WWI, etc.) I think he’d take any system (including communism) that worked and improved people’s lives. At heart, I think China wants to do what’s right for the people, and at the time, the Communist Party promised that people’s lives would get better under their leadership, and for some, it did. That convinced so many people to take their promise, and I think China would have supported it at the time. As well as, I believe that country’s perspectives of their government is /somewhat/ influenced or warped by their people’s perspective, and /most/ people in China are /okay/ satisfied with the central govt. (not extending this to regional govts, that’s kinda a different issue). So I see China (as a character) being mostly satisfied, and America’s criticism and complaints about him pretty much bounce off, because China doesn’t see his comments worthy of respecting, especially because his govt. is doing ok from his point of view. There are definitely things that need working on, but he won’t take US criticism.

- SLY OLD MAN pt. 2: Basically the same as the tribute state thing, he’ll help you out initially to get your benefits, but if you last long enough, he’ll gradually grow friendship feelings. I feel like this is what real China is trying to do with the “Belt and Road”, basically spreading influence to less developed countries, although it may not be working out. Sort of like manipulation, which also fits in with the Sly Old Man thing.

- I can see why Hima originally designed China as being a bit cold, because I feel if he doesn’t need you, he won’t really talk to you. Although as mentioned above, I also see him start to care for somebody once he takes the effort to get to know you, and will probably care for his close friends long after they’re actually needed.

- I agree with the canon that he can GET ANNOYED EASILY AND SNAPS A LOT, but I see this happening only with people he thinks aren’t interesting enough, are below him, or don’t get him (or are just incessantly annoying).

- Also a bit EGOTISTICAL, but doesn’t show most of the time. Unless you happen to mention a recent achievement, and then he’ll go “Haha! I did that ____ (pick a number from 1,000 to 4,000) years ago!” or something and probably roast you

- SENTIMENTAL OLD SOUL: often reminisces about the past when alone, or with someone he truly trusts (that used to be Japan, but...). Slips into “how did the world get like this?” sometimes to a lot. Feels lonely sometimes too, and can be found stargazing on his front stoop at night

- RELAXING: if he doesn’t have work, he’ll just relax at his house, probably take a long bath/shower and just do nothing, maybe play some sort of instrument for fun, go into his garden and paint/walk around and enjoy the flowers, or watch some new addictive show. If he feels like working, he’ll cook dinner for all his kids/siblings and invite them over (this will also be done if he thinks one is overworking)

Ok those are all the headcanons for now, but probably will be more to come. My love for this Old Man is infinite <3. If you want, reblog/submit/comment your own aph China headcanons! Do you think I did him justice?

[zwiezraczek]

The Perks of being Roger's Girl... [Chapter 2]

SUMMARY:  Anna is Brian’s friend, his childhood best friend. They were separated for a long time, but when Smile performs at the Royal Albert Hall, Anna is here, invited by Brian. There, she meets Roger, the dentist drummer, a loverboy.

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2: Recording - CHAPTER 3

Queen is rising, tension is in the air. Everything is eased with some music.

WORDS: 6.2k

Brian promised Anna that he would bring her to Fred and Roger's store in the Kensington Market. She wanted to see with her own eyes what the two shenanigans did in that place, how they managed to make it real and, the most important, how they managed to not kill one another. So many mysteries and only one place to find the answers. Brian took Anna to a nice pub near the place, they had lunch and a beer, almost like when they were kids and their mothers allowed them to go and have a piece of cake in a bakery together, sitting on the sidewalk, almost because back then they only drank apple juice. Brian tied up his hair into a fluffy bun and Anna had two buns on each side of her head, both of them laughed when they saw each other with their hair styled like this. “Matching” both exclaimed when the saw each other.

They were walking through a large alley in the market, looking at the stands, looking for original clothes but mostly for velvet flare pants – their all time favorites. Finally, they stumbled upon a small place, a door so to speak, without any neon or sign but just fancy curtains framing the door from this outside. The place looked pretty much like Ali Baba's den, full of treasures. Brian headed in first, quickly followed by Anna who was looking all around her. And when she entered, her eyes glistened. The candid orange lighting was giving to this place a very cozy atmosphere that resembled Freddie so much. The scent of the cheap incense was intoxicated with smoke of cigarettes, everything was reminding her of their rehearsing room.

They heard Freddie's voice greeting them into the “best shop in the whole market, darlings” before he could even recognize them, but their hairstyles were a huge clue. Freddie clapped his hands as he saw them entering, absolutely thrilled by they new looks, complimenting this boldness and this amazing amount of style as Roger just sat on the counter, legs dangling above the floor.

“Welcome to Roger and Freddie's marvelous shop,” he said as Anna was hugging Freddie who immediately pulled of when he heard Roger's words to face him.

“Freddie and Roger's, darling”, he corrected. “Alphabetically speaking it's more accurate.”

“Alphabetically speaking,” the blond man repeated mockingly.

“I'm on Freddie's side,” Anna said.

“I'm on Anna's,” Brian added as Roger just looked at them with disgust, crossing his arms.

“Traitors.”

“So,” Brian finally dared to ask, “where do you get these clothes from?” Anna was looking through the many fancy fabrics laying piled up one on another, the various collars, earrings and other pieces of jewelry; all these reflecting the orange light and seeming so pretty. She had to touch some of these, making them roll between her fingers for a longer moment.

“A nice guy drops these here from time to time,” Freddie admitted with a smile as he saw Anna's interest for the jewels. “And sometimes I sell Roger's clothes.”

“You bastard, don't remind me that you sold my hat this morning,” Roger barked getting down from the counter and going to grab a cigarette.

“For the greater good, darling! It looked awful on you! You should thank me!”

He wasn't about to thank him, but more about to punch him in the face, without any regret. Anna chuckled while seeing the pout Roger had on his face while seeking for his lighter and cigarettes, her attention fully on the two men now. She gave Brian a look, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Besides, you sold my own coat three times in a row and I had to run after the guys to get it back and give them back their money!”

“I'll never find my hat again Fred!” he dramatically answered, ignoring the other's complaint. He finally found his cigarettes and put one of them between his lips while searching for the lighter he had in his pocket. The smoke filled half the room, Anna felt suddenly happy that the only thing framing the door was a curtain and not a door, otherwise they would suffocate in here. She watched the tension grow, as Brian did too. She decided to put an end to this.

“I'm sure you can find another one in the market,” she said as Roger looked curiously at her. “I'm even pretty sure about it!”

“Bonus, it's not as if it was very far from here,” Brian added nodding.

“Screw this,” was Roger's only answer after a long moment of reflection, the edge of his cigarette almost falling on the floor just before he taped on it into the ashtray near him. “I'm going now because this absolute moron sold my hat!”

“You won't dare leaving me all alone, Rog,” Freddie commented with arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“Brian can replace me for a moment,” Roger decided as Brian rose his eyebrows, “see? He's totally fine with it!” he added as the guitarist's face was full of confusion.

“I think I'm not very –,” Brian tried to say before being interrupted by Freddie.

“So you leave me here with Anna and Brian? That's your plan?”

“Never said that! Leaving you with Brian only,” Roger corrected. “Anna was the one telling me that I can find another hat here, her responsibility to find it for me.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said Anna,” he answered while putting his coat on and his cigarette out. Then, he jumped over the counter, casually. “So now, Mrs. Anna will help Mr. Taylor.”

“Mr. May isn't thrilled at all while hearing about this,” Brian commented while looking at Roger, not so pleased.

“Mrs. Anna can look after herself I promise Mr. May,” she joked, “besides I saw a beautiful shawl when we came up here and if I'm lucky enough it will be still waiting for me.”

“It's not even about you going with him, fine,” Brian said quickly, “being a shop assistant isn't my thing at all Rog.”

“You'll learn with Freddie, good master, good master,” he repeated with a hand gesture towards Freddie before grabbing Anna's hand and dragging her towards the exit.

Brian never learned.

Once the sunlight hit their eyes, Roger looked happily at her, still holding her hand. During a second, he became self-conscious, he understood what he was doing and let her hand go while quickly putting his own into his pockets, faking looking for another cigarette. He broke the silence by asking her where they were going to go, while lighting his cigarette held between his lips. But honestly, Anna had no clue. She told what she told about the hat just to avoid another argument, the tension in the highly scented air, just to ease things. But now, she got what she deserved for being such a kind soul; yet she was grateful that she hadn't to stay with Freddie in the shop. After a few seconds, during which she thought about the different shops she saw while coming up here, she decided to go down the road, hoping that maybe they would find a hat – or her shawl.

Roger complained loudly about Freddie eating strange things while in the shop, which smelled weird with all these odors or whatever, as he called these. A lady with a perm turned around quickly to look at this young man yelling in the street about some spicy food that was too much, you understand, too much to handle for him even if he wasn't difficult while speaking of food. And as the shock faded on the lady's face and she continued up the road, Anna burst into laughter under Roger's surprised gaze. He had his lips delicately parted, showing his upper teeth as he squinted trying to understand what was so hilarious in this situation. Anna's laugh made some heads turn, as her two buns were going back and forth along with her head. She tried to explain, but her cheeks were hurting her from laughing more and more as she tried to clarify the whole situation. So Roger gave up, just until she could catch her breath again and explain the look on the lady's face, a look that she rarely saw on someone's face. Roger joked about being special for making people look that way, as wind pushed his hair against his forehead.

While looking at the shop stalls as they went down the street, Roger rambled about some music he was writing, something Anna loved to hear about. Since their session of writing, she remarked that Roger came to see her more often with some texts, just to ask her if these were good enough to show to the band. Once, this was Brian's job, Brian thanked her for doing it because usually this kind of session with Roger ended by the blond one throwing things into Brian's hair while he was sitting in front of his drums and Brian adjusting his guitar. This time he spoke about just an idea, nothing pretty serious, as he commented. Something about a mother letting her son go, a mother suffering from this departure; he saw it clearly, he wanted to portray some kind of pain in his lyrics but he couldn't grasp the essence of all of this right now, he still had to think about it. Before he could finish anything, Anna pointed at a stall in front of a shop displaying a large amount of hats, resembling the ones that Roger used to wear. His eyes shone with amazement as he looked at the hats, hats seemed to be one of his favorite accessories, along with a pair of Converses. He found what he needed, he was absolutely thrilled about the amount of hats he could find there and promised himself – and to Anna – that he would come back here to enlarge his own personal collection of hats.

But Anna wanted to find her shawl, this was her only purpose now. And she knew that Roger wasn't complaining about it: the more they were out the less he had to spent time in their small little shop. Always something. As if Anna heard his thoughts, she began to talk about their business: how they found out about the place, how they found out about the guy who was supplying them, who was the big brain of the operation – Roger said it was him, but she had only his version of the story, and she was sure that Freddie would have said that he, Freddie Mercury, was the brain of the operation.

“So basically you don't know where your clothes come from and you don't care,” Anna summed up as he couldn't really answer more of her questions.

“Exactly, but as much as it pays my cigarettes I'm totally fine with it.”

“The ones you went out to buy without your hat this morning?” she teased as he looked at her annoyed, before tightening his lips.

“Don't your remind me about that hat,” he finally said after breathing out loudly, “besides, now I have a cooler hat and cigs.”

“Quitting smoking would have avoided some problems,” she remarked.

“Yeah, but sometimes its quite useful, you know,” he said with a knowing look and a little smile on his face.

“Useful to die, yeah.”

“You sound like Brian right now, quite scary if you want to know.”

“I'm his sister after all,” she answered fluttering her eyelashes. “Seriously, people during gigs come to see me and to ask me if I can introduce them to my brother and Mary is always all merry about this.”

“You should fake being his sister, should be fun.”

“Yeah should be f,” she began to say before she saw the shawl, the one she wanted, the perfect shawl she saw earlier. “Roger, look! This is the shawl!”

Her excitement was to be found in her sparkling eyes as she laid them on the piece of shiny fabric. The golden yarns were standing out in the burgundy fabric with oriental motives, flickering before her eyes. The fabric was soft, and Anna tried the shawl on under Roger's attentive gaze. She snuggled her face into the fabric as the lady who was selling them looked strangely at her, before looking at Roger who only smiled. He looked back at Anna and with a gesture asked her to turn around, to show this magnificent shawl as she said floating in the air. Anna absolutely loved the idea, turned around twice under the amused gaze of the lady looking at both of them as if they were a cute couple.

“So?” Anna finally asked after striking a pose in front of him.

“You want compliments or real judgment?”

“Don't you dare,” she warned him, “I'm not craving for attention!”

“You look nice,” he answered with a candid smile as he looked at her, his voice sounding so soft and he could feel the fondness on his face. He found her adorable like this, this tall girl being happy just because of a shawl. “It brings your eyes out,” he added as the lady nodded while Anna looked at her.

“Thank you, smooth Mr. Taylor,” she replied with a little smirk and rising his shoulders. “M'am, I'll take this shawl then.”

“Your friend is right, it brings out your eyes, young lady,” she commented as Anna searched for some money in her pockets.

When they came back with their beautiful items in the shop, they found a half-deceased Brian in front of a girl asking him for some advice with the coat she was trying on, and a laughing Freddie behind the two of them. As Brian turned his head towards the exit and saw Anna and Roger, he excused himself and went to see the new coming “customers”. Anna could read relief on his face as he trotted to them with a hopeless enthusiasm, before putting his hand on Anna's shoulder.

“Anna, please, don't you ever leave me here again, in this shop, as a shop assistant, that's awful,” he dramatically complained, in a lower tone so the girl couldn't hear them. But little he knew that Freddie was already talking with her about the said coat. Anna chuckled a bit. Brian looked around her neck, recognizing a new item. “Nice shawl by the way, brings out your eyes. But never leave me here again, please.”

“Don't be so dramatic Brian,” she commented while also putting a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure you did a great job.”

“But at what cost... I'm sure I've lost a part of my soul.”

“Found a better hat Fred!” Roger interrupted the moment between the two friends and Freddie and his customer as he dramatically spread his arms walking towards Freddie. “You're one lucky bastard, Anna helped me and now I'm even more handsome than before!”

“See darling? I did the best job ever,” he complimented himself before looking at the customer. “I sold his awful hat this morning so he had to buy another one. He is very grateful as you can see.”

“Don't you try selling this one or,” he warned Freddie before going to sit on the counter to light a cigarette, “I'll throw my drum set at you.” Anna looked at Brian, confused, but Brian found this exchange pretty normal, violence was Roger's strength. Anna just never saw it fully displayed. Not yet. “Bri,” he called Brian out who immediately looked at Roger, alarmed, “ you should pretend to be Anna's brother from now, should be fun.”

“What?”

“Brian,” Anna said. “Just like the good old day. An and Bri, the siblings and mischief of the place. Pretty please?”

“Why does it sound fun when you say it and threatening when Roger does?” Brian said as Anna just smiled.

~~~~ 

As Anna was drinking some tea right after her cheap solo dinner, her phone rang. It was around 6.p.m. When she asked who it was, Brian's excited voice answered on the other side of the wires. His excitement was almost palpable through the phone, as a child during the Christmas Eve with eyes glowing as the lights from the Christmas tree reflected in them. They were recording their first album tonight, Queen, eponymous album and he wanted to have her around, with them. She was there from the very beginning of Queen and Brian wanted her to be here as they made their first steps into the new world, on the market maybe and perhaps even more. She was part of the Queen family now, and even the boys couldn't imagine recording without her, or Mary, being around with them. Anna's mouth was curved into a huge smile as she heard this, touched by these words, feeling appreciated by the boys. She knew they were her friends, but hearing this warmed her heart a lot. Brian mentioned an argument about money between Roger and Freddie – involving John's discreet intervention – but he brushed off the subject quickly before telling her that they would pick her up in thirty minutes, so she should be ready to go out in this short amount of time. Anna joked about her hair, saying she would never be ready in time as Brian just told her to put these in an ugly bun, as they used to do when they were writing a long time ago. She hung up soon after, looking for comfy honey velvet flare pants and a simple white t-shirt, over that she put her large black fluffy coat on and waited for the van to honk in front of her apartment.

When she finally put her foot outside her apartment she noticed that it wasn't the van that was standing here, in the middle of the road, but Brian's parents white car. Where did the van go? She trotted off the stairs and opened the back door of the small car, she found three people on the backseat, Mary sitting on Freddie's lap and Roger, sitting in the middle rolling his eyes in despair as Anna sat next to him.

“Thank God you're here,” he commented as she fastened her seat belt. “It became unbearable to sit around these two here, all eating each other's mouths. Gross.”

“And you're the one saying so,” Anna answered as Brian looked at her through the small mirror with smiling eyes as Roger just gasped. But before he could say something, Anna continued. “Where's the van?”

“Sweet mother of God,” John whispered, sitting next to Brian as he closed his eyes and put his head against the seat.

“Ask Freddie Mercury,” Roger barked while smiling at Freddie. “Oh, and ask him where is my wage from selling his crappy clothes in the market and also, from the gigs we did in the past few months. Ask Freddie Mercury, he should know.”

“Don't be so bitchy, Roger darling. You know it's for the greater good!”

“For the greater my ass! I hope we'll have something out of this Fred or I'll kill you with my bare hands,” he threatened him as Anna tried to catch Mary's gaze, absolutely disoriented. Mary gave her a reassuring smile, mouthing that everything should be alright once they arrive at the studio. She hoped so.

Quickly, the atmosphere went merrier than it was when Anna entered the car. Freddie's excitement about all of this was contagious, and even John was smiling while they were discussing about the songs they had chosen to record on the album tonight. They had the whole night, so around ten hours or so, to record their debut album. But they knew exactly what they wanted, how they wanted it and knew – more or less – how to achieve it. Roger's song, Modern Times Rock'n Roll was featured on the album, making Anna proud as she heard the title being listed, even on the B side: it was somehow her nephew, Roger's kid becoming her kid too, by alliance, by an “f” alliteration. Roger elbowed her during the whole ride, asking her how was her whole literature thing going, being extremely curious about it, listening about what she was studying at the moment in poetry or in modern literature. She spoke with a sparkle in her eyes, with a great passion and Roger listened, mesmerized by her eyes, by her lips, by her love for literature.

The darkness reigned in the studio, and only a man was standing in front of it, waiting for them. He was the sound engineer who stayed late just so they could record their album during the night; his eyelids seemed already heavy as he smoked outside the building. Their excitement didn't move him, he wanted to end the whole thing as soon as possible but this was without knowing Queen, without knowing Freddie. Brian took his Red Special from the trunk, he was the only one to carry his instrument here since they sold the van, thanks to Freddie as Roger liked to remind them. This wasn't the first time for them into a studio, maybe not for all of them such as John who played with them only for fun, but he wanted to do the things in the right way. Roger reminded that he knows a lot about the studios, and how, younger, he recorded some things himself, trying to impress God knows who: Brian had to remind him that it was in a choir, that he was wearing a white robe and had a bowl cut. Nothing to be proud of, to what Roger replied with a slender middle finger towards Brian who laughed the whole thing off.

At the beginning of the whole session, everything was noisy and messy. They began with the single, Keep Yourself Alive. The boys were enjoying themselves, while recording their parts behind the window glass as Mary and Anna listened to them from the booth, along with the sound engineer. Freddie often complained about sounding like shit, wanting to record his vocals again and again, as Brian sat next to Anna after another vocal backup record, hoping that the night won't be as long as it seemed to be. Slowly but surely, they began to record faster, better, with stranger techniques, with strange eye-looks from the guy recording them who was often muttering – as they were behind the glass – “what the hell are these kids doing...?” as Roger was banging on a drum on which the boys poured some coins, the moment after they hung a recording machine to make variation in sounds and the man almost lost his mind; Mary and Anna remained silent during these moments our just tried to reassure the guy saying him that they knew what they were doing, which was an absolute lie.

When Roger's turn to sing came, he was more thrilled than ever. It was already late, and Anna and Mary were asleep on the couch, Mary resting on Anna's hair. They stopped following religiously the recording as soon as the clock struck one in the morning, so both of them were asleep for a long time now. But Anna specified that she wanted to hear Roger sing, at one moment during the night recording, when she was half-asleep when Roger sat on the chair next to the couch the girls were lying on. Her sleepy eyes looked at him, as she smiled and told him “Roger, wake me up when your song will be recorded, I want to hear that.”. He promised he would, and she just nodded before looking at him for a long moment, dizzy. Before he could say anything, her eyes were closed, and Mary was sleeping too. He grabbed a blanket from the other chair and put it over the girls, fondly looking at them – her – sleep. When the blanked touched her skin, Anna rose her head a bit, looking at who was taking care of her and expecting Brian's face. But Roger's soft face appeared in front of her eyes, just like a ghost, he whispered her to sleep and to not worry about the song, he would wake her up as he promised. Her sheepish smile made him chuckle as he returned to see the rest of the band to hear the record of Liar again.

And now, Roger had not the heart to wake her up, Brian was absolutely against waking one of the girls up as they were having their hours of sleep, hours that were needed. But he promised. He couldn't break that promise; but she was sleeping, she looked so peaceful and delicate in her sleep. And against the other band mates protests, Roger went to squeeze her shoulder in order to wake her up, it took a little while, some quiet whispers, until she opened her eyes, disoriented.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty, our song's coming,” he said to her when she looked a little more conscious.

“Already,” her mouth was a bit dry as she spoke. The words were hesitant, and her voice weak.

“Yes, already. I'm going to record the lyrics, you skipped the boring part of me drumming, no big deal.”

“You promised to wake me up,” she mumbled slowly getting up without waking Mary.

“And I did, be grateful because Brian, John and Freddie told me to fuck off when I said that I had to wake you up.”

“I hope you slept well, darling,” Freddie said with a big smile, a cigarette in one hand, while sitting on the chair next to Mary as she nodded with a shy smile.

Brian looked at her, he put his hair into a ponytail, a lazy up-do for him showing how much they were working, how hard it was. They still had three songs to record if she remembered well, if her sleepy head was functioning correctly, and they had around three hours to do so, maybe more, maybe less. She sat next to the engineer, on Brian's lap, still a bit sleepy but curious to hear the song completely, and Roger's vocals. The music started. Roger head was banging just before he had to sing, and when his time came, his lips pressed against the mic, the words came out in a tired yet powerful voice. His rounded lips were always parted as he sang, eyes half shut, biting his lower lip when he had the time to do so. Anna watched him, as mesmerized as he was when he listened to her earlier, talking about literature. She could notice how his foot was drumming on the floor, as he sang for a solid one minute and forty seconds. A short but intense track.

“Magnificent,” she whispered against Brian's shoulder, a bit off.

“Don't tell him or his head will grow twice as big as it already is,” Brian advised her with some humor.

When Roger came back in, shaking his hands absolutely proud of what he did, he immediately looked at Anna, to see her reaction again, after the whispers he couldn't hear when he was recording, but the whispers he saw and the smile she had when Brian said something to her. He waited for something, for sure, but John just patted him on the shoulder with a reassuring smile as Freddie clapped his hands in order to begin the next song. His excitement quickly faded as Anna stood up to let Brian go into the recording studio for his guitar track, as he touched Roger's shoulder while passing by and whispered that it was actually a good song, but that he was a little too tired to jump about it. Anna, on her side, curled up in the chair Brian left her in; Roger went near her, and crouched down to be at her height.

“So?”

“I said to Brian that it was magnificent but he told me to shut up about it because you'll be too proud, all puffy as a mating pigeon,” she mumbled, not really knowing what she was saying to him. “Maybe minus the shut up and mating pigeon part,” she finally added.

“Happy to hear that you enjoyed how I played our song,” he softly whispered to let her fall asleep again.

“Your song,” she corrected.

“Our song Anna, you wrote it too.”

With a smile on her face, she fell asleep as Roger looked fondly at her.

~~~~ 

It was already dark outside when Anna stepped out from her apartment, going to the group's practice hall. The place became her safe space for work, to concentrate, for anything, lately. Everybody needed a place to ease the tensions in the air, the group sent their debut album, their demo to various labels about a month ago and still nothing. They were all desperate, Roger raging over Freddie telling him that all that money they spent on this album could have been used in another way, a wiser way and Brian had to part them often while John sat, pinching the strings of his bass as he looked at Anna and Mary, on the edge of everything. He seemed to seek for peace lately, he needed the band to calm down but until the moment somebody calls them – even if it was for a negative answer – John's wish couldn't be fulfilled. And they had gigs to perform, but Freddie wanted to see the bigger picture as his band mates were trying to tone him down, to not let him fall out of disappointment.

So the practice hall became a space where they had their rehearsals, yes, but some game afternoons, playing Scrabble all together, with or without the girls and Chrisssy – Brian's new girlfriend – , having little parties all together, having fun just to ease all these tensions between them. And mostly, it worked. Mostly.

And Anna found her sanctuary in there, being able to work with music, laughter, friends. It felt a lot better than being at the library or in her apartment, all by herself. So, tonight, around midnight, she decided that the practice hall would be the perfect place to work a bit; she had the keys, Brian gave her the keys. She walked under the moonlight, three books held against her side, her footsteps resonating on the empty roads. It was cold outside, but not enough to prevent her from going there. As she approached the place, she could hear noise. That was pretty surprising. She pressed her ear against the door, once she was inside the building, going into the hall: she heard drums. Violent drums, a hoarse and sleepy voice as the cacophony pulsed in the building. Roger. Of course it was Roger. She delicately opened the door, for him to not notice her, and she saw him. Shirtless and sweaty, hair strands against his forehead and some others flying around as he hit the drums, harder and harder at every movement. Concentrated, focused, he didn't even hear her opening the door and beginning to step in. She looked at him from afar, admiring the energy he radiated with wile playing alone, singing, all by himself. She felt like an intruder, violating his safe space, his little moment of anger, of rage. She could see the shift of emotion in his gestures, this was the pissed Roger, the one wanting to release his frustrations in music, on the drums, singing. “You won't need nobody else, but me.” He abruptly stopped to reach for a cigarette and a lighter. This is when he saw Anna.

First, she could see panic in his eyes. For a second, he didn't know what was happening here, who was she, his expression shifted from fear into incomprehension, then to confusion.

“No burglar Roger, just me, Anna,” she reassured him. “Nice lyrics.”

“Damn, Anna, what are you doing here alone at night? Are you insane?” he asked while putting the cigarettes back on the floor and reaching for his shirt.

“So we both are,” she commented while stepping more into the room.

“It's dangerous around here, at night,” he said to her, concerned as he got up to meet her, “you should be more careful when you go out during night.”

“Because I could meet a Roger Taylor? I don't think it would be a big issue,” Anna seemed fearless, she was more reckless than fearless when she wanted something. Usually, she thought about her deeds, but tonight, when she couldn't find another solution to continue her essay she decided that would be the solution.

“Don't joke around about it like that, we never know what could happen to you,” he replied, alarmed. He seemed to care a lot, as if he could lose her during that night for any reason. “Nobody would like to find you raped and dead, I can assure you.”

“It would be a great song title,” she remarked as she sat where she used to and Roger joined her on the other side of the couch, “all dead, all dead.” She took her coat off and put her next to her, before meeting Roger's not so amused gaze. He looked like an over-protective Brian. “Jesus, I'm doing alright, okay? I'm not dead, not all dead, yet, so no worries Roger.”

“Yeah... I'll have to walk you home then, or Brian will kill me.”

“You're more afraid for yourself than for me, great to know what pissed you so much,” she replied before opening her books on the table. She had to write that essay, or at least begin to draft something about it.

“Another problematic essay?”

“More than that, it's practically hell. Another stressful sleepless night?” her voice sounded concerned. And she was about everything that was happening to Queen. Roger was mostly trying to brush everything off, he didn't want to talk about how frustrated he was about it, he wouldn't open up, just bark at Freddie for the goddamn van and their money. Never speaking about what he felt about this, drowning everything in sass, girls, drums. Mostly girls after gigs.

“Kind of,” he quietly replied as he was playing with his fingers. Anna could feel his tension just in this small gesture, she knew Roger for a few months, she definitely could see whether he was at ease or not. “Do you mind if I continue playing and rambling my stuff?”

“I'm the intruder here, do as you please Mr. Taylor,” she said attempting to make him smile a bit. A successful attempt. “I really enjoyed your rambling earlier, could become something good actually. Very romantic stuff.”

He bowed in front of her, regaining some spirits as he walked towards his drum set. When he sat and began to play, to “ramble” as he said, she began to write, more an more, her head slightly moving in harmony with the beat and his voice. Exactly what she needed, percussion and lyrics. None of them spoke to each other during this moment of communion, Roger into music and Anna into literature.

Until three in the morning, both of them did what they had to. And eventually, Roger progressively stopped playing. Anna rose hear head to see what he was doing now, he light up a cigarette before heading toward her, to sit on the couch next to her. He sat, eyes half closed now, observing her with her halo made of light above her head. He needed some sleep, absolutely now. And they couldn't stay there for the night, both of them had to go back home. She closed her books, and told him that he was about to go home since she did most of the things she wanted to.

Happily, he got up, yawning. He looked for his jacket for a moment, eyes fluttering with tiredness as Anna put her coat on. He closed the door behind her as they left. It was cold outside, the air was fresh, day wasn't still there. First, they walked quietly, slowly but then Anna had to break the ice. She told him about Cambridge and her last year's experience as they walked towards her home, and Roger listened to her, still a bit off, hands in his pockets. He enjoyed the moments he could have with her because it was all about something else, no compliments, he couldn't see the groupie look in her eyes, the look he saw every night, and every night as a moth he was drawn to it. Against his will or not, he couldn't define it yet. But Anna was another kind of light, a giving light, not a taking one. She gave him time, she tried to understand him and the other members of the band without never being all sweet and kind just to please them: she was honest, just as Mary. If not even more.

He didn't know when they arrived in front of her apartment, when she smiled and told him goodnight before hugging him and whispering him to take care of himself, to sleep and to not worry too much, “it should be doing alright, doing alright” she sang, all amused before going up the stairs.

[writingwithcolor]

hi, quick q: how much should i as a white person trust native american representation in classic western novels (karl may's work, etc)? should i generally rely more on the ones that have televised versions, since there were native people involved in the production? thanks!

Which media representations of Natives to trust?

I wouldn’t trust anything “pre-80s classic”, especially “classic Western”, unless the modern members of the tribe that were consulted still approve of the movies in 2019. And even then, I’d want a focus to be on elder opinion or kids who had been directly impacted by how the movies had shown their people. Basically, anyone who hadn’t been involved still has to approve.

I took a quick look at the dates of classic Western movies, and a lot of them were done in the 30s to 60s, from the looks of things. This means they were made before Natives had freedom of religion (1978), making the playing field incredibly unequal in any production house. White people could do what they wanted, and Natives couldn’t express that’s not how the tradition worked without risking going to jail for still practicing illegal beliefs.

You’ve also got to keep in mind that racism in Hollywood was bad enough Marlon Brando boycotted the event and allowed Sacheen Littlefeather to accept in his stead, and she drew attention to the inequality+ Wounded Knee. She was only allowed 60 seconds to speak, and at least one person had to be restrained from attacking her backstage for simply expressing the comment that Native people were treated terribly in Hollywood and by America. She was blacklisted from Hollywood, and the government encouraged it because they didn’t want attention on Wounded Knee (there was a media blackout on it at the time, and this got around it). This was in 1973.

Even though Twilight earns exactly 1 point for casting actual Native actors, and I’ve recommended it for finding fancasts because of it, that doesn’t stop the Natives in the movie from being portrayed terribly. There was, again, a deep power imbalance in the production vs the actors. “Involved” doesn’t mean “given equal voice.”

Co-signing does not equal a good representation. When you have a power imbalance as deep as white/PoC in the production side of media, you’re reliant on white people accepting your narratives to get your foot in the door. Shenee Howard, a Black woman who helps women start their own businesses, wrote a great thread on this topic. The most relevant quote is:

There are 3 ways to make it out here. Connections/mentorship,  Influencer route and LUCK. The most common of the 3 is the “connections” route. If you are a writer who wants to get read you have to know SOMEONE. That’s the first hurdle.

That someone you know (if you get that far) will most likely be white and the way your work is perceived is completely determined by how that white person thinks about how black people or POC exist in the world. I’ve had people tell me my script was funny but unrealistic because it didn’t fit the black struggle narrative they had in their head. This is also why when POC enter contests the only winners tend to be “brave stories about POC struggling” vs. comedy or even fantasy projects. There is nothing wrong with those projects, they deserve to be made

And pretty much every black creator with few exceptions have to start this way. Ava and Ryan both had to start with projects that are traditionally white friendly (while also being great) to make their mark and then were allowed to move on to different types of projects

White people hold most of the power in media production. White people have ideas of what the representation should look like, and PoC often go along with it just to get their foot in the door. The farther back you go, the more power white people have. The “most of” in that sentence is the past ten-twenty years.

What that means is: the PoC involved in production often don’t have the ability to correct the project. If they do, great, support that thing (the only Native example that comes to mind is Teen Wolf’s skinwalker episode— please give any examples you know!). But if they don’t? Then they made a deal with the white devil to get their name established in the hopes of moving on to bigger things. Or to get money to support the tribe. Or both.

And anything made before Native Americans had the legal right to own their own tribal stories (aka when they didn’t have religious freedom) is guaranteed to have a giant power imbalance. If, by some miracle, the director was a saint-level good person who actually listened, then you might be in for finding-fairy-dust-level luck. But it’s like finding fairy dust. It would definitely not be the norm.

The only representation to be trusted is when the tribe owned the material. When it’s in their own words. The more white people existed as a filter, the less quality the story is, and the more it should be looked at with suspicion.

Unfortunately, that writes out a lot of media.

Take a dive through Littlefeather’s wikipedia page; a lot of the information there is on her legacy work, which includes some registries and databases of Native-produced stories that have a higher likelihood of being more accurate. But, again, see how modern tribe members feel about the projects, because it can be really hard to make a fully accurate story in the hostilities of the time.

~ Mod Lesya

[ilovemygaydad]

For the fanfiction trope mix ask, can you do #2 and #13 or #13 and #73, Logince? Enjoy your flight!

2 - Royal AU; 13 - Detective AU

pairing: pre-romantic logince

summary: the prince has been receiving anonymous death threats in his own bedchamber, and the best detective in the land was hired to figure out who’s behind it

warnings: mentioned death threats, gay panic, swearing, anger, preconceived notions, mentions of rumors, panic attacks, crying, stimming, sass, stuttering, possibly something else

i’m just gonna tag @royallyanxious since they love roman

a/n: i have more ideas for this if you want to hear them, but… yeah this took me a ridiculous amount of time to write. also, virgil’s stutter is based off of my own stutter, so uh don’t?? tell me it’s incorrect thanks

consider buying me a coffee

part 2

Roman knew that he should be honored and all that jazz that he was hired for the royal family. It was a really big deal to be trusted enough to even be /considered for the job.

However, he also knew that the crown prince was a giant fucking prick.

A giant fucking prick who he had to work for.

Because the giant fucking prick was so much of a giant fucking prick that he was receiving anonymous death threats from a member of his staff.

So when the door to the throne room was opened, and he was ushered inside, he couldn’t help but cringe a bit when he caught the sight of the prince’s curly red hair. Roman somehow magically maintained the ability to smile through his pain as he bowed deeply in front of the prince, glancing at the prince’s shoulder when straightened off so not to incur some sort of wrath from simply looking at the prince.

“Good afternoon, your highness–”

“Oh, no, please,” the prince interjected. “It’s just Logan. It’s going to be a dreadfully long few days if you continue to use such formalities.”

“I… What?” Roman asked, stealing a quick glimpse up at the prince’s face, and–

Oh, wow…

His eyes were very green. Like the color of the jade dragon that his mother had kept from her home in China.

Oh no.

Oh no.

“…and it really would be better for both of us if you maintained a more casual set of standards during the investigation. Detective, are you alright? You look as though you might faint. Do you need me to call for the physician?”

“No!” Roman said in a voice far too loud to be deemed alright. “No, I’m fine, your highness. I mean, Logan. I just got… lost in thought.”

Wasn’t Logan supposedly a spoiled brat? He’s never been called anything but unpleasant by anyone for the entirety of his life.

The prince tilted his head to the side, but didn’t fight back. He sat lightly in his throne with an air of discomfort and waved over one of his staff. “Virgil, will you please get Detective Chu a chair and water for the both of us?”

The servant, Virgil, nodded quickly, scurrying from the room like a scared mouse. An awkward silence fell over the remaining two in the room until Virgil reappeared a few minutes later with a rolling office chair and a large platter full of pastries and a pitcher of water.

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil rushed as he shoved the chair in Roman’s direction and reached into a secret panel in the wall, retrieving a small table that he set up next to the prince. “I went to get a pitcher of water, and then Patton asked what I was doing, and I told him that you were meeting with the detective, and he said, ‘Without snacks?!’ And then he wouldn’t let me leave until he stocked up an entire tray with his pastries, and I tried to get here as fast as I could without spilling, and then I almost forgot the chair, and–”

“Deep breaths, Virgil,” Logan said while he slowly rose from his throne. “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Just like Picani says, right? All you have to do is breathe with me, and it’ll be okay. Ready?”

Roman watched in awe as the two went through a breathing exercise. The servant had started to hyperventilate a few times during the attempts to calm himself down, but Logan had provided calm words in the same gentle voice until his breathing stopped catching. When Virgil was fully calmed, Logan guided him to the throne, where he sat the servant down and kneeled down beside the throne.

There’s no way that was allowed under palace rules…

“Detective Chu and I forgive you for taking a bit longer than you had expected. Neither of us blame you–” For a second, it looked as if Virgil was going to interrupt, but Logan plowed on–  “Nor do I blame Patton. I have no doubts about your wanting to take care of us. Thank you very much for caring so much, but I will never be upset if you’re a mere few minutes late.”

Virgil didn’t meet the prince’s gaze as he nodded. Roman noted that the servant was chewing on the end of his sleeve as some sort of coping mechanism for his anxiety. It seemed that he and Logan were good friends, but that didn’t mean that Virgil couldn’t be plotting the prince’s murder. The same went for that other man, Patton, who Virgil had mentioned. He filed all of this information for further investigation.

“Sssssorry. I-I-I j-just wa-wa-wan-wanted to make ssssure y-you weren’t un-uncomf–ugh!” Virgil’s head fell into his hands in frustration.

“That’s alright, Virgil. I think that it would be best if you took the rest of the day off. Please send Joan in when you leave, and be sure to send thanks to Patton for the sweets, okay?”

Virgil nodded and left the room hurriedly. The prince watched his servant go with a deep frown before he settled back into his throne, taking one of the cookies and biting into it. He sighed and cast his gaze to the detective once more.

“I suppose that you have a few questions, Detective?”

“What? No, of course not–”

“Please, Detective,” Logan cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I am well aware of the way that the media portrays my person. It would be a surprise if you hadn’t been swayed by their opinions.”

Roman’s façade faltered for a second until it shattered. “It’s just… You’re so nice.”

“I certainly try to be. I don’t think that I would be nearly as content if my temperament was poor, nor would the palace staff.”

“Except for the one sending the threats, correct?”

The prince stiffened in his seat, nodding. “Yes. I… That would be an accurate assumption.”

Roman hummed and flipped his notepad open, pleased that he would finally be able to do his job. “And when did these threats start to pop up?”

“A little over a week ago. The notes were hidden my food at first, and then they were scattered in various places around my room.” Logan sighed. “I must say, Detective; it has become increasingly stressful to simply exist in this palace.”

“Who would have access to your bedroom?”

“No one that I wouldn’t trust.”

Roman arched his brow and leveled an unimpressed glare at Logan.

“It’s just Virgil, Joan, Patton, and myself.”

“Alright, well–”

“They’re my closest friends, Detective. I’d trust them with my life.” The look in Logan’s eyes spelled out a plea not to interrogate them, but Roman had a job to do, and a prince with an unfortunate habit to cut people off wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

“I understand, your highness, but I must know for myself whether or not they are truly trustworthy.”

The prince deflated in his seat. “Of course. My apologies.”

“It’s perfectly understandable for you to want to trust your friends, Logan.” Roman almost reached out to grab Logan’s hand–the prince’s hand–but he thankfully stopped himself. “If this weren’t such a dire situation, I may have been able to give your word some leeway; however, I’m unable to do so. I trust you, but what one believes is not always the truth.”

“That was… incredibly astute, Detective.”

Roman chuckled and stood up from the chair. “Thank you.” He walked to the door of the throne room, casting a glance over his shoulder at the prince. “And you can call me Roman.”

[franstastic-ideas]

To everyone that read Bitty Blues, thank you so much for the reblogs and your feedback. I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me. Now I'd like to take this time to reply to some of the people that left comments on this fanfiction before moving on to the next piece of news I have for you.

 @theydrawthings - You were the first one to review, and you were the first to point out the easter egg I hid towards the ends of the story! Chopper really tugged on your heartstrings, huh?

And I'd love to see the scene of the Blueberry swarm if you decide to draw it!

(Fun Fact: Drawing fan art of stuff I've written is 99.9% more likely to make me love you forever! @nuvex, @lostmypotatoes, @xxkoichiixx, @venelona and @theydrawthings, I haven't forgotten about the lovely fan art you've drawn for me. I have to look at them every few days to make sure I wasn't just dreaming.)

 @semisolidmind - It's funny you mentioned writing for this again, since I might just have an idea or two up my sleeve...

 @mellowjelloe - Wow, Chopper has really left a mark on the readers, hasn't he? So many people want to adopt him.

 @lostmypotatoes - WOAH. You read through this story, which is nearly 20,000 words in length, three times? In a row? You say it was just that good? Wow, you're really sweet! And maybe a little nuts. But mostly sweet!

You and several others have noticed and praised how I gave each of the bitties introduced their own personality. At first I was only going to introduce one or two and skim over the rest, but then as I said in one post earlier, it all just snowballed. I thought the process might get old to the readers before the story got to the end, but it looks like that wasn't the case.

As for how Chara selected her own bitty Bossanova, I'm afraid it wouldn't make for much of a story I think. She already knew she wanted to adopt Bossanova from the moment she met him! XD But maybe she might return to the adoption center one day and come back for Bebop...

 @xxkoichiixx - First of all, thank you for telling me about the typos and the sudden point of view changes - I think I've corrected all those now. I read over the things that I write at least once before posting to look for such things, but I guess I missed a few mistakes because the story stretched on for so long...

And more love for Chopper!

And honestly, about wanting to adopt G? Saaaaame. Another fun fact: I used to not like him that much. Something about his whole 'bad boy' aesthetic just rubbed me the wrong way. All it took was some headcanons, fan art, and fanfiction of him being portrayed as a genuinely cool guy and actually pretty sweet for me to change my mind. Now I think he's an unfairly underrated AU character that desperately needs more love and attention.

 @mambourin - A lot of comments mentioned how they liked the interactions between Frisk and Chara. Writing their conversations felt natural to me in a way I can't quite describe, but I thought that I needed to show how important they are to each other before anything else in the story. Romance and shipping can be a lot of fun, but I also feel that platonic relationships have just as much relevance and shouldn't be brushed so easily aside.

I will admit that my writing can be described as intricate, but I used to think it was a bad thing. 'Nobody cares about that much detail going into a story! You're wasting your time!' my negative and pessimistic side would argue. So hearing how much you and others appreciate all the touches I put into the narrative, it really helps put a muzzle onto that stream of self-deprecating thoughts.

 Okay, now onto the next news!

Some of you have asked for and about this in the comments and asks, so I've decided to confirm it.

I HAVE thought of a sequel for Bitty Blues.

Actually, that isn't accurate. The truth is, I've thought of TWO sequels!

The first one takes place a little after Frisk adopts Crescendo and showcases their life together. However, do you remember that sweet Sansy she first met at the adoption center, readers? That's right. Frisk adopts him too! So the story is about Crescendo coming to terms with having to share Frisk with another bitty, but his jealousy only gets worse when after a while of the Sansy living with them, he turns into a G bitty! So then Crescendo feels inferior since now he and the Sansy turned G aren't quite equals anymore in the terms of rarity.

The second sequel is focused on... Chopper. It's also a bit of a prequel, since the first part would detail just how he became an Axe bitty, and it's gut-wrenching. I'm not joking, you guys - I actually started tearing up a few times while planning it out. Basically, his past owner really wanted a G bitty, but couldn't afford one. So she decided to make one. The problem with that is, nobody knows just how Sansies turn into Gs, so her insane line of reasoning was, since Gs are so slim figured, one factor of them turning into Gs must be their weight. You already know exactly how this turned out.

But you see, Sansies are supposed to be chubby. And without enough food in their system, their magic weakens and their bones gradually get more brittle. Which brings us to the gaping hole in his head. Let's just say she got annoyed with him begging for food and let's leave it at that for now...

As you can well imagine, this was extremely traumatizing for him. He has a host of physical and mental conditions that the adoption center's staff work tirelessly to help him cope. But the most severe condition he has is an eating disorder - Chopper has bulimia.

Chopper doesn't place any blame on his owner, and because he couldn't be what she wanted, and with his bone structure expanding instead of shrinking post transformation, he thinks of himself as hideously obese when nothing could be further from the truth. Anything he eats, it never stays in his system long before he tries to purge it by forcing himself to vomit. That's why his voice is so raspy, he's done this so many times it's affected his speech.

I'd really like for this second story to be not only about Chopper's background, but also about his recovery. In his mind, he won't let the staff help him because it's their job to take care of him and any concern they show him is out of obligation, so maybe he would be more obedient towards a potential future owner. This being Frisk, of course.

It's a very touchy subject matter, so I can see why some people might shy away from reading it, especially those that have suffered from eating disorders. I thought it was a unique concept, though. Usually, Horrortale Sans is depicted as ravenous and would eat just about anything in a setting where food is scarce. But Horrortale Sans in this Bittybones AU outright refuses to eat in a setting where food is plentiful and given to him.

Let me know your thoughts on these potential sequels either by comment or through an ask, since I'd love some feedback on these ideas. If I do decide to write them, I'm not sure when I'd do so since right now I'm writing another prompt from the list and want to finish it before moving onto another story. And then I also have to think about that continuation of 'The Villain I Appear To Be' that I said I might do.

But if enough of you are interested, I will put the sequels to Bitty Blues on my list of things to do.

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Two

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

Tonight, I’m bringing you Chapter Two of my @cssns story.  This chapter is a brief flashback to Emma’s actions that will set the rest of the actions into play and I’m going to preface it with a quick disclaimer that the witchcraft portrayed in this story is entirely fictional and is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of Wiccan practices. I've adapted the depiction of magic and spells strictly to fit this narrative. Also, please forgive me if the Latin phrases presented are a little off. I tried my best to ensure the correct translation of the phrases in the spell presented but I'm a little rusty.

Again, I have to give a huge amount of thank yous to the creators of this event for allowing me to stretch my creativity and to my beta, @lassluna for helping me keep this all flowing correctly!  Last, but not least, thank you to @cocohook38 for her incredible artwork!

I hope you enjoy Chapter Two!

Also on AO3 and FF.net      Chapter One

The Previous Evening

Emma had, from her first visit with the Mills sisters, found it a tad morbid that their coven gatherings were held in a vault deep beneath the crypt of their parents' mausoleum. She could still recall Regina leading her down this path through the fog-obscured graveyard - when it appeared as though Emma was about to be on the receiving end of a very bad practical joke. She'd kept a tight grip on her service weapon as she'd followed the mayor down a carved stone stairway until they reached the faintly illuminated room hidden below.

After several months of meetings here, visiting for various lessons or to simply bear witness the Wiccan rituals, Emma was growing accustomed to the eerie surroundings. There was always a hint of unease in the pit of her stomach when she descended below the land of the dead but it just didn't nauseate her as much now as it used to.

Tonight, she'd trekked through the cemetery after work, running just a little late for the 8pm conjuring practice session that Zelena had planned. Emma was heading into the night a little half-heartedly after nagging memories plagued her all day. Memories that continued to haunt her as she descended deeper into the earth. Sure, making a ball of flames appear out of the palm of your hand was cool and all, but it truly wasn't where Emma's thoughts lay tonight.

She allowed herself to slink down the steps, hoping she'd arrived unnoticed, but as she turned the corner at the vault's entrance, she was met by Regina's disdainful glare.

"You're late, Miss Swan," was the greeting that spewed from the Mayor's tongue.

"Sorry," Emma stammered. "I had some paperwork to finish up before I could leave the office but I got here as quickly as I could." It was mostly a lie, but Regina didn't need to know that she'd actually been contemplating not even showing up tonight.

"Well, we were just about to don our robes. Hurry up and join us in the circle," Regina instructed as she thrust a jet black, hooded brocade robe into Emma's hands. The student accepted the garment from her instructor with a nod of thanks while quickly shedding her crimson leather jacket. She tossed her jacket haphazardly over a wooden armchair as she tugged the robe over her shoulders before proceeding into the main chamber. She was immediately reminded how claustrophobic the vault could be when their entire coven was present.

Theirs was currently a coven of five. As Emma saw it, there was one member for each point of the pentacle inlaid within the marble circle that adorned the vault's floor. The Mills sisters were, by far, the most active and the most powerful practitioners of the group, but they were joined by Ruby Lucas, the waitress at Granny's diner - whom Emma suspected might have a few other hidden powers, and Ingrid, an older witch of the prior generation whose methods and ideals quite often clashed with the Mills sisters. Ingrid was the last remaining member of the original coven, having practiced alongside Regina and Zelena's late mother, Cora, but that was all Emma knew. No one really talked about the old guard much, but Emma knew they'd been a formidable group of sorceresses.

Emma made her way into formation as Regina's flame-haired older sister, Zelena, lit the candles positioned within the circle with a mere flick of the ebony wand clutched in her hand. Emma found some of the rituals a bit unnerving, but like being twenty feet beneath a tomb, she was growing used to the feeling. Her mind was just wandering a bit more tonight than normal.

Today had been an auspicious anniversary for her and the only reason she'd even made the decision to come was that she absolutely didn't want to be sitting around the loft with her overly-positive sister-in-law. She'd decided that a coven gathering in the crypt was preferable to drowning her sorrows down at the Rabbit Hole - and a lot less expensive. Plus, the vault gave her access to collections of books and scrolls that might help her find something useful should she be given permission to search them. She just needed something to keep herself distracted for a little while. Something to prevent her from falling back into any of her old, desolate traps - because tonight was the anniversary of the day she'd had her heart crushed into a million pieces - a story she'd not yet shared with anyone here in Storybrooke.

That heartbreak had become the catalyst that really kicked off her quest to discover her family and the history her mother had hidden from her. She'd believed that solving her own personal mysteries would be the best way to heal after being abandoned by the man she'd thought she'd loved - the man she'd given her heart and soul to. When things had gotten too difficult, he'd bolted, never even saying goodbye and even after a decade, it still stung. His betrayal hurt as deeply as losing her beloved mother only months before he'd run away - and as bitterly as the miscarriage she'd suffered alone. All combined together in such a short amount of time had left her feeling utterly alone. She was now striving to push beyond those losses, determined to reconnect with the family she still had, and then maybe, just maybe, she could find someone to help mend her broken heart. And if magic could help her fill those voids, she was determined to try.

But at this moment in time, she knew she was simply going through the motions as she recited her ritual incantations and completed the mundane tasks asked of her. It wasn't hard for anyone else to see her lack of conviction either. Her heart simply wasn't in it, and as her lackluster attitude caught Zelena's attention, her mentor decided to cut the evening's lessons short rather than keep going with an inattentive student.

"How about we pick things up again on Friday?" Emma heard Zelena ask as the redhead brushed back her hood. Emma heard what she was saying but didn't completely comprehend the words.

"Huh?" Emma replied, startled by the query that pulled her back from her reminiscing.

"I was asking if we should pick this up again on Friday," Zelena repeated with a hint of irritation in her voice. "Weren't you listening to anything I said tonight?"

"Sorry… I'm a little distracted tonight and I guess I'm not feeling particularly well…," Emma fibbed in a feeble attempt to cover her obvious disconnect.

"Why don't you head home and get some rest then?" Regina suggested. "Friday's full moon will allow us to try out some new spells too."

"Actually, if you don't mind, Regina, I'd like to take a look through some of the potion books to see if I can locate a remedy for this lingering tiredness I've been experiencing. Would you mind?"

Regina thought about the idea for a moment, but granted permission. "Just stick to the newer potion books on the shelf under the mirror. Most of those ones are either already written in English or have already been translated from the original text. Most of the older books are written in Latin, Greek, Elvish - you get the idea? Your study of ancient languages hasn't advanced enough for proper translation yet so stick to the ones you can read, okay? Oh, and lock up when you leave."

"I can do that," Emma smiled graciously. "And I promise I won't stay too long, and I'll be sure to clean up and lock everything away."

"See that you do, Miss Swan," Regina stated as she undid the clasp on her robe and allowed the garment to slide off of her shoulders. She draped the robe over her forearm as she gathered her belongings from the desktop beside her apothecary cabinet. "Have a good evening, Deputy."

"Good night, your Highness," Emma quipped as Regina ascended the stairway towards the crypt above. Zelena smirked at the nickname as she followed her sister out of the vault and soon, both Ruby and Ingrid made their exit as well, leaving Emma alone in the creepy confines.

Hearing only the tap of her own footsteps echoing off of the slate floor, Emma made her way over to the towering shelves, teeming with an expansive collection of books ranging from spellbooks to recipe books to a weathered, and likely very dated, set of encyclopedias. She quickly figured out the filing system that Regina utilized and began scanning for a specific volume. Her eyes darted back and forth across the third shelf up from the bottom trying to find a book that Zelena had shown her a few weeks earlier when they'd practiced a few basic potions. She remembered looking at a sleeping potion, a memory potion and even one that was rumored to improve the mood of even the crankiest Storybrooke resident, but Emma wasn't actually interested in potions right now.

While Zelena had been busy preparing the ingredients for one of the potions, Emma had flipped through a few of the yellowed vellum pages, glancing over random potion recipes and spells handwritten in flowing Latin. She was still learning the basics of the language, understanding a few words and phrases that appeared frequently. Words that were unfamiliar were easily translated with an app on her iPhone, although she did know that just having the translation of the words didn't always help as figuring out the grammar could be awkward. She was determined to try anyway.

She located the correct, ornately decorated spine and carefully lifted the gilded book from the shelf, carrying it to the podium the Mills sisters had installed in the center of the vault, directly beneath the chandelier - one of the few nods to modern conveniences down here (although Emma had yet to figure out exactly where the electricity came from as there were no visible power lines around the mausoleum). She took extreme care in opening the cover, turning the pages gently as she sought the specific spell she'd seen before.

Nervousness began to overcome her, causing her to repeatedly glance back toward the stairs as she flipped through the ancient pages. She feared that someone might return to interrupt her and discover that she was perusing books that weren't in the officially-approved collections. She was taking a huge risk that could destroy the trust she'd built within the coven but right now, she had a singular focus.

It took a few minutes in the dimly lit vault to locate the spell she wanted but once she did, she picked up the crystal candlestick with its nearly fully melted ruby red taper from atop the desk and brought it closer to the podium to get a better view as her fingertip dusted across the flowing script. Her excitement and anxiety both increased exponentially as she stared at the spell she hoped might change her life.

Her brain immediately began translating the Latin text, beginning with the instructions preceding the spell itself. Succensa - set alight. Sapiens - sage. Roris marini - rosemary. She recognized the herbs and knew she needed to light them on fire as the smoke from burning them would cleanse the air prior to her reciting the incantation. She retrieved sprigs of both herbs from the apothecary cabinet and dropped them into a charred marble bowl then ignited them with the flame from the candle.

As the fragrant herbs burned, filling the small, subterranean room with their aroma, Emma continued translating the remaining text as well as she could. Verus amor - true love. That was her goal - to find her own true love and fill the void within her heart that she'd struggled with for so many years. Since the moment she'd stumbled across this spell, she'd been determined to cast it when the time was right. She had to. Why else would she have been gifted with these supernatural abilities if it wasn't meant to bring her some semblance of happiness? She wanted the type of love that her brother shared with Mary Margaret - that close companionship that just wasn't going to be found in friendship or familial relationships. She just wanted to be loved and have someone to love in return.

Alone in the vault, she began to recite the Latin phrases from the page.

Verus amor occurant - encounter true love.

Verus amor reveles - discover true love.

Those phrases she translated easily, but there were others she wasn't as certain of.

Verus amor agnocis. She didn't know what agnocis meant, but in the context of the words she understood, it had to be another part of finding true love, which led into the last phrase - Confirmare verus amor - confirm true love.

Once completed, she sealed the spell by pricking the tip of her finger with a needle and allowing three minute drops of her blood to fall atop the smoldering herbs. One for her, one for the love she sought and the third to unite them. Now, all she had to do was wait to see if it all worked - and get everything cleaned up, put away and locked up before anyone became suspicious.

[riona-is-writing]

Accents

Accents can be a tricky thing. Some advocate for writing completely devoid of hints towards an accent - instead saying that writers should state the accent and let the reader fill in the accent for themselves. Others advocate complete phonetic rendering of an accent. And then there are those who fall in the middle, who hint at an accent, but do not completely phonetically render it. Personally, I’ve found that there are advocates and critics of each method, so what I’ll do is list each method and let you decide which to use.

No Accent

Example:

“Wine,” she rasped, her voice like nails on a school board. “Wine, English.”

Artemis smiled. The gift of tongues, check. Aversion to light, check.

“Irish, actually. Now about my proposition?” - Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer

You’ll notice in the above example that Artemis’ nationality is cleared up pretty quickly. Everything is written in Standard English, but Artemis corrects the other character, saying that he is Irish, not English. Fairly on in the book, the reader now knows that Artemis is Irish. This is how writing with no accent works. Everything is written with standard spelling. The writer states at some point what the accent is, but does not use phonetic spelling to show this.

HOWEVER, the writer can use other methods to make the accent apparent and to remind the reader of the accent. These include: slang, word choice, word order, different meanings for shared words (like American football versus UK football), and so on. (This post has a section on accents that goes into further detail on this.)

Pros:

not confusing for a wider audience to read

allows the reader to fill in the accent

this seems to be the least likely to offend people

Cons:

however, some people may be offended by your rendering of their unique accent into Standard English, especially if they already have their own spellings for their accent

sometimes the reader does not know the accent or it is too much effort for them to read it in that accent, leading to the reader unable to fully visualize your character in the way you intended

Phonetic Rendering

Example:

Rogg doffed his hat gallantly, bowing his velvety head. “Gudd day to ee, zurr an’ miz, noice t’meet ee oi’m sure!” - Lord Brocktree, by Brian Jacques

Brian Jacque’s Redwall series is filled with this type of writing accents. Each type of animal (the example above is how the moles speak) has their own unique accent, and so this series is a good example of the positives and negatives of using this type of accent.

The way this works is the author phonetically renders the accent. Basically, they write out each word as it sounds. So if I wanted to write a Boston accent in this way, I might write the standard, “Pahked the cah in Hahvahd Yahd,” as opposed to “Parked the car in Harvard Yard.” Not every word has to be phonetically rendered, but a good portion (particularly words that will help give an indication of the accent - like writing out every “r” as an “h” for a Boston accent) should be rendered this way.

Pros:

even if the reader doesn’t know the accent, they can approximate a rough guess by sounding out the words (e.g. I don’t know all of the accents and locations in the real world that Jacques references in this series, but I can make a rough guess based on trying to pronounce the words the way they look to me with the phonetic spelling)

for certain accents, there are different spellings, more phonetically based, that the people who actually have the accent would prefer to see in print more than they do now (e.g. Scots English, which has its own spelling and conventions)

Cons:

it can be very difficult for the reader to puzzle out if it’s done a lot (they have to sit there and struggle through pages of dialogue, which can be off-putting to some)

some people could find it offensive, depending on which accent and who your reader is

Hinting at an Accent

Example:

“If I die," he whispered in the dark, "dinna follow me. The bairns will need ye. Stay for them. I can wait.” - A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diana Gabaldon

Notice how this one combines the first two to create a softer version. While some words are phonetically spelled (dinna = do not, ye = you), much of the words are spelled in a standard form. In addition, other words unique to the accent (Scots) such as bairns are used to further emphasize the accent.

Pros:

- easier for most readers to read

- makes use of slang/words unique to the accent, and can also make use of word order as well

- helps the reader, even if they don’t know the accent, to make a rough guess as to what it sounds like, based on the phonetically spelled words

Cons:

- some readers are going to find it offensive because either it: a) phonetically renders words as if the accent is lesser than English or b) because it isn’t making complete use of an already existing way to spell words in the accent

- it can still be challenging for some readers if they don’t understand the slang or what is being said

Sidenote: Generally, it’s the dialogue that gets written these last two ways (with whatever amount of phonetic rendering you choose); the character’s internal thoughts and narration remain in Standard English. (I can think of very few books that have the narration written in an accent as well, and even fewer that do it well.)

And of course, for all of these you can use syntax, slang, idioms, etc., to make the accent clear (again, see here for further detail).

So what is the right way to write an accent? How do I avoid offense?

The answer:

There isn’t, and you can’t.

All of the above arguments, both the positive and the negative ones, are easy to find anywhere - in writing books, articles, or even just from native speakers. The problem is, you can never avoid offending people because everybody has different opinions. Just like how not everybody will like your writing, not everybody will like the choices you made with regards to their accent.

Nobody’s perfect - so don’t beat yourself up over the “right” way of writing an accent. Your job is to tell the story, in the best way possible, and in the way YOU want it to be told.

Does this mean that you shouldn’t bother yourself about the feelings and beliefs of those who actually have the accent?

Uh, no.

It’s their accent, and you should do your best to portray it well. I’m going to reiterate from an earlier post of mine about writing accents:

- be RESPECTFUL of whatever accent you’re trying to portray, especially if it’s not your accent

- don’t overdo the accent because it might end up sounding stereotypical (and that is not respectful - see above)

- you should get a feel for the accent you’re trying to write. Listen to the music, read something in that accent, watch/listen people talk in the accent until you hear the rhythm and way people with that accent talk.

Whichever way you choose to write the accent, keep it as respectful and accurate as you can, and understand that not everybody will be happy with your decision, because that’s how people work.

- Riona

P.S. For those still who are still unconvinced that there’s no wrong way to write an accent, all three examples used above are from some of my favorite books. All three of the books are enjoyable, even with their very different ways of writing accents. So keep that in mind! :)