#i mean unless a new show means an influx of new fics

[ao3feed-standrew]

it's this blog's 6 year anniversary and the boys are coming back!!!! serendipitous

[shellshocklove]

❀ 2023 fic recs

hi friends <3 like last year i wanted to make a list of some of my favorite fics i’ve read that was posted throughout 2023. please read the warnings on the fics before reading, and minors do not interact with smut!

* = smut

❀ peter parker

burnt face and second base by @waitimcomingtoo (one shot)

pairing: peter parker x reader summary: peter can’t seem to stop accidentally hurting his crush.

blurb by @hollandsangel (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x reader summary: “oh please, who’s gonna stop us?”, “the police.”

*angel unaware by @silkscream (one shot)

pairing: peter parker x silk!reader summary: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

*blurb by @/silkscream (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: reader fucks peter in his suit, the other suit.

*delay by @sparklingsin (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x gn!reader summary: you stop peter from going on patrol.

blurb by @t-lostinworlds (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x avenger!female!reader summary: "this movie is really scary, but you're into it so i'm trying not to cover my face the whole time, but-what is that?" and "i mean… i-i'm cool with sharing the bed if you are."

i spy, no spy by @/t-lostinworlds (one shot)

pairing: peter parker x avenger/secret agent!female!reader summary: You’re a trained spy, Peter was not. But you two ended up on a mission together where he was needed to be less of the chatty superhero in red & blue tights and more of a debonair undercover agent in a suit & tie. It shouldn’t be too difficult, right? No mask, no web shooters. Just you and him pretending to be fiancés, hiding and making out in a closet to avoid getting caught—simple. Unless he included his overgrowing feelings for you, of course.

a strange(er's) comfort by @/t-lostinworlds (one shot)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: peter found a strange comfort in the graveyard, no less. but hearing about your day-to-day had been the highlight of his. and when one night led to the both you showing vulnerability, suddenly, peter didn’t feel so alone anymore. maybe a stranger’s comfort wasn’t so bad.

*in lust we trust by @scorpiomother (one shot)

pairing: mcu!peter parker x silk!female!reader summary: they don’t know one thing about each other, but they do know that they want each other. bad. little do they know, they are at the mercy of an influx of hormones caused by a radioactive spider.

*blurb by @webslingingslasher (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: you get a bad calf cramp midway through sex.

break my heart by @hollandweather (blurb)

pairing: frat!peter parker x female!reader summary: peter wants to spend time with you.

your kiss, my cheek by @/hollandweather (one shot)

pairing: frat!peter parker x female!reader summary: better late than never? bullshit. frat!peter realises he loves you a little too late.

you're always gonna be mine by @darling-im-wonderstruck (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: late nights with peter never failed to put your heart at ease at the end of each long day. all your worries and doubts seem to disappear in his presence, including your fears about first loves (and first heartbreaks).

subway by @tnmdfhgkg (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: you met a cute boy on the train.

blurb by @/luveline (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x reader summary: peter catch you wearing spider-man merch.

blurb by @parkerpeter24 (blurb)

pairing: peter parker x female!reader summary: peter's hand gets stuck to your shirt.

❀ joel miller

*soft!dom joel miller by @joelscruff (series)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: a collection of important moments between you and joel miller, your grumpy new patrol partner in jackson, wyoming.

*feelings on fire by @/joelscruff (series, ongoing)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you.

*boyfriend's!dad!joel miller by @/joelscruff (series)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: moments between you and your boyfriend's father, joel miller, who you have a secret relationship with.

*to freeze or to thaw & *a kindness you can't afford by @/joelscruff (two part one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel stole you away to be his special girl.

*truth or dare by @/joelscruff (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage.

*this one thing you did by @/joelscruff (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: dancing with a stranger at your favorite club leads to something filthy.

*mad love by @swiftispunk (drabble)

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader summary: reader gets turned on after joel goes feral on some guy who tried to touch her.

*holding back by @/swiftispunk (drabble)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: smut from joel's pov.

*your summer dream by @/swiftispunk (series, ongoing)

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: fresh on the heels of the worst breakup of your life, you find an unexpected kindred spirit in joel miller, who's agreed to tag along for seven days to a tropical resort with you and your parents.

*good to me by @/swiftispunk (three part series)

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader summary: with your usual doctor out, you're stuck having to get your routine pap smear done by the gorgeous dr. miller.

*say it with your hands & *put your lips close to mine by @/swiftispunk (one shots)

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!masseuse!reader  summary: ellie convinces joel to see the town masseuse. it goes mostly okay.

*creep it real by @/swiftispunk (one shot)

pairing: dbf!joel miller x female!reader summary: a masked angel. a rugged cowboy. you're the answer to joel's prayers...until he realizes who you are.

*stay here, honey by @/swiftispunk (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: you sit on dbf!joel's lap at a party, it's a whole thing.

no strings attached by @dustydaddyyy (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: you can’t deny there’s always been something between you and joel miller. The question is, is either of you going to do something about it?

*sweetheart by @/dustydaddyyy (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: you're home from college for summer '99 to visit your parents, when your eye wanders upon their next-door neighbor, joel miller.

*flash point by @/dustydaddyyy (series, ongoing)

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel miller x female!reader summary: 18 years after the world ended, and you never thought you'd find yourself stranded and alone in the Boston QZ. you've got one friend, a tendency for violence and sticky fingers, so what happens when you run across two notoriously ruthless smugglers one night and they chose to save your life?

*look at me, *give me some & *can't help it aka tinder!joel miller by @pascalisbaby (mini series)

pairing: DILF!joel miller x female!reader summary: ellie and sarah set joel up on a tinder date.

*say yes to heaven & *no angel by @/pascalisbaby (one shots)

pairing: chiro!joel miller x female!patient!reader summary: dr. joel miller gives you a little more than an adjustment.

*saved too many times by @/pascalisbaby (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel doesn’t mind punishing you, so long as he gets to watch you cry.

*signs i don't read by @/pascalisbaby (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel likes things done his way, especially when he’s fucking you.

*rock me to sleep by @randofantfic

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel makes love to you in a rocking chair.

*dbf!joel miller by @notjustjavierpena (series)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel, your dad’s best friend, finds you in your room crying and wants to comfort you.

*grab the bull by the horns by @proxima-writes (one shot)

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.

*joel is such a sap after sex by @inklore (drabble)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel is a sap after sex.

*kinktober – body worship by @palioom (blurb)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: you worship joel's body.

*only need ten by @pascalpvnk (blurb)

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x afab!reader summary: morning sex with joel.

*sweetened breath and tongue so mean by @moonlight-prose (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: joel couldn’t fathom what you saw in him. a man bloodied with the ravages of life. he’d taken life, killed to survive, and there were times he even fucking enjoyed it. but you were soft. you were the good that remained. the light he shouldn’t be allowed to tarnish.

unlikely friends by @sweetercalypso (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x reader summary: joel and your cat have never gotten along, but maybe they’re more alike than they realize.

*need that charles dickens by @janaispunk (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: “what do you say, have i been a good elf for santa?”, “am i santa in that scenario?”, “sure,” you grin mischievously, “if you come down my chimney.”

*in the next room by @atticrissfinch (one shot)

pairing: neighbor’s fuckbuddy!joel miller x female!reader summary: when the peace and quiet of your apartment is disturbed by the noisy escapades of the couple in the neighboring unit, you find yourself entranced by the mystery man on the other side of the wall. and when you stumble upon him on a dating app…well, it might just be fate.

*between blurred lines by @livingemkayde (one shot)

pairing: best friend's dad!/dad's best friend!joel miller x female!reader summary: joel miller has always been...there. never different, always sporting a brooding scowl etched into his handsome face. he's your best friend sarah miller's dad, arguably worse, your dad's long time buddy. things are never different. not until this summer. not until now.

*for you, i would by @javiscigarette (one shot)

pairing: joel miller x female!reader summary: Joel catches you doing something you definitely shouldn't be doing and teaches you you lesson.

*tricks of the trade by @mypoisonedvine (one shot)

pairing: dark-ish!joel miller x female!reader summary: when you don't have enough rations to get your fix, you have to find something else to trade.

❀ javier peña

*soaked by @/joelscruff (one shot)

pairing: javi peña x female!reader summary: it’s hard being an intern for a man who won’t even look at you, but maybe there’s something else to it that you don’t see.

*(re)union with elvis by @tieronecrush (one shot)

pairing: javi peña x female!reader summary: reader and javi haven't seen each other since after graduation, until one night they bump into each other in las vegas, while both are there for their friends’ birthday parties. the next morning they wake up in the same bed, hangover and married.

*late night text by @undercoverpena (series)

pairing: javi peña x female!reader summary: it’s the year 2000. javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop’s ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. the only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

*keep me in your glow by @/atticrissfinch (one shot)

pairing: javi peña x female!reader summary: on a sleepy saturday morning, javi has one small request.

❀ jack daniels

*cupcake by @ezrasbirdie (one shot)

pairing: car salesman!jack daniels x female!reader summary: jack daniels, lead used car salesman at his dealership, has a crush on you, the pretty receptionist. it's too bad he can't get out of his own way. luckily for him, you have patience and a soft spot for shy cowboys.

❀ ezra (prospect)

*darkness by @/ezrasbirdie (one shot)

pairing: ezra x female!reader summary: ezra likes to watch you sleep.

❀ dieter bravo

*bouquet, *bloom & *blossom by @/mypoisonedvine (mini series)

pairing: dieter bravo x camgirl!reader summary: being quarantined in his hotel room has dieter getting a little stir crazy, and when the drugs run out, he has to find a new vice. that's how he found you.

❀ eddie munson

blurb by @luveline (blurb)

pairing: eddie munson x shy!female!reader summary: reader is into the same music as eddie & has a similar aesthetic but not the confidence that is associated with it. eddie takes the initiative to interact with her because she’s nervous too do so?

was that so hard? by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x shy!female!reader summary: your best friend eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. he could show you, though, if you want?

if it barks by @/luveline (series, ongoing)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x rockstar!female!reader summary: you don’t mean to make an enemy of eddie munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating.

*smut by @/luveline (blurb)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x afab!reader summary: rockstar eddie and his gf get a little rough before/after a show.

a quest for bed by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader summary: eddie fights to get his usually shy and moderately intoxicated girlfriend to bed when you insist on clinging to him at every turn.

too much by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader summary: you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection.

our ghost by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader summary: best friends since middle school, you tell eddie everything, which is why he's so surprised to find out you've been keeping a secret —you’re hearing a voice whenever you're home alone. he’s always had a thing for the fantastical but he can't believe in ghosts, and the longer you insist on it, the more worried he becomes. this would be bad enough if eddie didn’t have a secret too, and it threatens to change everything between you.

blurb by @/luveline (blurb)

pairing: eddie munson x shy!female!reader summary: eddie insists on taking care of you when you get overwhelmed in the middle of a concert.

one shot by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader summary: eddie is a hockey player.

is it cool if i hold your hand? by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: eddie munson x shy!female!reader summary: eddie asks you out on your very first date, indulging you in huge philly cheesesteaks, a vanilla milkshake (with two straws), a largely neglected bucket of popcorn, and a sugary first kiss.

a thread of time by @/luveline (one shot)

pairing: soulmate au, eddie munson x female!reader summary: eddie wakes up with a red string tied from his finger to yours, no idea where he got it, and no idea how to tell you that you're caught on the end of it.

❀ hobie brown

can i kiss you? by @spiderg0th (blurb)

pairing: hobie brown x spider person!reader summary: you visit his world for the first time.

❀ tom holland

*girls talk boys by @luciwritesstuff (series, ongoing)

pairing: actor!tom holland x female!reader summary: coming home for the holidays only to find your old, formerly pain-in-your-ass neighbour got. . . hot?

all the time in the world by @/luciwritesstuff (one shot)

pairing: tom holland x female!reader summary: tom thinks you're pregnant.

the end by @lauras-collection (one shot)

pairing: tom holland x reader summary: this is not how you thought your evening would end.

*little birdie by @youandtom2 (one shot, part. 2)

pairing: rich!dom!tom holland x inexperienced!rich!female!reader summary: you always thought you hated tom more. but after a wild night that has now led into a confusing situationship you start to question who you should be hating more: your nightmare brother andy, or his best friend tom?

*hunting ground by @/youandtom2 (one shot)

pairing: dom!tom holland x sub!bratty!reader summary: how else would you get adventure back into your life than to visit a speakeasy that’s definitly not a kinky-cult-sex-club?

❀ harry styles

*soft by @moonchildstyles (one shot)

pairing: harry styles x female!reader summary: harry is y/n’s best friend, so she thought she knew everything about him. but, it looks like they both had some secrets: harry thought about her a lot more than she realized and y/n has really soft hands.

feathery by @/moonchildstyles (one shot)

pairing: harry styles x cupid!female!reader summary: y/n is a cupid and harry might be her soulmate. if that’s even possible anyway.

*élan by @/moonchildstyles (series)

pairing: bodyguard!harry styles x rich socialite!female!reader summary: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone.

for more fic recs check out my #read tag <3

[xxsabitoxx]

xxSabitoxx’s FAQs

A lot of this is usually covered in my request guidelines post, but seeing that I’m currently not taking requests and no longer have a guideline post… it only seems right to make a post like this

I primarily write NSFW 18+ fics and headcanon posts. That doesn’t mean I can’t / won’t write angst or fluff, but people really seem to prefer my smut more than anything so it’s what I stick to.

Can you write a reader who is…

I do not write fics where Y/N’s race is specified

I do not write fics where Y/N’s weight is specified

I make sure that the Y/N in my fics are as blank as possible. I don’t describe their skin, their body shape, their hair or eye color, hell even their nipple color because that can imply a specific race. I want everyone to be able to enjoy these fics and not feel left out because of the way Y/N is depicted.

I am able to write fics where Y/N is Male [NSFW and SFW]

I am able to write SFW with a nonbinary Y/N

Can you write about a reader who…

I do not write fics or HCs about a reader with an ED

I do not write fics or HCs about a reader who SHs

I have nothing against these topics and fully understand that you may be looking for comfort through these stories but I kindly ask that you do not request me to write for them. We all have our triggers and our traumas and I am simply not comfortable with these topics for a variety of reasons.

Can you write about this kink…

I am comfortable writing for just about anything. However, I have my handful of absolutely NOT.

I will not write age play / age regression

I will not write daddy kinks [as a joke is different]

I will not write incest where there is blood relation [step siblings are a different story]

I will not write foot fetishes [sorry to that one anon]

I will not write anything relating to scat or vomit

I will not write large age gaps where one half of the ‘pair’ is underage

I’m okay with just about everything else outside of that list. If there is ever a time you are unsure, don’t hesitate to send me an ask!

What pairings do you write for?

For the most part it is only reader insert fics lol. I’m not against character x character fics but I tend to only post them on my Ao3.

Do you take requests?

For the time being, I do not. I kindly ask that you refrain from sending me any sort of fic or head canon requests. I’m fine with getting small “requests” like if I think sanemi is a boobs or ass guy for example

Anything that I can answer the ask with a paragraph or two is fine

Where is the next part of…

Doesn’t exist. Unless I say I’m working on it or you see a teaser posted somewhere on my blog. I will usually post when I’m working on a new part to a fic so just keep an eye out!

Who do you write for?

I have a list of shows I write for in my welcome post but I can break it down a little more

All demon slayer characters

Most Jujutsu Kaisen characters

Most Chainsaw Man characters

All Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure characters

Most My Hero Academia characters

All Attack On Titan characters

Just like the kinks, if you’re unsure just send me an ask.

Do you still write for…

I write for the shows I listed above, if I ever stop writing for any of them they’d be removed from the list.

I hyperfixate on things so you’ll see an influx of writing for particular shows when my interest in them is really high at that time.

I wrote for Demon Slayer and Demon Slayer alone for about 6-7 months on this blog before adding new shows to my writing collection. It just depends on what show I’m really feeling at the moment — for a while it was jujutsu kaisen and then it was Jojo’s and Chainsaw Man. Now we’re back on to MHA & KNY. It changes lol

Why aren’t your DMs open?

I am a very introverted person with a lot of social anxiety lol

When it comes to DMs the messages would often get buried and then people would take offense to me not responding so it’s just easier to keep them off

This also isn’t my first tumblr blog, I used to have one for a very different fandom years ago & that ended in a dumpster fire of death threats and bullying because two bigger blogs at the time started putting their followers against me for something I didn’t even do lol

So honestly I rather keep to myself and just stick to communicating through asks! I love receiving asks and talking with you all.

Why does it take you so long to write?

I have a usually busy life outside this blog. I’m a full time university student in a major that requires field experience and observations. I also have a minor I’m working on alongside my major. I work a part time job and am looking into interning…

Oh and I’ve got chronic iron deficiency anemia so I can barely function as it is. Especially in the periods where I’m waiting on infusions… like right now. I can’t be awake for more than a couple hours without needing to lay down and sleep again.

Plus I really can’t sit down for long periods of time and focus…and I’m always getting new ideas… did I mention I also have two energetic puppies who are always looking for attention?

So that’s why I can take me over a year to produce a sequel.

Why do you write for some characters more than others?

Head canon wise, I try to keep things equal in length for each character. Like my pillar head canons for example

Fic wise? I just have my preferences. Sometimes I enjoy writing a particular character and their personality more than others.

Why can’t we talk about ships/shipping?

I don’t need that negativity on this blog is the simple answer.

I used to be a die hard Kpop stan. I think that speaks volumes for some of you but for those who don’t get it… I’ll explain.

Shipping is toxic as fuck because some of you bitches take shit way to fucking seriously. They are fictional characters bro why are you sending each other death threats and doxxing one another cause you don’t support the same ship. It’s insanity.

I’m 17… can I still interact with you

Yes. There is really no difference mentally between someone who’s 17 and who’s 18. Like honestly you don’t start feeling like an adult until your mid-twenties. I’m gonna be 21 soon and I still feel like a child

The 18+ warning is essentially for those who are 16 and under.

Uncomfortable / Rude Asks

These are, in fact, different from hate asks. Typically they are the ones I receive most often in regards to uncalled for behavior. Idfk why my blog attracts the anons it does but it is what it is.

Depending on the audacity of the ask, I may or may not answer it.

Most of the time I’ll delete them after a while because it’s stupid to keep them up — but in the moment I need someone else to see it cause literally what the fuck.

Also friendly reminder. If you can’t see it, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Appealing to ignorance… my philosophy professor would love to use y’all as a test example tbh

Hate comments / Hate Asks

Thankfully I’ve only received an itty bitty handful during my time on this blog… like not even double digits. They have been very few and very far between but essentially this is what happens:

Asks: The ask isn’t answered. I’ll block you, and since it’s likely you’d be on anon, your IP address is what ends up getting blocked opposed to your blog getting blocked.

Comments: your comment will be deleted and your blog will be blocked

If I see you in my comments fighting with another blog, you’ll be blocked as well from my page.

That’s it for now!

If anything else is to come to mind I’ll add it later!

[sabraeal]

If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Part three of 500 Follower prizes @bubblesthemonsterartist​ earned herself years ago! Only two more and I will have fulfilled all those fics...probably just in time to have a 1K follower raffle

Blue light washes her pink sheets pale, until it’s impossible to tell when cotton ends and her skin begins. The shadows pull longer in its glow, turning her own nearly skeletal as she reaches out a finger, hovering over the link.

“U-J-Kyo?” Chizuru’s mouth wraps around each letter, the sound of them tumbling softly into the muted glow. “But that’s just...?”

The university’s homepage. And her laptop’s, technically, now that Yamazaki helped her set it. Not something she’d normally associate with Souji’s interests, not unless he’s started some new hostilities with the provost’s office again. Their last open letter hung on the fridge until just before Thanksgiving, the second paragraph asking for “certain individuals in the student body“ to “show more conduct becoming of an undergraduate of a prestigious institution” highlighted proudly in lime green.

Dean Kondo dropped by the house only a few days later-- for a friendly visit, he’d said, smile as warm as she remembered. He’d stayed for dinner, complimenting the soup she’d made from their leftovers, and then talked with Souji out on the porch until the swing’s chains started to creak. The letter disappeared the next morning, unremarked, though Souji kept glowering at the bare metal every time he passed through the kitchen.

Chizuru swipes tentatively at the screen, messaging app blooming beneath her finger. The link’s innocuous, known, but Souji has a gift for slipping a sting into any handshake. And if he’s calling it a gift, well--

[ToudouDomination] omg holy shit dude nice knowing u hijikatas gonna kill u 4 sure 💀💀

Professor Hijikata’s taught her enough about Trojans to take that kind of present at face value.

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] *skullfuck u mean skullfuck ull b the most beautiful corpse at ur funeral bro

Her lips press tight, clinging to each other as close as the rubber case to her phone. If everyone’s acting like this about it, it’s better that she doesn’t look.

[ToudouDomination] MY funeral???!! what’s this got to do with me??!!

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] nah man im not talking ab YOU im talking ab dead man walking over here

She’d regret it if she did, probably.

[Dr 💖💋🤭] jfc I’ll say somethign nice at you’re disciplinery hearing

[ToudouDomination] Me??

[Dr 💖💋🤭] No one’s talking about you Heisuke

It’s an accident, really. Her thumb skims up the side of the screen-- scrolling past the sudden influx of skull and fire emojis the boys heave into the chat-- and the pad of it just barely brushes the link. It flashes under the pressure, blue then purple, selected, and well...

There’s no harm in just letting it happen, is there? It’s only the university homepage, nothing--

Ah. That’s what it should be at least. But instead of the azure and white, there’s text curling across the screen, a half dozen different hand-written poems in blue bic and college rule, tiled across every inch of the background. There’s coffee stains on them too, some in the corner, and some in rings, like they were more used to being coasters than literature. And in the center of it all--

“Oh.” She blinks, tilting her screen to get a better view. “A video?”

Hogyoku Open Mic, it reads at one corner, reflection on water. A strange choice for Souji; he’s never mentioned an interest in poetry, let alone live readings. Frowning, Chizuru tilts her phone, letting the video fill the screen.

It plays, and oh, several things become clear, all at once.

“My heart is pure,” the man on screen promises, words raking over the gravel of his voice-- how little of it there is marks his age more than the lack of lines on his face-- but Chizuru’s isn’t, not when she can’t do much more than stare, fingers numb around the rubber case. “I use my palm as an inkstone.”

The camera pans closer, and yes, above that black dress shirt-- open to its third button, oh goodness gracious-- is Hijikata. Not the one she knows now, the grizzled professor who kicks his feet up on the desk and uses profanity as punctuation, but--

But a much younger man, not much older than her, considering the last little bastions of baby fat clinging to his cheekbones.

[Dr 💖💋🤭] This muts be a hundred pakcs of cigs ago

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] 💯

[ToudouDomination] do moths feel desire or is that like a poetic thing he talks about rain a lot too whats that all ab

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] its a sex thing

[Dr 💖💋🤭] Shin don’t tell the baby taht

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] hes a growing boy he has to learn sometime better he hears it from us hijikata fucks 🍑🍆🍑

[Saito.Hajime] Can I please be removed from this group? Also, congratulations, Souji, on finding a new, creative way to die

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] no way if we all have to think think about hijikata fucking u have to suffer too

[Saito.Hajime] I am not certain I care for that logic

[Dr 💖💋🤭] Too bad, bud. Your stukc with us

[✨💯GAINS💪💪✨] yeah bro u signed the housing contract ur here til death comes for u or like u move out or smthn

Chizuru means to stop the video, really she does. It’s not something Hijikata would want them to see-- at least, she assumes so, considering the way he flushes every time Souji brings up his graduate school slam jams, threatening to expel him if he doesn’t ‘shut his damn mouth.’

But the one on the screen smiles as he finishes his set, smouldering out past the stage lights, and she-- she expects snapping, some cool cats with shades and berets nodding their heads to his truth or whatever mood this is supposed to give. A respectful silence, one that gives space to the idea he’s introduced to the space, but instead--

Instead there’s screams. A full audience of women-- and a few particularly enthusiastic men-- loudly voicing their appreciation for what she’s hoping is the poetry.

Ah, maybe Shinpachi is right. It is a sex thing. And she’s watched a full ten minutes of it.

Hijikata can never know. Or worse--

[Susumu Yamazaki] Take this down. Now.

[( ⓛ ω ⓛ *)] eat my ass

Her heart ricochets around her rib cage, panicked, before it lodges itself in her throat. It flutters there, queasily, and-- and there’s no way he could possibly know, but still, guilt seizes her. She shouldn’t have looked, not once she knew. She should have been the first to say it was wrong. Helpers can only help when they know there is a problem, that’s what Father would have said. If you cannot perceive it then you are part of it.

She could say something now. Her hand squeezes tight around the case. No, she should say something now. She has to, because father will ask. She’ll tell him about this frantic midnight showdown, and he’ll say, and what did you say?

And if it is nothing...

[Susumu Yamazaki] Take it down now. Or I will get university IT involved.

[( ⓛ ω ⓛ *)] you don’t have the fucking balls

[Susumu Yamazaki] Try me.

Even with her eyes closed, her failure is inescapable. The words flash behind her eyelids, no longer composed of ones and zeros but scrawled in neon lights instead, reminding her that if she were better she could have fixed this. That if she were good enough, she could have found the magic phrase to get them all to get along. But instead...

Silence, that’s what he’ll give her. A long pause where all his expectations weigh on her, piling on her chest like boulders on a criminal. A cluck of his tongue, and a soft, I thought I raised you better. Any moment now, her phone will ring, and Father will know what a disappointment she is because--

It’s Christmas. Just about everywhere but Hawaii. A couple other islands in the Pacific too, if she’s being fair. It’s Christmas, and he’s supposed to call because that’s the way it’s always been: her staying up late not to catch Santa and his Reindeer but Father emerging from his office. It’s her that would tromp down the hall with all the grace of an elephant, to fling her arms around him and yelp, Merry Christmas!

And it was him who had to be stern, who must put her back down on the carpet and scold her for being out of bed. Who has to wait until she’s nearly shut her door to stop her, to call out, Merry Christmas, Chizuru.

It’s supposed to be her first. The one given moments after midnight, the most real, and-- and--

And she’s spent the whole day waiting for an empty office.

There’s a part of her, one that’s still too short to reach the microwave and can’t bear the kindness next door, that thinks she missed it. That there’s some dead zone in the house that she unwittingly lingered in, or a notification that her phone somehow swallowed whole. That it’s her fault she never presented herself to be loved.

But there’s another part, one that’s growing every day, and that one--

That one’s just tired. 

It’s tired that wins out, in the end.

There’s a weight that drags at her, urging her to stay within the cocoon of her covers, to let the night unfurl across her screen, each blow reported in black and white right before her eyes. A passive observer, an active disappointment, but most importantly: unmoving.

Even still, she gets up, throwing the cloud of her comforter back so that she can slide out from underneath it. Her heels hit the floor with a force that chatters her teeth; or maybe that’s just the chill of the air now that her body heat is no longer trapped up against her skin.

Her phone settles on the nightstand, cozening up to the lamp, and for a long moment, she thinks about turning it on. Every muscle complains as she peels her day clothes off and exchanges them for pajamas, her eyes straining to make out what’s a hole and what’s just dead air, and yet--

Yet it’s easier than facing herself.

The same weight drops her back onto the mattress, an anchor sinking into the endless depths of open water. She isn’t sure when she’ll hit bottom, but staring at the blank screen beside her feels entirely too close to it.

It’s with a trembling finger that she guides the volume from full to vibrate. Even that makes her heart race, makes her wonder if she’s just punishing Father for having priorities besides a fully adult daughter, the same one who had so happily told him she would support his sabbatical wherever it took him. What if he needs to get a hold of her? If there’s an emergency on Borneo or San Cistobal or whatever island his research took him? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just keep it on a little, just in case--

Her fingers flex. She deserves to sleep tonight, what little of it there is left. And if this is on...

Vibrate changes to mute. The phone flips over, screen pressed against the wood.

“Good night, Daddy.” She gives the case one last, small tap. “Merry Christmas.”

“Hey, jailbait.” Something warm nudges her shoulder, not gently. Chizuru has the space of exactly one breath to wonder what, before the same something grips both and shakes. “Get up!”

“Haah?” Her hands flail out, but whatever’s gotten hold of her slithers out of her grip, retreating past her arm’s reach. “What...?”

It’s bright when her eyes peel open, the sun already seeping through the curtain even though it can’t be more than--

“Class!” Her limbs fly out, wild as she tries to turn over, tangled up in the tight embrace of her covers. “I’m late for--”

“Hold up a slice, shortcake.” Souji looms over her, tall enough that his knees barely brush the bed to do it. “No classes today.”

“No...?” It’s not as if she has anything to say, brain moving at a snail’s pace that it is, but her mouth keeps moving anyway, as if just working her jaw might help get the gears moving. Which it does, oddly enough, reminding her it’s not a weekend but a holiday, and not just any holiday but Christmas, and--

And Father never called. Unless it came in the night, after she’d put herself to bed. After she’d not only turned off the ringtone but vibrate too, leaving him no chance to hear her voice, forcing any attempts for him to contact her straight to voicemail, like she didn’t even care--

“Hey.” Souji knees the mattress, jolting her outstretched elbow right into the corner of the nightstand. “Get up already.”

Painful tingles race up her arm, bouncing from elbow to shoulder and back and, oh, why is it called the funny bone when it’s not funny at all? “Souji, why are you--?”

A bleary blink turns the blurred numbers on her clock to something like sense.

“Oh!” She bolts upright on the mattress, sending Souji skittering back a step. No wonder he’s deigned to scratch at her door; Harada might be the oldest, but of the three of them, Chizuru’s the only one that can be trusted with the stove. “It’s late! Are you hungry?”

“No.” This close, it’s easy to see that furrow flash between his brows, the quick reassessment of his opinion. “Well, yeah. But that’s not what I want right now.”

This early, her brain’s as bleary as her vision, but it won’t clear no matter how much she blinks. “Then what...?”

He heaves a sigh; her only warning before long fingers clamp around her wrist, cold as iron. “Just come with me already.”

It’s a feat to get untangled from her blankets; there’s a knit one sandwiched between the top sheet and the comforter, plus another for more weight-- and heat, since she shares her thermostat with Shinpachi and Harada, whose bodies both run at a temperature verging on medically alarming if they think sixty-five degrees is comfortable. It’s harder still with Souji yanking at her the whole time; she’s not certain whether he does it because he’s impatient or because her struggling amuses him. Possibly both, knowing Souji.

Impatience, however, wins out. One foot wins free, planting itself on the bedside braided rug, and he snaps, “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”

She’d love to, if only the comforter hadn’t swallowed her up to the ankle, cinching tight when she tries to pry it apart. “Ah, I know! Just give me one--”

Unless she’d meant to say second-- which she hadn’t, not at all-- Souji doesn’t give it to her. Instead he tugs, and she stumbles off the mattress, dragging half the blankets with her. “Good,” he huffs, barely glancing back. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Souji has a terrible habit of making things worse the longer he’s made to wait, but she digs in her heels anyway. Or, well, the one that isn’t still trapped in Poly-Fil. “Can I at least put on my robe?”

“Why? It’s not like there’s anyone to see your cute little Christmas--” he squints “--raccoons?”

“Tanuki.” She smooths her hand over the fabric, one of their round faces peeking playfully out from between her fingers. “They’re just so fluffy.”

Souji stares at her, stone-faced and silent, and-- and it’s longer than that his teasing typically takes. “Right,” he says, stilted. “Whatever. Just hurry it up, Sleeping Beauty.”

Chizuru is keenly conscious of every second Souji suffers her, all-too aware of how impossible it is to win a race against the limits of his patience, but she’s determined to make the most of what she’s given. It’s hopeless to aspire to Hajime’s cool efficiency, but she tries, keeping her movements sharp and purposeful, as if putting on her robe required the same sweeping grace as his kata, and yet--

Yet she barely cinches the knot tight before he’s grabbed her again. “C’mon, princess. We���ve got things to do.”

It’s a struggle just to keep her feet beneath her, but she manages a very eloquent. “Huh?”

His mouth quirks, too pleased, as he tugs and she stumbles, bare feet barely braced against the jamb. “People to piss off.”

Ah, well that’s hardly promising.

When all is said and done, he doesn’t drag her far. A cold comfort, considering.

“This is Hajime’s room,” she informs him. His grin assures her he already knows. “And, Ya-- ah, I mean, Su-- uh, um. S-susu...?”

The name’s foreign in her mouth, tongue stumbling and stuttering around it, and it’s-- it’s just odd not to use it, when she’s so used to Souji and Hajime and Heisuke and Shinpachi and even Sano, if it feels safe to say, instead of intimate. As if she’s letting all the rest of them close while keeping him at arm’s length.

Which isn’t true. But still, she can’t bring herself to say Yamazaki’s first name so casually, not when even Heisuke, who barely lasted three hours before asking if she was cool with nicknames, hasn’t managed it. With the syllables rolling around in her mouth, it’s almost...

Illicit. That’s it. “Is there a reason you need me here?”

Souji’s mouth curls, so satisfied she’s surprised she can’t see feathers between his teeth. “Yes, definitely.”

“But they went home for the holidays.” She frowns. “Did you need something in there? I’m pretty sure it’s--”

His leg kicks back, and with one smooth swing, he completely bypasses the need for a doorknob, the open door shivering from the force.

“-- locked,” she finishes faintly. “Oh my.”

One hand catches the door, long fingers splayed across the grain. “After you, jailbait.”

She nearly balks-- it’s not as if it’s his room; he hardly has the right to invite her-- but the door swings open, and she--

She’s never seen this before. Yamazaki’s room. Or Hajime’s, of course. A tour down the hallway would be enough to get a glimpse into any of the other rooms; Heisuke hadn’t even waited a day to drag her into his, pointing out all his favorite posters. Harada and Shinpachi took a few weeks longer, though she’d spent most of that visit with her hands clapped over her eyes. Even Souji tolerated her shuffling a step over the threshold, even if it was only to ask for him to help her reach one of the taller cabinets. But Yamazaki and Hajime...

Their door has always been carefully shut, not even the slightest gap for a peek. An easy habit to explain away; the both of them value privacy over accessibility, choosing to socialize in the common areas of the house rather than in their room, but still--

It’s almost surprising how normal it is. Not that Chizuru expected it to be wallpapered floor to ceiling with centerfolds, like Harada and Shinpachi’s room, or crowded with collectibles like Heisuke’s, but maybe white walls and stark sheets, monochrome and neat as a pin. The sort of room that would seem unoccupied, if it wasn’t for the monitors on the desks. Sterile.

Instead there’s posters. Not crowding the walls, so close that the corners overlap, but there’s personality, if not chaos. Enough to know that the boy who sleeps under the navy comforter likes movies with kimonos and swords or computers from the 80s, and that charcoal comforter likes wuxia and vintage medical diagrams. And books too, if the stack teetering on his bedside table is any indication.

Chizuru shuffles a step further into the room. It would be rude to rummage, but surely-- surely it wouldn’t hurt if she just read the titles. If she just stooped down the tiniest bit and--

And tripped over Souji, shoulder-deep beneath Yamazaki’s mattress. “W-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he grunts, annoyed. “A guy that uptight’s got to be hiding something. And not just the normal stuff. The kind of something that’s gotta be top shelf fucked up.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Oh come on, you know what I mean. Whips and chains.” He drags his arm out with a huff. “Autoerotic asphyxiation. Snuff tapes.” Souji reaches up, flipping over his pillows. “Yiffing. Who could say what a small-dicked little turd like him is into?”

Half those words are unrecognizable, and so it’s not until he’s on his feet, poking through desk drawers that Chizuru realizes, “You mean you’re looking for...for...” Her mouth works, cheeks painfully hot as she manages, “Girlie magazines?”

His fingers still, pressed into a sheaf of glossy page edges. “I’m trying to find porn, Chizuru. That’s what we call it this century.”

The book shuts with a snap, joining its friends on the shelf, and when he reaches for another, she blurts out, “Don’t people just watch that online now?”

Souji laughs, not kind, but abandons the bookshelf. “And everyone thinks you’re so innocent, huh, princess?”

Her hands clap to her cheeks. Ah, she hadn’t realized it could be painful to blush. “I, um...only, ah--” Souji flings open the closet “--I don’t think you should really be--!”

“Jackpot.” The hangers rattle as he slips something off the rack; with only the sunlight eking in around the blinds to light the room, it’s hard to see just what. “What do you think? Would it look good on me?”

The fabric’s black, limp and shapeless on its hanger, utterly unrecognizable. “I don’t...?”

“Nah, no way I could fit into that shrimp’s costumes.” The light might be dim, but Souji’s teeth practically glow when he says, “But you could, half pint. C’mon, get over here.”

She doesn’t have much of a choice, not when he grabs her wrist and yanks. “I don’t understand,” she murmurs, watching him separate a smaller piece from the whole, more uncomfortable by the second. “Why did you need me when you were only going to..um...?”

Steal seems a little strong for the moment. Scrounge falls a little short.

“Ahhh, see, kid, last night I left a little gift for the whole student body. Right on the main page, where everyone could appreciate it.” He steps entirely too close, the warmth of his body filling the space between them. “And our favorite little ass-kisser didn’t appreciate it.”

The scrap slips over her head, cool and smooth where it settles around her neck. “So he took it down. Or got some of his nerd friends to do it. Either way...” Souji shrugs. “It’s rude to give back a gift, isn’t it?”

His wrist twists, the cloth pulling tight against her skin. Tight enough that only a twitch guides her into a nod. “See? That’s what I thought too. Kid needs to learn a thing or two about manners. So that’s what I’m doing.” Souji grins, the fabric loosening as he lets it slip from his fingers. “Teaching him a lesson.”

“B-but...” Her focus stumbles as he steps closer, threading his hand beneath the few inches of her hair that don’t clear the fabric and pulling them free. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“It’s cute that you don’t know.” His smile could cut when he slips the cloth right up over her nose. “This is a hostage situation, jailbait, and you’re going to read from the script. Now look over here.”

She does, blinking right up into the blinding light of flash photography as his arm squeezes her close. “What...?”

“Perfect.” Souji’s lips slant to a smirk, phone pinched delicately between his fingers. “Now I just need to post this in--”

The lights flick on. Neither of them are near the switch.

But Hajime is.

“Just what,” he says, brows drawn down like a storm, “do you think you’re doing in here?”

There have only been three house meetings since Chizuru showed up on their doorstep, hair shorn and all her earthly possessions split between a backpack and a trash bag: the first, called by the professor, to announce that that there would be a new roommate; the second, to decide how exactly to handle the fact that Chizuru wasn’t a boy’s name, nor was she; and the third, well...

I’m not complaining that you invite girls back, Sano, Shinpachi had said, with all the gravitas of a judge, but you can’t let them wander around. She went through our trash, dude!

But this-- it’s different. Not just because of the Christmas lights, festively twinkling through their cycle, or Shinpachi’s sweater blinking through its own.

It’s that they’re all here, Christmas afternoon-- evening really, with how early the sun sets these days-- holidays cut short. Chizuru might not have anyone to spent Christmas with, but Shinpachi did, and Heisuke, and Yamazaki--

And instead they’re all here. Because of her. Not a single one of them is smiling.

It’s too much.

“I’m so sorry!” The words burst out of her, rushed, but it’s important to get them out before anyone else can speak, before they think she’s only sorry because she got caught. “I really didn’t mean to go in! I just...Souji said...”

“Narc.” It’s muffled in his shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear. And maybe others, the way Yamazaki’s brow twitches across the table.

“Chizu, Chizu. Come on.” Shinpachi holds up his hands, as if a half-hearted sweep like that could clear the slate of her worries.. “No one here thinks this is your fault.”

It’s kind of him to say, but that’s...impossible. Not when she’s so clearly transgressed. “I went into Y-Yamazaki and Hajime’s room without permission. That’s against the--”

“No, Yukimura, that’s not--” Yamazaki’s teeth clack down, hard.  “I don’t mind if it’s you. Ah, I mean--” his ears flush the same angry pink that licks up the column of his neck “--it’s, er, different.”

“You are respectful of other people’s personal belongings,” Hajime clarifies. “There is no issue with you in our private space. Souji, however...”

“Oh, come on.” Souji kicks his feet up on the coffee table, baring every hole in the bottom of them. “It’s not like I broke anything.”

Yamazaki’s eyes hone onto him-- or rather, the parts of him only inches from Harada’s iced mocha, so close a flex of a toe could touch the coaster. “Right, you only stole something. Not like that’s a big deal.”

“Stole? Like I want--” with a sweep of his palm, Yamazaki clears the surface of appendages, so precise it doesn’t even disrupt the condensation on the cup “--hey!”

He doesn’t smile, but when Yamazaki glances up at the couch, his satisfaction shines just as bright as one.

“Souji.”

Hajime is not like Shinpachi, using his outdoor voice in every room no matter how small, or Heisuke, unable to control his volume once a conversation gets interesting. He’s soft spoken, serious; the sort of person other people lean in to hear, rather than ask him to speak up.

But today, he pitches his voice to be heard. “You cannot enter someone’s assigned private room without express permission.” With even graver inflection, he adds “It is against the rules put forth in the Signed Housing Agreement.”

Souji snorts, sinking further into the couch cushions. “No one pays attention to that crap.”

Air hisses between Yamazaki’s teeth. “That’s--”

“If I am not allowed to leave the group chat unless a member of the house boots me for a pre-agreed upon duration,” Hajime says, mouth pulling thin, “then you are also not allowed in my room.”

His glare is hardly aimed at her, but it comes close enough that she flinches. Souji doesn’t, refusing to acknowledge it that same way a cat declined to be caught on a curtain, as if reality was simply an opinion he did or did not hold. “I didn’t even touch your stuff. I don’t know why you’re trying to--”

“You did touch Yamazaki’s stuff, though.” Harada shifts in his chair, the vee of his sweater dipping deep enough to bare cleavage. It might be distracting, if it wasn’t already a relief that he was wearing all his clothes. “Which is against the rules.”

“Yeah, that’s fucked up, right?” Shinpachi cracks open a tall boy, cold enough that the beer fizzes out, threatening to drip right across the festive moose on his chest; HORNY AND WELL HUNG according to the words knit into his sweater. “There’s no locks on the doors, man. We’ve all got to trust each other.”

Chizuru blinks. “But I have a lock.”

He pauses, mid-sip. “Well, I guess that makes sense. You’re a girl, after all. Can’t have a girl be alone with a bunch of guys if there no--”

“My room also has a lock.” Hajime frowns, considering the socks Souji’s just returned to the table. “Hardly a good one, if Souji was able to bypass it with just his foot, but...”

“Me too,” Heisuke chimes in. “I just don’t really use it.”

“Wait, what?” Shinpachi swivels between them, lost. “Are me and Sano the only ones who don’t--?”

“I think the best course of action is to inform Professor Hijikata about the infraction.” Kneeling on the carpet next to Shinpachi’s luggage, Yamazaki’s hardly an authority figure, but when he raises his voice the room fritters to silence. “I’m sure he can take it from there.”

Harada hums, unconvinced. “I don’t know about that. Souji’s already got two strikes against him. If we report another one, I’m pretty sure Hijikata’s going to toss him out.”

They might be more suggestions than eyebrows, but still, it makes an impression when Yamazaki furrows them.  “I don’t see why that’s any of my concern.”

“Aw, c’mon, Yamazaki.” They all might tease her about her pleading eyes, but it’s Heisuke that uses them now, as compelling as any puppy in a pet store window. “You know Souji doesn’t have anywhere else to go. You wouldn’t throw him out in the cold just like that, would you?”

His mouth pinches, bracing the way the rest of him is, squared off and utterly implacable. “Souji is a grown man who can make his own decisions. If those decisions lead to him getting tossed out, that hardly has anything to do with me.”

Souji snorts. “None of the people who complained are even here anymore.”

Yamazaki whips around, eyes so cold they could turn any other man to ice. Souji just smirks. “Yes, because of you.”

“Well, I don’t know...” Heisuke hums, thoughtful. “Ryu left because of that art program. You know, the one that had the scholarship.”

“Only after Okita shoved him off--!”

“Oh, c’mon.” Souji’s shoulder twitch, barely summoning up the energy for a full shrug. “That’s all water under the bridge.”

Yamazaki surges to his feet; only Harada’s hand, keeping him from jumping the table too. “You broke his wrist in three places! The only reason he didn’t press charges was because his foster father is somehow an even bigger asshole than you!”

Souji picks his grins the same way a chef picks his knives from the block: with the intention to cut. “No hard feelings.”

“Hard feelings?” Yamazaki chokes out. “You think this is about hard feelings? When Itou left, he--”

“Itou was a prick.”

Hajime doesn’t so much sigh as hum, raspy and dubious. “That doesn’t mean that what you did was right, Souji.”

His eyes narrow, annoyed. “Don’t pretend you miss him running around the place, acting better than everyone.”

“No, no. He’s got a point.” The easy chair grunts as Shinpachi shifts his weight back, crossing his legs ankle to knee. “They both do. You know I don’t want to kick you out, man, but you’ve got a bad habit of taking stuff way past funny right into, well...”

“An actionable offense?” Harada offers, wry.

A blunt nail taps at his can, uncomfortable. “Yeah, that. It’s not good, bro.”

Something happens with Souji’s mouth. A lot of somethings, actually; subtle ones, hidden in the corners and tucked into the cheeks, the sort that happen between one blink and the next. Missable, save for the fact that Chizuru never looks away.

There’s a jut of his lip first, not a pout but its more serious cousin, the kind that’s like a levee to a deluge: one tremble away from a flood. A scowl next, never quite reaching his eyes; good practice for the smile that follows, curving into a smirk the way steel takes an edge: like it’s meant for it.

“All right, all right.” His hands raise up, too lax for a peace offering. It might stand in for a concession, if she tilted her head and squinted, but only a little. “So you’re all mad at me or whatever.”

“For good reason.” It’s a strong stance for Harada; he’s usually the one who’s quick to compromise, so long as it keeps everyone civil.

“Sure, right.” Souji shrugs, unconcerned. “I get it. But consider--” fabric whips out from behind a pillow, matte and black-- “this.”

Chizuru blinks. “Wasn’t that in...?”

Yamazaki’s closet, she doesn’t say. Not when he shakes it out, turning it from cloth to clothing, a whole jumpsuit with fussy embroidery picked out in an even darker black.

“What’s that?” Shinpachi scoots to the edge of his chair, squinting. He must not have his contacts in. “Some sort of ninja costume?”

She knows better than to turn, to draw attention to the statue suddenly sitting across the table, but Chizuru can’t help it, not when Souji is so quick to say, “It is.” There’s enough relish in his tone that she can taste it. “And it’s Yamazaki’s.”

There’s a pause-- for effect, she’s sure, considering the way Souji grins. Like he’s pulled off some magic trick, making his troubles disappear in one hand and then plucking them out from behind Yamazaki’s ear.

“So?” Harada snorts, unimpressed. “Are you surprised? He’s been a ninja for Halloween like, what? Three years running? Since I’ve been here at least. What next? Gonna pull a sexy firefighter out of Shin’s closet?”

“Hey!” A hand presses right over WELL, leaving HORNY and HUNG peeking out from underneath it. “I’ve branched out! This year I was a sexy soldier.”

“How can you tell?” Heisuke mutters, hunched shoulders making his chest even narrower, more concave. “You’re only wearing like half a costume.”

“We’re not talking about Nagakura.” With all the subtlety of a bomb, Souji drops, “We’re talking about Mr Kiss-Ass and how he has like, five of these tucked away for a rainy day.”

It’s been three months since Chizuru managed to insinuate herself into the house, but not once has it been quiet. Even in the night there’s something: Shinpachi snoring, Harada’s flings trying to find the front door, Heisuke up entirely too late typing up papers or-- more likely-- playing video games. Something. But now--

Now it’s a ringing silence that’s left in Souji’s wake, an awkward air that has every shoulder stiff, every eye finding somewhere else to look besides the place where Yamazaki sits, still as a stone.

Or at least, until Hajime slides forward, dexterous fingers smoothing over the raised stitches of the sleeve. “Oh,” he hums, impressed. “Your skills have really improved since your last attempt. I take it this is for next weekend?”

“Ah...” He swallows, loud enough that even Chizuru can hear. “Y-yeah. The new kunai were too heavy for the belt, so I thought if I remade that, I might as well add a few more quality of life adjustments, and, er...”

“Oh my god,” Heisuke breathes, quivering like a corgi at the end of his leash. “Are you a real ninja?”

A broad hand cuffs him on the back of his head. “C’mon,” Harada mutters. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

If Yamazaki’s ears were painted pink before, they’re crimson now, hot enough to burn from touch alone. The square of his shoulders deflates, rounding with the slow leak of his confidence, but--

But Hajime simply nods, stroking his chin. “Perhaps I should look at my own as well. It hardly feels adequate next to all the work you’ve done.”

“Is this like...a sex thing?” Shinpachi’s eyes dart between the two of them. “It’s a sex thing, right?”

“No,” Yamazaki says, stern, immediately undermined by Hajime’s, “A little.”

It’s with a hefty heaping of betrayal that Yamazaki turns to him, glaring as he grounds out, “Absolutely not.”

Hajime’s mouth gives a dubious twist, and he opens it, perhaps to gainsay him, but--

But there’s no time, not when Heisuke practically explodes. “Are you a ninja too, Hajime?”

He blinks. “No.”

“Oh.” Heisuke deflates. “Okay, I guess...”

“I’m a samurai.”

“What--” Harada’s voice strains beneath the words “--is going on?”

“So let me get this straight.” Harada’s fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, but by the wrinkle above them, Chizuru doubts it helps. “You two...dress up as samurai...?”

“I’m the samurai,” Hajime explains, so helpful. “Yamazaki is currently playing as a ninja. As he typically does.”

“You don’t have to tell them that,” he mutters. “That’s not really the point--”

“Right, of course, but...” Harada grimaces. “This is what you do on the weekends? For fun?”

A narrow shoulder lifts under Hajime’s tee, the closest he comes to a shrug. “An afternoon a month, to be more specific.”

“Once a month?” Heisuke asks, wide-eyed. “That doesn’t seem like a lot.”

“It takes a large amount of effort and dedication to keep up a long-form Live Action Roleplaying campaign,” he explains gravely. “That the organizers are able to run so often is a testament to their skill. And to run a weekend event--”

“So you mean you go there the whole weekend?” Heisuke blinks. “Like just forty-eight hours of samurai stuff?”

Hajime’s correction comes the same way as all his interactions: swiftly and without any judgment. “Seventy-two hours.”

Shinpachi goggles. “That’s a lot of fucking hours.”

“It is to aid with immersion.” Hajime isn’t a man of many words, but now he does not so much pause as he does breathe. “Unlike other games of its kind, Legend of the Five Rings does not focus so much on combat as it does internal conflict, and the robust worldbuilding--”

“This isn’t what they’re asking.” Yamazaki’s gaze darts wide-eyed around the table, never daring to stay longer than a blink. “You don’t have to--”

“--Is based on Sengoku Era Japan,” he continues, heedless. “As gratifying as it is to play on a regular basis, it really isn’t until a few hours into any session that people truly come to embody their roles. The court politics alone--”

“Saito.” Yamazaki may be seated at the opposite end of the living room, but his stare is enough to make even Hajime hesitate. “I think they get the idea.”

Harada looks between them, pained. “So are there...scripts or something?”

“No. Yes.” Hajime frowns. “It’s complicated. Each scene is improvised in character, but the organizers are present to facilitate the flow of the story. It is a collaborative effort.”

“But that’s it?” Heisuke asks. “You’re just like...samurai for a day? Or, er, three of them?”

“Yes.”

“And you do this--” Harada’s eyebrows furrow, pained “--for fun?”

Hajime doesn’t answer so much as cock his head, hands outspread as if to say, what else?

“That’s so...so cool!” Heisuke leaps to his feet, practically tripping over the table in his excitement. “Can I go? You guys gotta bring me!”

“What?” Harada blinks at him. “You want to go to this?”

“Uh, yeah?” His hands clench, too excited. “You get to be a samurai, Sano! Who wouldn’t want to?”

“Hey, so.” Shinpachi leans in, face pinched in curiosity. “Is this like...D&D or whatever?”

“In spirit,” Yamazaki creaks out, looking like death warmed over.

He nods. “Right, right. So like...a total sausage fest, or...?”

“The numbers on many tabletop games typically skews toward male,” Hajime explains, “but Live Action Roleplaying draws a higher percentage of female participants. Possibly due to the cosplay aspect.”

Shinpachi grins. “Oh, then count me in too, sensei.”

Harada stares at him. “Who are you?”

“What?” Shinpachi shrugs. “It’s math with babes. What’s not to love?”

“Ah...” Yamazaki waving hands don’t do much to hide his grimace. “I don’t really think this will be as interesting to you as you think...”

“He’s right,” Harada presses. “You may think it’s a good place to pick up women who aren’t afraid of, er, theoretical numbers--”

“They’re not theoretical,” Shinpachi huffs. “They’re real, it’s just the equations used to describe them are--“

“See? Already my eyes have glazed over.”

“I don’t know,” Chizuru hums, pitched just loud enough to be heard. “I think it sounds...fun?”

Yamazaki’s stare fixes on her. “Really?”

Even as a girl, Chizuru had never been one to play dress up, never been one to play pretend-- father didn’t approve, for one. Not when there were more direct benefits to be had from drilling flashcards or reading books. A second, her daydreams were vivid enough she hardly needed to act them out, not when Father was so apt to remind her, princesses don’t have to pass their medical exams.

But Yamazaki is as serious as they come, a TA for the dean of the pre-med department even before graduating. His acceptance to the medical school almost assured, and he finds this worth his time. Enough to have made a costume-- with his own hands!-- and sign up for a whole weekend away from his studies...

“Y-yeah.” She ducks her head, hoping to hide the heat that pricks at her cheeks. “I mean, as long as it wouldn’t be a bother for me to, um...”

“Ah, no! I mean, yes. Never.” Yamazaki shakes himself, pink staining the high arch of his cheekbones. “It’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, Chizu!” An arm clamps around her shoulders, dragging her against Shinpachi’s personal light display. “That’s right! Let’s all go. House field trip!”

Yamazaki’s jaw drops. “I don’t, er, know about that--!”

“Fine.” Harada sighs, getting to his feet. “If Chizuru wants to go. Count me in.”

“That’s the spirit!” Shinpachi claps him on the back, hard enough that even Harada has to cough. “Now, that just leaves...?”

“Uh-uh.” Souji’s arms fold over his chest, forbidding. “No way I’m going to your nerd party.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Shinpachi drops between them on the couch, arm pulling tight. “Think of it as a group bonding experience.”

Souji scowls. “What makes you think I care about bonding with any of you--”

“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it.” He squeezes tight enough to eke a squeak out of him. “Think about it as, ‘if you go we won’t tell Hijikata about you stealing shit.”

Souji glowers. “Fine,” he grumbles, shoving him off. “But I won’t like it!”

Shinpachi’s smile is all knives when he replies, “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

It’s dark when Chizuru stumbles out into the hall; there’d been daylight still when they’d piled into the parlor, but now night clings to the the edges of dusk, only enough light to gild the snow in golden shadow. It might bother her more if it wasn’t such a relief, a respite from having to scrape at the last reserve of her smiles. And so she takes it; one big breath and the muscles around her mouth slump, aching from use.

Any other night, she might worry about one of the boys following out behind her, but she can hear the ruckus shift from the parlor toward the kitchen, wheeled baggage and Shinpachi’s booming voice all tromping toward the back stair. Her day may have happened in fits and starts, but everyone else has been on the move, going from Christmas to short notice travel to fraught house meeting all within the space of hours. There’s no one who’s going to be worried about her.

Which suits her just fine. A few minutes lying face down on her comforter and she’ll be right as rain. Just a breath or two to herself, and--

Someone huffs behind her. Right behind her.

She whips around so fast, she nearly tumbles Yamazaki into the wall with her. Or at least his arm, half outstretched, now just hanging there in the air between them.

“Oh!” There’s no reason for her to shy back, but she does, guiltier with every inch. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“No, no. It’s my fault.” His hands aren’t large, not like Harada or Shinpachi, but the fingers are long and tapered, digging runnels through the shaggy bristle of his hair. “I should have-- ah, I mean, I just saw you, and er, wanted to make sure that you were all right. After, ah...all that.”

Her first instinct urges her to laugh, to let her nerves giggle out, there’s no need to worry about me--

But Yamazaki stares at her with the same careful intensity as he had in the kitchen-- you’re worth a good meal-- and Chizuru tries deflection instead. “I’m the one who should be asking you that! I went into your room without any permission and all, and Souji--” Yamazaki grimaces at the name “---I just...you have every right to be mad at me!”

“You?” he echoes, incredulous. “It’s not your fault, Yukimura. Okita’s the one who dragged you in there.”

She shakes her head. “I could have chosen to leave any time. I just was too curious to think to question him.”

“Curious?” There’s no inflection to the word, and with the shadows making a muddle of his expressions, there’s only the tilt of his head to tell here there’s a question. “Why would you be curious?”

“Ah, I’d just...never been inside before?” Her palms clap to her cheeks, and oh, she must glow from how hot her cheeks burn. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not! It’s just, ah...unexpected. I...” His mouth opens, as if he might say more, but with a lick of his lips, it closes instead. Or rather, his chin dips down and it follows, gaze dropping from her eyes to somewhere at her neck. As if...

“Oh, did I spill...?” She can’t actually remember what she’s eaten today, whether it could be something that she could walk around wearing, but Yamazaki’s already shaking his head.

“Ah, no, it’s just...you still have...” His fingers curl hesitantly in the air between them. “If you would let me...?”

Every twitching nerve of her stills as he steps close, fingers skimming past her shoulders. Only days ago she’d knotted his scarf, but it feels different now that he’s the one reaching, so close his hand meet behind her neck. He’s not bundled up now, no three layers of wool and thermal and parka to keep her from realizing that he smells nice, like...like something clean with a hint of eucalyptus, and it’s...

It’s a lot.

His fingers knit into the fabric at her nape, too slippery for him to find the end of it by touch. At least, the first time; he gathers it up, hiking it higher and higher until he can slide under it, the flat of his nails smooth and warm against her neck. Her pulse pounds so hard he must feel it, but Yamazaki doesn’t flinch, instead lifting it with surgical precision. The stretchy fabric threads right off her ponytail with no more than that initial brush of fingers, and she--

She stare. It’s the mask. The one Souji put on her. All this time, and she’s-- she’s just been wearing it, like some sort of...scarf. Right over her tanuki pajamas. In front of everyone.

In front of Yamazaki.

If she could melt into the woodwork, it would be a miracle. But as always, reality refuses to oblige her. “Oh, I hadn’t even...ah...”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” His fingers smooth over the fabric, mouth curving into a rueful smile. “It looked better on you than it does on me.”

“Ah!” Her gasp catches in her throat. “That’s not...um...” She hakes her head, hoping that might clear enough room for a sentence or two to compose itself. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Yamazaki glances up at her, amused, and oh-- she hadn’t meant to say that. Not like that.

“You know, I meant to...” He stops himself. Not abruptly, like she does, but a slow, thoughtful halt. Like a train pulling into a station rather than a car braking for a yellow light. “I mean, I don’t think I ever got around to saying it last night, and today, with everything...well”

He hesitates again, a breath hissing between his teeth. But this time his shoulders square, and even though his gaze is lost in the shadow of his brows, she knows he’s looking at her. “Merry Christmas, Yukimura.”

[butterflyslinky]

I posted 20,943 times in 2022

That's 7,414 more posts than 2021!

41 posts created (0%)

20,902 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@castiellesbian

@callalilycas

@lady-sci-fi

@milfcodeddean

@lookoflove

I tagged 1,190 of my posts in 2022

#goncharov - 102 posts

#unreality - 99 posts

#doctor who - 89 posts

#prev tags - 30 posts

#keep tumblr cringe - 29 posts

#current events - 25 posts

#politics - 16 posts

#supernatural - 15 posts

#dracula daily - 13 posts

#fanfic - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#also want to add that supplemental material may be canon but if it doesn't show up in the actual thing you're consuming it doesn't matter

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

PSA

Since there seems to be an influx of new people to AO3, I would like to remind them:

THE COMMENTS AND TAGS ON YOUR BOOKMARKS CAN BE SEEN UNLESS YOU MAKE THE BOOKMARK PRIVATE!

This means that if you write something rude or negative in your public bookmark, the author can see it. I will occasionally go through the bookmarks on my fic to see additional comments and tags. Most of them are nice or neutral, but there are occasionally some that are extremely negative.

If you want to make your bookmarks (and therefore comments) private, please check the box to do so. If you aren't going to do that, please remember that the author can see what you say about their work and evaluate whether you want them to.

141 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

#4

Do Quincey Morris and Van Helsing ever have a conversation? I hope so because it will be so utterly incomprehensible it'll be hilarious.

197 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

#3

Mina: I'm cold. Van Helsing: Here, take all these furs that I bought! Jack: I'm cold. Quincey: Well, damn, Jack! I don't control the weather!

206 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

#2

Alternate universe where Mina had a bad feeling so she and Jonathan went straight to Lucy's house on their return to England, and then Drac recognized that both his favorite snacks were under the protection of scariest person on earth Mrs. Mina Harker and fucked all the way off back to Transylvania.

362 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

So today we heard from Jonathan and Arthur, who are just freaking out locals with their huge-ass boat light.

We heard from Mina and Van Helsing, who are grabbing provisions and heading to the castle.

But no entry from Jack and Quincey, which leads me to conclude they're just doing gay cowboy shit.

398 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mittensmorgul]

For anyone interested in long-term residence in the supernatural fandom, please have some observations I’ve made over the decade I’ve been here. Take it or leave it as you will, but I’ve found all of this info useful over the years I’ve been here.

I wrote this yesterday, and it achieved its mission of identifying the sort of folks who would react negatively to it (i.e. a lot of block lists have been updated), so now that it’s been edited for content, it’s going under a cut (because that is how we do things on tumblr in general, unless we have a deliberate purpose for annoying readers with excessively long text posts) for the sake of people who actually do care about the fandom and its history. If that’s not you or your reason for being here, then keep on keeping on with your own thing, I guess. For those who are interested, there’s a lot of fandom resources some of us have been building for years that you might enjoy knowing about.

First off, I’ve been informed by a few friends who’ve read through this for coherency’s sake that it sort of reads like a *shakes cane from porch* fandom grandma complaint, but honestly... I earned this rocking chair and goshdangit imma rock now. So apologies for any “back in my day” vibes or faint aroma of tiger balm this post might give off. Then again, it’s loosely based on a similar post from 2012 so like... time is a flat circle anyway I guess.

1. There is no such thing as “tumblr famous,” unless you’re referring to the hilarious and delightful fic of the same name (please go read it, you will cackle). Posting Hot Takes for imaginary Clout™ on this site is kind of pointless in the long run. Sure you can post solely for the sake of stirring shit and getting notes, but the majority of the folks who do aren’t long term residents of the fandom. They’re just tourists moving through our little beach town for spring break. If you’re actually intent on moving to this corner of the fandom for an extended stay, please bother to really feel out the permanent residents and understand the culture and general mood of the neighborhood. It bears no resemblance to whatever’s going on across town where all the bars and beach parities are happening, and those loud, drunken revelers are, again, gonna disappear back to their regular lives or on to the next party eventually. That doesn’t mean the fandom is dying, it’s just evolving.

(funny how I had several comments implying that I’m just trying to keep the fandom from evolving with this post, because I sincerely do want the fandom to continue on for years to come, and that is impossible without evolution. We can evolve without self-immolating, though. mostly i included point 1 for an excuse to push ancient but hilarious fanfic on you.)

2. Once you post something here, it’s been unleashed to the fandom winds. You never know where it will end up, or who will comment on it or add to it. Remember that time Misha tweeted the link to the Epic Cockles Love Story post? No? It was wild. That was 2012. They all know we’re here, and how to find us if they want to. Please don’t take it to their doorsteps.

Obviously if someone is being a dick on your posts, please feel free to block them, but the whole entire point of this site is to engage people with your posts. Being big mad that someone reblogged your post with comments or supporting evidence, or happy headcanons or “HECK THIS IS GREAT BECAUSE (insert personal story about their experience or whatever else made them Feel Things about your post)” is frankly ridiculous. If your goal is to avoid any sort of engagement with your posts, then maybe try instagram instead. From what I understand, there is a SPN fandom presence there, and nobody can tarnish your original posts with unwanted commentary. But the ability to reblog with additional commentary is a FEATURE of tumblr that builds community through conversation. Otherwise we’re all just talking to ourselves in a vacuum, and that’s what actually kills fandoms.

(and for the folks who just want to blog how they want to blog and don’t want people to engage on their posts at all, please feel free to block anyone you want, as well... nobody wants to step on your toes, but most of us also don’t want to walk on eggshells wondering if this post is one of the “do not add comments for any reason” sorts of posts, either. This is a huge fandom and most people can’t even begin to keep track of every creator and their url du jour, and what their personal rules might be regarding interaction with their content. Including a “please don’t add comments” note at the bottom of your posts-- and not in your tags that won’t even show up on reblogs, but in the actual body of the post-- would sincerely help avoid any awkward or unwanted interactions, too. At the end of the day, you are in control of your own fandom experience and the block button exists.

For the record, I block zero fandom blogs (which is why I posted this, I wanted it to reach a wide scope... refer to the opening paragraphs as to why).

3. Since this post was partly inspired by a tag I left on that post going around about how “previous tags” mean fuckall on this site (which you can read here), just a reminder that if you like someone’s tags or feel they add value to the post, part of the Peer Review structure of tumblr encourages you to PASTE THEM INTO A REBLOG. If you do this, then at least credit the person who actually wrote the tags! Don’t just copy someone else’s tags into your tags on your reblog of the post without credit either. They were not YOUR tags. (I have had this happen to tag rambles I wrote and someone else got credited with them on a subsequent reblog and it is FRUSTRATING). Just... don’t even bother to write “previous tags” because WHAT PREVIOUS TAGS?! Nobody is gonna bother to chase back the chain of reblogs trying to find where the mystery tags came from, friendos. That way lies madness.

(for the record, since some folks seemed to focus on this point solely, writing “previous tags” on a post isn’t inherently a BAD thing, but for anyone who actually is here for more than one-off shitposting, then it’s sort of a pointless thing in the long run. This wasn’t intended to suggest people who ARE here for one-off shitposting are bad or “doing it wrong,” but for people who might actually want to preserve that hilarious joke or insightful comment. People delete posts and entire blogs all the time around here. Links break. I get that the upcoming generation just shrugs at that and moves on with their lives, but heck... you don’t have to accept that all entertainment is disposable if you don’t want to. There’s a bizarre sort of nihilism plaguing us all about the impermanence of pretty much everything that feels like something we should be fighting against rather than buying into wholesale, even in our escapist entertainment. I’m just exhausted by the complete loss of joy in community.

*shouts from the peanut gallery* IT AIN’T THAT DEEP, JUST GET SOME FRESH AIR AND LOOK AT A PUPPY OR SOMETHING

Yes... yes it isn’t really that deep, but bigger picture in the state of reality we’re all entirely disillusioned with, are we supposed to just give up on everything, including the things we cling to because they bring us a tiny spark of hope that we’re not all just trapped in this dystopian nightmare and things might actually be worth living for?

*peanut gallery clinging to burnt husks of peanuts in a barren peanut field* but this is how we have chosen to cope

Okay... you do you... I feel bad for you but if that’s the case then this post is NOT FOR YOU. AND THAT’S FINE. I honestly do not care if you don’t care! I mean, I’m sorry anyone has to live in a world that drives them to that mindset, but I understand. This post is for anyone who might look at their lives and their choices and think “no wait, I unironically enjoy this and want more from the experience of that enjoyment than I’m currently feeling.” Everyone else can continue with their lives as usual.)

4. CONTENT THEFT IS NEVER OKAY. PERIOD. Things like “credit to the artist” or tagging gifs or images you found on pinterest as “not mine” isn’t actually credit. If you can’t source an image or gif set, DO NOT POST IT! We don’t REPOST (i.e. save an image and then create a new post with it as if it was our own creation). We REBLOG (click the little square arrows and reblog from the actual creator). That goes for gif sets, fanvids, screencaps, meta, fic... everything.

(hopefully everyone here already understands this one, but I felt compelled to include some “these are stupidly obvious” reminders anyway, since this is ostensibly some sort of advice column. This is the equivalent of the warning label on your toaster reminding you not to use it in the bath. Like... duh...)

5. Close kin of item 4 is SOURCE YOUR SHIT. 

(for 100% disclosure purposes, I specifically discussed this one in this specific way because of an influx of anon ask messages I received in the wake of the finale. Literally the inciting incident for creating this entire post was what I can only assume was a joking ask about a comment Misha made at a con years ago. Someone actually bothered to take the time to type out those sentences to me. I have no idea what they were expecting in reply, or what could possibly motivate them to send this comment about something so entirely random from, again, several years ago. Just a joke? No idea, but whatever... it got me thinking that there might actually be people who are new to the fandom who MIGHT actually care about the fandom history, and maybe they just don’t know where to go for that info, or how to even begin searching through 16 years of history for things they might actually find enjoyment in, rather than just hauling random out of context garbage out on main and pointing and laughing about it now. People are actually allowed to care about things. It’s not cringeworthy to actually care about things, and you are not alone in actually caring, and there’s this whole big room over here full of people who are thrilled to share in that with you. This post is intended FOR THOSE PEOPLE SPECIFICALLY, so if that is not you, please just continue walking by.)

Yes, I know lots of y’all are new around here right now, but dredging up stuff from years ago that fandom has completely debunked and presenting it as TRU FAX again is just exhausting. We’re not trying to be party poopers, but seriously, we have seen it all and are mostly done with extinguishing bags of flaming dog poop on our front porches for the umpteenth year in a row. I’ve seen a lot of posts that have the same tone as “I saw Goody Proctor dancing with the devil” or “I heard kylo ren has an eight pack” and just... the information is there for anyone who cares enough to find it.

This goes double for “why is nobody talking about this thing I just discovered while watching the show for the first time?!” And, oh hon, we have talked it all into the ground over the last fifteen years. We’re happy you’re discovering it again, but I promise we talked about it plenty when the episodes originally aired. We have such a rich meta history that lots of us have worked really hard to preserve. I encourage you to seek it out, if nothing else than as historical artifacts. The way we have discussed the show has been a 16-year evolution. People have written literal doctoral dissertations on this show. Your shitposts are fun! We love reliving our own experience through fresh eyes, and seeing your wonder at experiencing it all again for the first time! But y’all didn’t invent this fandom in the last six months, either.

Meta Sources and Minerals provided by our friendly neighborhood fandom archivist, @lets-steal-an-archive

Academic books and articles about SPN 

A collection of Meta Essays going back to s1 and organized by topic (all of this has happened before, all of it will happen again)

SPN Heavy Meta Archive (s1-3)

Mel’s Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-12)

Oranges8hands Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-15, with many similar entries to Mel’s... though ymmv on viewpoint in a lot of these too)

Anyone remember Fandom Wank? Not the concept but the actual LJ... No? Okay have a link to SPN topics that ended up there. Through 2013. We have seen so much... including several fandom containment breaches.

for all your art sourcing needs, please see @theroadsofararchive, the repository for so much fandom art.

need to find a gif of something? canonspngifs is a vast repository of gifsets of the entire series. If the gif you want to use in your post happens to be the first gif in the gifset, in the tumblr gif finder thingy just paste the permalink to that post from canonspngifs (which is easily searchable by episode, character, location, situation, quotes, and sometimes even color and clothing items the actors are wearing... it’s really well organized, especially for tumblr >.>) and the first gif will be automatically linked with credit to the gif creator attached. It makes life easy that way. It’s also convenient when trying to remember something specific but can’t remember what episode it’s from. I’ve used the site to jog my memory before going to the superwiki armed with more specific search results to find episode quotes and references. Or sometimes I just scroll through all the nice gifs for fun, too.

Need a screencap of something and know exactly which episode it’s from? Try Home of the Nutty. You might not find the exact screencap you’re looking for, but they have a complete set of caps of every episode, and it’s an incredibly useful resource for quick reference checks and the like. Just give pages a chance to fully load before clicking on the next one. The site is easily overloaded, but it’s still free to use (and again, with credit... Pretty much every screencap on my entire blog is from HotN unless otherwise credited).

As you can see, this is a fandom built on preserving our history. You absolutely are not required to engage with any of this if that’s not of interest to you, but I can only assume that there are people who would be interested in it if only they knew it existed and how to find it. Well, now they do.

6. A few more notes on tags, and how they work on tumblr. The first 20 tags on your ORIGINAL posts are searchable sitewide, so if you want to be able to find something again, tag that thing first before going on general tag rambles. The only place tags on reblogs are searchable is on your own blog. So you don’t have to put 50 tags trying to get a post seen if it’s a reblog. You’re just spitting into the wind at that point. If you have a filing system for finding things again, then by all means add those tags (again, in the first 20, so they’re searchable), but you don’t need to tag a reblog “destiel” and “deancas” and “dean” and “cas” and “dean x cas” or whatever. Pick one for your personal blog’s filing system, that’s all you need.

(this was only added because tagging and searching on this site is so very broken... I get that a lot of folks don’t care about ever searching their own blogs again for anything, so this one only really applies if you do often find yourself trying to find old posts. If not, then it’s not really relevant.  It took me years to work out a decent tagging system, and at the beginning of my time here I never thought I’d end up camping out here for a decade and falling this deep into the fandom, and I regretted my lack of consistent tags only years later when I realized I actually wanted to be able to go back and find specific old posts again. So... for anyone who wants to err on the side of caution, working out a sensible tagging system really helps if you’re here for the long term. I personally tag content by episode, because some of my other general tags are so large as to be practically useless as a search term. But whatever system you choose to file stuff on your own blog, it really only has to make sense to you. And again, if this is pointless advice for someone who has no intention of settling here for the long term. Please feel free to ignore it. I just wish someone had explained it this way to me ten years ago and saved me the hassle of retroactively tagging something like 30k posts... especially now that using the mass tag replacer is the fastest way to get your entire blog deleted... oops? so yeah, don’t use the mass tag replacer either >.>)

7. Tags on Tumblr DO NOT WORK LIKE TAGS ON TWITTER. If you @ someone in the body of the post, it will show up in their notifications (if they’re the sort of person who even checks their notifications... not all of us do. For the record, I generally don’t...), but putting actor or ship names in the tags on a tumblr post does absolutely nothing. It’s not the same as tagging the actor’s twitter account in a tweet. Nobody’s getting notifications about you tagging a post about Jensen here as “Jensen Ackles.” There is a difference. Please learn it. (and don’t take headcanons and ESPECIALLY RPF or otherwise explicit art or fic from tumblr to twitter and tag the actors in it. That’s just... not okay.)

(I have seen the pearl clutchers getting all in a huff about the mere existence of RPF or even explicit content of fictional characters if it doesn’t meet their purity standards, but tagging those things allows people who don’t want to see it to actively avoid that content here. Nobody has a right to tell people their fictional content shouldn’t exist at all, or that creators of that fictional content somehow deserve harassment or threats for having dared to create such “immoral” content, won’t somebody PLEASE think of the children... and no... you do not do that here. Don’t be the problematic behavior you wish to ban from the world. Learn to use tags to protect yourself from, as i have attempted to emphasize here, fictional content you are personally upset by. That’s a you problem, not a problem for the creators of potentially upsetting content that they tag appropriately for.)

8. General formatting stuff: If you’re writing long text posts, visually break them up so people aren’t faced with one long wall of text. The enter key is your friend. Also, if you put long text posts under a Read More break and send people to your blog to finish reading, please ensure that your blog is actually visually accessible (tiny text, or light grey text on a dark grey background, or a visually busy background might be aesthetically pleasing to you but nobody can actually read it. Loads of folks won’t even try. Which is great if you don’t actually care whether people are able to appreciate your content or not, but something to at least consider if you *do* actively want to encourage engagement with your work. Confirm how your blog looks on both mobile and desktop and make sure it’s actually functional in both, too).

And since I mentioned that most of my experience on fandom tumblr has been in the SPN fandom, here’s a bit of a reminder for folks who are new around here. With the reminder that I have been here more than a decade and still feel like a newbie myself sometimes...

This is an OLD FANDOM. There are many, many people who have been at this longer than some of you have been alive. The average age for creators in this fandom is older than you think (I think of my friends in their 30′s as young’ins okay? okay). With that understood, you are responsible for the content you consume and are exposed to. Curate your experience. Ship and let ship. YKINMKATOK. Don’t deliberately expose yourself to content you find upsetting for whatever reason. Tags and warnings are your friends, not targets for you to attack in some sort of purity war. People will ship things you do not like (or in specific ways you do not like), will say things you do not agree with, and will find their happiness in things you abhor. That is not your concern. Find what you do like, and support and engage with it, and ignore (or block, or unfollow) the rest. Tumblr has a feature that lets you blacklist tags so the content you’re trying to avoid won’t appear on your dash.

Remember the paradox of tolerance.

It is not your job in fandom to police how other people enjoy the fandom. It’s not *my* job to police how *you* enjoy the fandom, UNLESS your enjoyment is in actively harming other real human beings in the fandom. If you don’t like their take on the character or the show or the plotlines or their ships or anything else, you don’t need to engage with their posts at all! The necessary corollary to this is that clarifying misunderstandings or correcting factual misinformation is not “policing.” 

(this is where the peanut gallery reminds me it ain’t that deep, and I plead with them to put down the social media and find just one (1) thing to actually believe in in this godforsaken life, find something other than disdain and cynicism and spite to live for. If those things motivate you to find a larger cause for yourself, then great, use them to your advantage, but use them to find something that makes you a better person or brings you a modicum of joy and connection to your fellow human beings despite living in a dystopian hellscape of a world)

I have seen a lot of posts lately that are founded on the sort of authority that comes with “I watched through tumblr for a few months and then watched the last three episodes of the series” and as such are just... missing the larger context of the entire show, and are unfounded entirely in canon. I 100% appreciate the new enthusiasm for the fandom that we’ve been living in here for years, and it’s wonderful to see new people enjoying the thing we love. Your headcanons are valid, you are valid, but recognize that your headcanons aren’t canon. All of us finale denialists have accepted this in some measure, so we feel you. We truly, truly feel you. But regarding actual canon, we have a resource for that: the Superwiki. Learn it, live it, love it, as Metatron would say.

(which you could discover he said in 10.17 Inside Man, thanks to the superwiki! accept no substitutes!)

(and again, there have been people who have been involved in fandom for years who haven’t engaged with canon in years, either! You can play in this universe however you choose, BUT FOR PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT CANON AT ALL, WHICH I AM AGAIN POINTEDLY SAYING MIGHT NOT BE YOU, READER, AND I’M NOT SUGGESTING YOU ARE WRONG FOR NOT WANTING TO ACTUALLY ENGAGE WITH CANON, but if you DO want to engage with canon, please have some useful resources. Why do people feel personally attacked by being presented a list of helpful resources? Absolutely baffling.)

(also: words have definitions. “Canon” is a specific thing, meaning in this case “the finished media product that aired on television.” Anything beyond those limits is secondary canon (think: john’s journal, which is not canon but canon adjacent at best...), word of god (i.e stuff said by the writers and showrunners), or headcanon (which includes actor commentary-- they may have helped create the show with their acting choices and whatever, but they are not in control of the story overall). If there’s something you dislike about actual canon, you can reject it and supplement it with your own theories or preferred outcomes-- that’s basically what fanfic is-- but that doesn’t make your theories canon (much to all our dismay, that’s just not how any of this works. This is not to invalidate how anyone engages with the show or the fandom, just trying to clarify what seems to have been a source of unintentional misunderstandings. Your theories do not have to be “canon” to be legitimate interpretations.)

***I am setting this section apart, and did make a separate post of just this following information, because this is where we go from being relatively chill about different parts of fandom choosing to interact in different ways and you do you and blog however you want, to “hey can everybody please understand that the way you are interacting with this specific material might be harmful for specific legal reasons, and stating that you do not care about the consequences of your actions does actively make you the asshole here...” Okay, now that we have that understood:

The spnscripthunt collective has been steadily acquiring new scripts (which are posted in full on the superwiki for everyone to enjoy, for free). The language around how some folks are talking about these scripts is... concerning. For very real legal reasons, actually, and not because we’re feeling precious about the collection and don’t wike it when meanies use them in shitposts.

-First off, these scripts are not “leaks.” They are all verified and legally purchased (or gifted, in some cases, but still acquired entirely above board. we didn’t whack anyone over the head in a back alley for these scripts, or swipe them out of someone’s trailer on set).

(in case anyone was unaware, these scripts are the copywritten protected property of Warner Brothers. So yes, how we use them and share them with the fandom could have legal repercussions. We present them as a collected resource of fandom history which SHOULD fall under Fair Use doctrine, but this is untested legal water. Insinuating that the scripts are somehow not entirely legally obtained, or that posting them for public access involved less than 100% transparent and entirely legal transactions is incredibly concerning.

Once again for the peanut gallery, if you don’t care about any of that and are just having a good time with it, at least be mindful of the work and expense a large group of people have gone through to acquire and present the content you’re all too eager to exploit for cheap thrills. Some of us do actually care and are not exactly comfortable with the fact that others don’t seem to care about burning it all to the ground. We can’t force you to listen or behave as we’d hope you might, but at least be aware of the potential consequences of your actions. All we’re asking is for you to not be the douchebag who sets the whole neighborhood on fire with your illegal fireworks display. Is that too much to ask for? more on that in a second, first... a psa)

-If you see a script for sale and are unsure if it’s legit (or believe it might already be freely available in our collection), please feel free to ask us for advice. Our goal is to make as much of our fandom history available to the entire fandom, and we absolutely do not want anyone shelling out money for stuff you can already find for free.

(seriously, we’ve seen a bunch of resellers cropping up selling printed versions of the scripts we bought and uploaded for everyone to enjoy free of charge, or scripts that are otherwise of dubious origin. We’ve been at this for years now and know what’s actually out there. We don’t want anyone to fall for a scam if we can help it)

-Also, the usual reminder that the scripts we acquire ARE NOT NECESSARILY THE FINAL SHOOTING DRAFTS. In fact, the majority of scripts in our collection are NOT. Changes are made daily to scripts, even during filming. Comparing a Production Draft (white pages, effectively the first “final draft” of what usually becomes a series of drafts before filming wraps) to a much later revision (say... green or goldenrod revisions, several of which we DO have in our collection for comparison) and how those earlier drafts often differ wildly from the aired version versus how similar a much later green draft is to the aired version, for example, can teach you a lot about the television writing process. The link above to the superwiki scripts page has a nice little explainer about how this process works.

Differences between our posted scripts (many of which are white drafts, aka FIRST complete drafts, which will likely go through multiple rounds of revisions before filming even begins) and the aired version of the show are not all “acting choices” or a director or editor just cutting whole scenes on a whim. It’s insulting to everyone involved in production to suggest that’s the case.

(and yeah, fine... whatever, make any sort of posts you like regarding how those changes came about, but at the very least understand that it’s not actually the truth about how any of this works. Don’t care that that’s not the truth and want to make the posts anyway because shitposting is fun and that’s the extent of your sense of humor? FINE! You’re entitled to do that! But at least you DO know the truth now, and hopefully so do the people who engage with your posts. Deliberate ignorance isn’t cute, smooth lions notwithstanding)

There’s probably a whole other post to be made on fandom tagging etiquette, but again I don’t really use the tags enough to know what’s going on with that whole situation. I’ve also probably left a lot of stuff out, so please feel free to add things I’ve overlooked.

Thanks also to @trisscar368 and @thayerkerbasy for help compiling this, too. They were kind enough to escort me through the park to feed these pigeons. Now I need to take them out for ice cream. :’D

So I guess welcome to the neighborhood. Make yourself at home, but like... try not to trash the place while you’re here. Some of us live here by choice, lol.

[kingdumbass]

awkward ask inbound but i saw your posts about wanting more mutuals and feeling isolated/ignored(?) and just wanted to say that a) i've been following you a few months and you seem really cool and chill so hello! and b) that's pretty much how i feel. i left tumblr for 2yrs and came back 10 months ago and it just isn't the site that i left. (or at least current spn fandom isn't like my prior fandoms.) like it just feels hostile to people interacting now, not really as a function of the site but because of how some people act and have set a certain tone. i was already kind of shy about reaching out to other people here but i felt actively discouraged from interacting with literally anyone when i first came back/got into the spn fandom because of how people act. i don't think we should all be holding hands around the campfire but the active hostility to any form of interaction is just really uncomfortable and is also how a fan community dies.

so i guess hi hello here's an offer to be mutuals if you're interested? (no pressure, feel free to ignore.) i haven't read any of your work but also i barely read fic anymore but also also i love talking story and plot ideas with people.

hey! i know exactly what you mean, this fandom never used to be like this, but with the sudden influx of new fans and the inevitable exit of some of the older ones after the show ended, the tone around here has changed to something i like to think of as the mean girls cafeteria. it's definitely become a more hostile environment and unless you are in on the joke of the moment, you're basically deemed irrelevant. it's not a great environment at all. i miss the way the fandom used to be before everyone decided cancelling people over asinine takes was the cooler thing to do. But! i'm glad you've found me chill, i often find myself in the middle of all of these subgroups of this fandom. i'm not old, i'm not young, i like cockles and destiel, but i also like early seasons better lol i can't win. i'd like to be mutuals though, finding more people to talk to is always a good time! i hope we can find a way to feel a little less alone on here.

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

[raendown]

Another follower milestone gift fic! @uintuva asked for the prompt word somnolent!

Pairing: TobiramaKakashi Word count: 1919 Rated: T+ Summary: Kakashi hurries home, excited for something he honestly never expected to be excited for.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

To Bed, Perchance To Sleep

In the privacy of his own mind where no one would ever hear him being this ridiculous Kakashi wondered, if he were excited enough, whether he could vibrate out of his own skin. With every step and push he could practically feel nervous energy gathering in unexpected places inside of him until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop moving when he finally did make it home. 

He was going to babysit. 

What he wouldn’t give to reach back in time and see how his younger self reacted to the news that he was actually excited about this. For years he’d held firm to the belief that he didn’t like kids and kids didn’t like him. If anything he tended to scare them. How time had changed him that he should be pushing chakra in to his legs to run faster just to get there in time to be a part of this. 

Okay so maybe it wasn’t really him that was babysitting, more that Tobirama was the one being trusted with properly caring for such tiny lives, but Kakashi lived in the house too so he got to be babysitter number two by default. If he could get home in time. Somehow even getting himself thrown back in time several generations still did nothing to staunch the habit of taking too many missions and running himself in to the ground without thought. Tobirama was working on that. Which was laughable. 

Hashirama was working on both of them, in truth, and his efforts were at least slightly more successful.

Thin clouds of dust puffed up around his feet as Kakashi dropped through the trees to land in the middle of a road very few would ever find unless they knew where to look, a road that twisted through trees grown of Hashirama’s mokuton so that none could ever pass through here unnoticed. He was so close to the Senju compound he could practically smell the ever present pall of smoke that came from living without electricity. Now the smell of home in his mind; how strange the things that had changed since he found himself in another time.

Several pairs of eyes tracked his progress in to the hidden compound, though none made any move to reveal themselves or stop him. Kakashi bounded past the gate with the sort of energy that would usually exhaust him just to watch from afar. He made his way through the lazy throngs of off duty Senju with light feet, rebounding off of walls and spinning around one granny with particularly bad knees, blithely ignoring the indulgent smiles that followed him all the way to the Senju main house he still had trouble believing he was allowed to live in. Even before he and Tobirama had somehow fumbled their way in to an emotionally constipated relationship he’d been given the honor of calling this his own home. 

Being a time traveller came with some really cool perks and catching the interest of a genius was one of the better ones. 

The front door very nearly banged open when he crashed through it; Kakashi only managed to stop it with a very undignified lunge at the last second, not wanting to scare the children deeper inside. One of the lower clan members who came in to clean the home watched him with an amused smile. Ignoring them, he toed off his sandals and scurried away down the hall until he was pausing outside of a door cracked just enough for Tobirama’s familiar rumble to whisper through. 

When Kakashi pushed the door ever so slightly he was treated to the sight of his partner cradling a small body between his arms and speaking down to the babe with the same serious expression he used when laying out battle plans. A tiny influx of chakra to his ears and suddenly Kakashi wasn’t sure if he wanted to break down crying or burst out laughing. 

“That’s when you add the sulphur,” Tobirama was saying, “but it’s important you do so very slowly or else the solution will spill and it’s very corrosive on human skin.”

“Maa, trying to start teaching them young?” 

His partner looked up at him with a blink and then pouted defensively. “She hasn’t fussed once since I started talking, doesn’t that mean it’s interesting?” 

“I think it means she’s six months old and enjoys the sound of your voice.” 

“Hmph. It could be the science.” 

“Yes, I suppose it could be.” 

Kakashi stepped further in to the room and very carefully did not melt in to a little puddle on the floor when a second figure waved at him from underneath several blankets against the opposite wall. “Kaka-ojisan!” 

How on earth Hashirama and Mito could have two children who looked so much like their father yet still possessed the grace of their mother could be nothing short of miraculous. Although no one had ever worked up the courage to say so to their clan head, most of the Senju had been part of the betting pool when Mito first got pregnant, passing theories back and forth about just how goofy any child of poor Hashirama would turn out. No one had really suspected these adorable little mites. 

“Is it bedtime already?” Kakashi asked, aware his voice carried just a hint of whining protest. 

“After the story is finished, yes.” When Tobirama nodded it was with just a hint of sympathy like he’d tried to put this off for as long as possible. 

“But I didn’t get to play!”

Little Takuma immediately began trying to extricate himself from the many blankets tucked in around him. “I’ll play with you Kaka-ojisan!” 

“Mmn, you will tomorrow,” Tobirama cut the boy off. Before either of them could protest he shook his head. “I promised that we would try to wait for Kakashi’s return but I did not promise we would do away with bedtime entirely. You need sleep, little one, or you will never grow.” 

“You don’t sleep!”

“I am already grown,” he pointed out in a bland tone. 

Kakashi watched Takuma pouting and honestly wanted to do so himself. He’d been so looking forward to this. For the first time in his life he’d been excited to spend time in the company of children. Now it felt like someone had dangled a toy in front of his eyes only to snatch it away as soon as he reached for it and he was uncomfortably aware of how similar to the children he was acting. Such awareness was all that kept the protests behind his teeth as Tobirama instructed their nephew to lay back down. 

Since he had apparently missed playtime Kakashi figured he might as well soak up what he could. Despite the fact that he was already buried under several layers Takuma seemed to enjoy having his Uncle Kakashi come over to tuck the blankets up under his chin, showing his appreciation with a massive yawn that almost cracked his jaw in half. Tobirama murmured a few more lines of whatever experiment he’d been describing as he transferred the babe in his arms to the crib Hashirama had grown for her and then there was little to do but to say goodnight.

“But I’m not sleepy,” Takuma insisted even as his eyes drooped. 

“Of course not,” Tobirama said. 

“I’m really not! I wanna play with Kaka-ojisan!”

He opened his mouth to say more but yawned instead and Kakashi’s heart clenched in his chest. 

“We can play tomorrow, how does that sound?” he bartered. Takuma thought that over. 

“Not now?” 

Tobirama was shaking his head as he herded himself and Kakashi towards the door. “Now is bedtime.” 

A very small part of him hoped that when he looked back he would be met with bright and eager eyes ready to leap out of bed. The rest of him very reluctantly acknowledged that his partner was right, small children that age really did need as much sleep as they could get to grow healthy and strong. Already Takuma’s drooping eyes were sliding shut only to snap back open to half mast in the hopes he could convince either adult that he was okay to stay up. A wasted effort. By the time they closed the door Kakashi was sure the boy would be fast asleep. 

He didn’t need the amused lift of his partner’s left eyebrow to know that his mask was formed around the shape of a pouting bottom lip. Kakashi stuck his nose in the air and turned to march down the hall as if he weren’t feeling a very childish temper tantrum building up in his chest. Unfortunately he only made it as far as a few steps in to the room they shared before Tobirama caught up to him, strong arms sliding around his middle even as one foot reached back to kick the door shut. 

“You got home much later than I expected you to.”

“I tried to be fast,” Kakashi murmured. “Just took a lot longer than I wanted it to.” 

“Mmn, isn’t that always the way.” 

Eyeing the bed wistfully, Kakashi sighed. “You know, I’ve never liked kids all that much but I really was looking forward to playing house with you and all that. Just for a day. Just once.”

“Knowing my brother, I’m certain there will be many other opportunities for him to foist his responsibilities on to us. Mostly paperwork, no doubt, but a man does need some alone time with his wife every so often.” 

“Wanting alone time is something I can understand.”

Tobirama nuzzled in to the back of his neck with an agreeable hum. “Now what do you say we get you cleaned up and in to bed as well?”

“I’m not sleepy,” Kakashi declared with a smile. Pale fingers reached around to tug at the edge of his mask until it fell down around his neck, face exposed to the world. Then those same fingers pulled at his chin to bring him around so he could see the unimpressed look on his partner’s face. 

“Did I ask if you were?”

“But why would I go to bed if I’m not sleepy?”

“Sage preserve me, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Even as he spoke the words Tobirama’s voice was so tender it would have been impossible to miss the blatant affection in them. He made a big deal out of rolling his eyes and puffing with annoyance but in the end he leaned in to capture Kakashi’s lips with his own, drawing out the kiss until they were fumbling their feet and twisting their bodies to face each other properly. 

“Are you feeling sleepy now?” he mumbled eventually. “Or do I need to convince you a little more?”

“Oh no, I am simply beyond exhausted all of a sudden. Bed time. Yes. Shower and bed. Woe is me but I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it on my own!” In pretending to swoon Kakashi very nearly missed the tender affection worn so openly on his partner’s face.

“I’ll help you,” Tobirama told him. 

Kakashi didn’t bother to hide his interest. He may have started his day out excited for something entirely different but maybe a change in plans wasn’t entirely terrible. As his partner had said, there would be other opportunities on other days. For now he was content to follow wherever the man in his arms wanted to lead him. 

Especially to bed.

[lady-of-disdain]

New influx of this trashcan of a ship here: thank you for your time served.

CW: S*ssR*n canon mentions, grooming, p*do mentions

I’m an ex sessrin shipper and I hate to call it that. I have enjoyed some sessrin content that is heavily vetted before I read it is more accurate (Au CD etc). I’ve been in this fandom since the early 2000’s and let me tell you if you go looking through that sessrin fics and art you don’t even have to go to the second page before you hit something that will make you regret having eyes. So when they say adult! That’s a lie.

Anyway the things I’ve seen posted today... horrific.

But the one that got me was someone saying ‘15/16 would have LEGALLY been an adult back then. So she was legally an adult and it’s fine.”

Bruh. First of all the concept of “legal” adult hood is pretty new. And “back then” women were seen as property because misogyny. So miss me with legalities unless you can point me to the case law and or statutes.

But in this last episode that girl was 13 and married, they said.

Wut? Did we watch very different things? She was MORTIFIED that men where @ her when she turned 13. She was kidnapped. Said multiple times she wasn’t his wife. Contracted bounty hunters to kill him. Like, that wasn’t proof of 13 being a good age to get married. It wasn’t a romance.

Why would anyone want their ship to be canon of the terms are so rife with misogyny, grooming behavior, and just general problematic framing?

Greetings nonny and WELCOME! I appreciate your stance as having previous experience with this ship, and I can relate because I too enjoyed fics of a VERY SIMILAR pairing (and hell even still do sometimes). But also like you under very specific circumstances (AU, time shenanigans, universe hopping, etc. Let’s just say the fandom my problematic fave is from is VERY well known for its AU lol.)

If there is one thing I’ve been extremely firm on from the very beginning it’s that fans NEED to separate their headcanon, and fan interpretation from the canon material. I don’t think there is anything wrong with interpreting characters differently from other fans, and writing your own fanfiction based on those interpretations, but being extremely, OBNOXIOUSLY vocal about those views becoming canon is an entirely different story. ESPECIALLY when the canon material is media that is marketed for children!

Arguments about what was “Normal” or “Legal” for the time (as wrong as their ideas of this may even be) are COMPLETELY MOOT when we are talking about a children’s show.

What would ‘Mulan’, ‘Hercules’, ‘Beauty and the Beast’, ‘Cinderella’, etc look like if the writers included “problematic themes” just because they were historically accurate? (Spoiler alert: parents wouldn’t take their kids to see them at the very least.)

I am all for letting people ship what they want, but there are two VERY IMPORTANT caveats to this creed: 1) That doesn’t mean shippers should DEMAND that their ships be validated. (Hell it’s super annoying when shippers do this even with the “vanilla” ships, like stop, let the creators write what they want, you’ve obviously liked their work enough so far to get so worked up about it, let them keep doing their damn jobs!) And 2) If your ship contains problematic material you need to be DAMN sure you are tagging your works properly, hiding it under a read more, giving adequate and VISIBLE content warnings, and most of all if it’s from a media that is marketed for children, and thus has a very large child audience, needs to NOT be in the main tags of that fandom.

Anyways, I’ve rambled off the rails from your original point anon, as I am wont to do, sorry about that lol.

[bundleofyarrow]

Bundle of Yarrow Chapter 9 is up!

the 9th chapter of my Milo x Reader fic Bundle of Yarrow is up! you can read it below the cut or over at AO3. this chapter is mostly inspired by an ask wanting to see a scene of Milo getting jealous! see my attempt at creating tension as you struggle to deal with suddenly being a part of the gym challenge.

Exiting Motostoke was like shifting into a completely different setting. The west side of the city was dominated by warehouses and loading equipment. Sounds of metal against metal and tumbling construction material overwhelms the magic feel of the city. Instead, haze from billowing smokestacks and whiffs of waste occupied your senses as you walked through to Route 3. You never thought you’d miss the Wild Area, but you would trade this for the scent of the forests any day.

“Whew! Now I remember why I never visit Turffield on foot unless it’s from Hulbury.” Sonia complains, waving a hand in front of her nose. “I think the last time I’ve been to Route 3 was for our gym challenge!”

Earlier in the day, Sonia showed you a statue of a hero with a sword and shield in the lobby of the Budew Drop Inn while you waited for Leon to get ready. She was reading the inscription and looking information up online while writing in her notebook. It was an interesting listen, hearing about Galarian folklore and the mysteries that remained. Her excitement and curiosity was infectious. Even though you had little relationship to this region’s mythologies, you were becoming invested in her adventure for finding out the truth. Apparently there are ancient sites in Turffield that may have leads for her research, so she decided to walk with you over to your first stop in the gym challenge.

“You don’t have to rough it with me, you know. You’re able to take a flying taxi over to Turffield.” You offer nonchalantly, not trying to give away that you do indeed want her company, but don’t want to feel like a bother. “It’s just me that has to do all the walking.”

“Absolutely not.”

A few paces behind you was Leon, except upon a cursory glance you might not be able to tell. He was dressed in joggers and a hoodie that contained his hair, complete with wrap-around sports sunglasses that tinted your reflection in yellows and greens. This is the first time you’ve seen Leon incognito, more used to his open, public displays of celebrity. In a group chat with you and Sonia, Nessa gossiped about Leon getting scolded by League higher-ups and was told to not be seen with you anymore. He was also given a bunch of work by Chairman Rose related to some new energy plan Marcos Cosmos was prototyping. Leon wouldn’t tell you more than that, only he was escorting you to the Galar Mines on the other side of Route 3, picking up some samples, and heading to Hammerlocke, which you learned is a city north of the Wild Area.

You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, but it felt like Leon was hovering over you all day so far. He would reach for things to give to you the moment you were about to get them yourself, or he would take your coffee cup while you were texting on your phone. Leon insisted that he come along with you because you needed some training to do well at the gym challenge. You still weren’t completely sure about this whole gym challenge thing, but you figured he was right, given he’s a champion and all.

Things weren’t exactly settled with you though. When you woke up, your phone had a huge influx of notifications from Pokegram. Turns out that Raihan posted the selfies he took with you at dinner on his account and tagged you. This only seemed to stoke the speculation online about a relationship between you and Leon. While the idea didn’t offend you, things definitely didn’t feel like there was romance in the air. He always acted weird towards you, despite making advances on you twice. Not to mention, there has to be something going on him with and Sonia…

“It’s nice to do the walkin’ sometimes! Durin’ challenge season things get so busy, there’s no choice but to use flyin’ taxis.”

It was hard not to smile with Milo’s matter-of-fact optimism, seeming to be in a much better mood today and back to his usual pleasant self. He walked next to you with that permanent soft rise in the corners of his lips, not looking at all encumbered holding bags of last minute grocery shopping you did. Early this morning he actually went to get the group coffee and tea while you dragged yourselves out of bed and got ready to leave. On your way past the markets of the city you remember how you wanted to stock up on some cooking materials for the trip, and might have went a smidge overboard. You wanted to get some fresher ingredients for the first couple of days, so you got some sausage to cook for tonight and a good medley of mushrooms and veggies for tomorrow. After that, you knew you had to get things that preserve for a bit, so you also bought some potatoes and pre-cooked burger sealed tight, along with a couple cups of emergency instant noodles. And of course, plenty of curry mix! What escaped your calculations was how much all of that would weigh, and the current lack of space in your bag.

And as if on cue, with little effort at all, Milo just lifted the bag out of your arms and informed everyone he was joining you all on the trek over to Turffield. You were quite surprised, since he probably needed to get to his gym to prepare for the first wave of challengers. Milo said he wanted to stretch his legs and take things slowly before the rush, but you wondered if that was the full story. Come to think of it, this was when Leon’s weird behavior began.

As the group crossed out of Motostoke and to the dirt path of Route 3, Leon stopped you. He was scoping out the rustling in the tall grass and took notice of young trainers loitering around hoping to get some practice in. When he turns to you, he has a bit of a smirk and hands on his hips.

“Okay, it’s time to get serious about your training! Let’s go over some basics and give you some strategy.” He holds up eight fingers, four on each hand. “So there are eight gyms, what is unique about them?”

You blink a couple of times. “They all specialize in different types, even I know that Le-” He quickly makes a hushing gesture with a finger over his mouth. “Um, mysterious Mr. Man?” Sonia doesn’t hide her giggle.

“So you have to visit each of these in an order, right? It only makes sense that you try to capture and train Pokemon that have type advantages for your next gym. Then when you get to the championships, which you will, you can select the Pokemon you’ve bonded with the best to train for the end.”

“This feels like cheating, but okay.” You look over to Milo, who is looking down the route but casually listening in. “So it’s your gym first, and I feel like everyone has been saying you like Grass types?”

Milo smiles at you and gives a thumbs up. “You got it! In fact, you already met the Pokemon you’ll be battlin’.” That must mean the ones he introduced to you while you were camping.

“Right, now Milo isn’t that much of a challenge,” Milo stiffens a bit at Leon’s comment. “So as long as you find the right types, you can win pretty easy. Since his gym challenge only uses two Pokemon, you only need two yourself. And I’ll help you train!” His grin only widens, he’s really into this. “Do you know what is good against Grass?”

You try to remember the times you’d have lunch and Hop would force Gloria to quiz him on type matchups. Whether it’s helpful or not, you try to imagine literal grass and what it wouldn’t like. “Fire, Bugs, umm… and Ice?”

Leon nods. “Also Flying and Poison, so there are plenty of choices to beat Milo with.” Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Milo’s smile is gone and his expression is very difficult to read. It’s not that nervous, fumbling side that comes out every once in a while, it’s… something else. “This route is the habitat for a few fire Pokemon, Growlithe, Vulpix, and if you’re willing to do some searching, there’s Sizzlipedes too. And catching you a Rookidee wouldn’t hurt either. I can train you with the Thwackey I have on me, we need to work on your battling form.”

It’s hard to not feel a bit overwhelmed by everything Leon is shooting at you. But before you can protest much, he leads you down the route to begin your training. He gets nearby trainers to battle you, coaching you from how you throw your Pokeball to giving commands. Yelling orders at your Pokemon makes you deeply uncomfortable, so you try to work around Leon’s advising by cheering them on or getting better at reading the situation and relaying that information to them. You can tell Leon is biting his tongue, because while it seems like you’re winning battles, they aren’t decisive wins.

After a fight with a girl’s Vulpix, you crouch down to pet Pancham and tend to her burns. She didn’t seem to have an issue with battling at all, in fact, she’s basking in her victory. But hearing her cries when attacked was dreadful. It made you want to quit right then and there. “You’ll get a little extra curry tonight.” For some reason, your other Pokeballs shake upon hearing that.

When you rise and return Pancham to her Pokeball, you feel a strong hand on your back. “Good work, you’ll be battling me in no time!” You can see Leon’s eyes sparkle when he looks over his sunglasses at you. “I can now see what Milo was talking about, you care about your Pokemon above all other concerns. It’s hard to be that way during a fight though, during a Pokemon battle all you can think about is winning.”

You sigh a bit hearing that, and Leon soon directs you into the tall grass to find a fire Pokemon of your own. “You have a Vanillite, but it’s better to explore some more options before you settle on including her into your lineup.” It doesn’t take long to reconfirm that you are horrible at throwing Pokeballs, and you realize that you most likely only caught Yamper and Vanillite because they wanted to be caught, just with a bit of a fight first. The idea of forcing a Pokemon to join you twists your stomach. You attempt to talk to all the wild Pokemon Leon wanted you to catch but none responded very well.

“We’re really going to have to work on your throwing arm. Here, let me catch-”

“No.” You say with more force than you meant. “I don’t like doing it this way. My Pokemon picked me, and I want to keep it that way.”

Leon crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “But how are you going to get the Pokemon you want? I admit I’m impressed that Pokemon seem to choose you willingly, and they want to fight for you. But you’re supposed to be doing the choosing, not them. You’re a Pokemon trainer now, have to get into a different mentality.”

Sonia and Milo have mostly been chatting between themselves while trailing behind you and Leon. They both give you a reassuring touch on the shoulder or elbow whenever he gets particularly tough in his instruction with you. It’s clear to you now why Leon is the champion, he can see the entire world from the perspective of a Pokemon battle. Every piece of information relates to how he can win or is discarded. On the other hand, you were interested in the story of each of your charges, wanting them to grow and live the lives they wanted to pursue. They chose you not because you were aiming to become the best, but rather some other adventure you had yet to fully define.

“I think you’re doin’ a great job.” You turn to Milo, who’s smiling. Thinking of him cheering you on sends some tingles throughout your body. “It’s nice to see someone go about being a trainer in a different way.”

“You’re just saying that because you want an easy win!” Leon smirks at Milo, slinging one arm around your tire shoulders. “Don’t listen to him, I’ll make it so you’re unbeatable for your adventure.” That unreadable expression returns to Milo’s face, and you watch his eyes lock onto where Leon’s hand is grasping your shoulder. “We’ll resume lessons soon, let’s take a break.” He gives you a quick squeeze and lets go to lead you forward.

It’s only now that you notice the sun was just starting to fall past its zenith. In a nearby clearing Sonia lays out a blanket and Milo tears apart some bread that he got at the cafe earlier this morning to pass around for a snack. You all are mostly quiet, probably for different reasons. You feel like there are maybe a pair of eyes or two on you, but you’re staring off into the distance as you mull over Leon’s attitude towards being a Pokemon trainer. However, it’s not long before the group notices a lingering smell of something unsavory. Sonia shoots a glare over to Leon while covering her lower face with her hand. “Ew Leon, was that you??”

“Sonia!” Leon practically screeched, turning a bright shade of red. “Why are you so quick to accuse me!?”

As they bicker, Milo leans towards you and points out into the distance past the route. There’s a factory with smoke drifting from it in the air, surrounded with carts full of what looks to be coal. “That’s a Marcos Cosmos energy plant over there, turnin’ ore into power.” You can tell Milo is trying to not breathe through his nose as he talks, and it takes you a bit of effort to not giggle at how cute he sounds. “Chairman Rose pretty much owns every method of generatin’ energy here in Galar. It probably smells because this is a crosswind point for the industrial district of Motostoke ‘n the factory.”

But the smell only gets stronger, and soon you hear some rustling in the nearby foliage. Sonia’s Yamper begins to bark as suddenly the source of the strong smell presents itself to you all: a Trubbish. Your friends instantly reel and move away from the Pokemon. “Let’s find somewhere else!” Sonia chokes through as she tries to grab her belongings.

You’re familiar with the Trubbish from Alola, where they gathered around cities. But you knew that most Trubbish only smell when they aren’t really in contact with people, as the stench is mostly a defense mechanism in the wild. On TV you remember multiple ad campaigns against Trubbish abuse, and that the Recycling Center harbored many that were put to work and happily coexisted with people. So your first reaction wasn’t to get up and run, but to tear your piece of bread in half and offer it to the Trubbish.

Leon calls your name. “What are you doing?? Let’s get out of here! Trubbish always leave sludge on your things and can attract other Trubbish miles away.”

“There’s a reason this Trubbish came to us. He’s hungry and must have been unable to find some food. Maybe the days before challenge season are the least traversed, so there are few people around littering.”

The Trubbish looks between your face and the bread a few times before waddling over to you. Even though the smell was no less than putrid, you did your best to smile and make it not seem like you were breathing through your mouth. “Go on, have some. And if you’d like, I can cook you some food later! What do you think about some sausage curry?”

You don’t need to see them to know your friends were gawking as the Trubbish takes the bread from you and the two of you eat your pieces together as a sign of friendliness. It was hard to notice at first, but as the breeze picks up you can tell Trubbish’s smell was beginning to disappear. Finishing the bread, he jingled happily, if the clanging of the trash items inside him could be considered jingling. Trubbish epitomized ugly-cute for you, but you didn’t want him to know that.

“All better for now?” You rise to your feet when he jumps and jingles some more. He kind of reminds you of your Vanillite, who you bring out of her Pokeball. “Something tells me you two will be friends, how about you keep each other company while we travel?”

It is clear Trubbish absolutely adores Vanillite, and you hope it’s not because he wants to eat her for looking like ice cream. But your Vanillite soon warms up, if still below freezing, pretty quickly when she notices the Trubbish doesn’t mind her cold temperatures. Once they start chattering you turn around, freezing when you see three pairs of eyes staring at you. Leon was straight-up slack jawed. “G-guys, what??”

Sonia is the first to speak up. “I’ve never seen someone speak to a Trubbish like that before… Brilliant! Had no idea their smell went away.”

Leon’s hand was pensively rubbing his chin as he looked at you and your Pokemon. “Not many people go through the trouble of taming a Trubbish. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve fought one as Champion.”

Milo isn’t quick to say anything, but he is positively beaming at you, to the point where you think his gaze would make you melt. You walk towards the others to start again down the route, and the two Pokemon jingle behind you. “It looks a bit like magic whenever I see ya talk to Pokemon.” He finally remarks, lightly touching his fingertips to your arm for a quick second. If you weren’t paying attention you wouldn’t have noticed the contact, but whenever his skin touches yours, you can feel the warmth radiate from his body.

“You’re not going to catch him?” Leon looks confused, only continuing to walk when you pass by him. “I thought that’s the reason why you did that?”

“Oh, I didn’t do that because I wanted to catch him. It just seemed like the right thing to do.” You give a slight shrug to Leon’s question. “If he gets along with our Pokemon well and seems to be having a fun time, I’ll offer him a Pokeball and he can decide. He is a Poison type, so that’s one I should get, right?” You can’t help but smile at Leon’s puzzled expression. “I at least owe him some cooking first!”

You encounter more battling school children down Route 3, probably because everyone can see Milo’s distinctive silhouette rather easily. Leon coaches you through battling with Vanillite as Trubbish and the others watch, but barking orders still doesn’t come naturally to you. During a battle with a girl’s Purrloin, you realize it’s not that you lack the confidence. Rather, you just don’t see your Pokemon as a means to an end for winning matches. Leon seems to be critiquing you less and more watching your style, how you trust Vanillite to react instinctively to the battle. It’s clear her ice attacks are getting stronger, and that she’s good at taunting and then countering with blasts of snow.

~*~*~*~

As the sun begins to near the horizon, Milo leads everyone up a hill to what looks like the highest point in Route 3. There are already other tents set up in the area, so the four of you get to work creating a little corner with the three tents between you all. The campsite quickly becomes a bit of a circus when everyone lets their Pokemon out: your five, Milo’s three, Sonia’s Yamper, Leon’s Charizard and Thwackey along with the wild Trubbish.

The two men go off to collect firewood, Sonia visits a nearby berry tree, and you begin to slice up some sausage. The Pokemon are cautious of Trubbish, but Vanillite seems to be acting as a liaison. Before you know it, they are romping and battling each other. Every once in a while one would scamper over to smell the sausage, but were satisfied with some pets and a promise that dinner would be ready soon. Milo’s Pokemon mostly hung around his tent and Charizard sat next to you watching the others. It begins to dawn on you that this is starting to feel familiar. You pause for a second, setting the knife down and just gazing out to where the Pokemon were playing. The Yampers were thick as thieves by now, chasing your Wooloo, Pancham, and now Leon’s Thwackey around. Lombre relaxed with Milo’s Pokemon while Vanillite and Trubbish seemed to be practicing techniques with each other. Charizard nuzzled your shoulder, an eye trained on the sausage as you pet him.

Milo and Leon were the first to return, looking to be in good spirits. It didn’t occur to you until now that they probably were friends, both being major figures in the League and all. They stacked the firewood and Leon got Charizard to light it up. But it wasn’t long that you noticed Leon was watching your Pokemon with a look of concern, arms crossed over his chest again.

“Is something wrong, Leon?”

He looks to you for a second before looking back at the playing Pokemon. “It might not be the best idea to let them battle unsupervised, especially when they are new to you and undisciplined. You’ll want to make sure they are developing the right habits.” You’re not entirely sure how to answer, because you know he’s probably right but you couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant. Leon turns back to you and crouches by the fire. “You’ve been working hard all day, how about I cook dinner and you take a break?”

You shake your head and notice Sonia returning with an armful of berries. “Let me do this, to make up for worrying you these past few days. It would mean a lot for me to cook for you.” You smile at Leon, and hear Milo busying himself with his Eldegoss who seem to be giving him a piece of their minds over something. “Plus, I promised Pancham and Trubbish some curry!”

Sonia hands you the berries she found and you sift through what she found. While she got you a good number, it seemed like there wasn’t a diverse selection on this route. Sausage is one of the better meats to react to sweetness, so you decide to base the roux of the curry on pecha berries with a few oran ones mixed in for balance.

When Leon and Sonia join the playing Pokemon, Milo comes to sit down next you. “Can I help with anythin’?”

You nod absent-mindedly as you compare berry sizes and count out how many you need. “Would you mind getting the rice going? That would be helpful! We’re also going to need to crush the oran berries and stir them right into the curry mix. The pecha berries will need a slight roasting over the fire, then we’ll crush half of them and put in the others whole. I’ll also brown the sausage over the fire before adding it in and then let everything cook. What do you think?”

When you look over to Milo, he’s smiling. Of course. And that funny feeling in your stomach takes over again. Of course. You really wish you knew what was happening to you. He doesn’t seem to be having as much of a messy internal monologue as you are. “Sounds amazin’! Were you a chef back ‘n Alola?”

You chuckle a bit as you sort the berries, Milo instinctively taking the ones to be mashed. “No not at all, I don’t know if I’m that good at cooking really.” You skewer slices of sausage and pecha on thinner sticks you find in the wood pile, preparing them for roasting.

“But you’re quite deliberate when you cook. Most people throw anythin’ in the pot and hope for the best.” You’re sure that Milo counts himself among most people, though he seems like the type that can eat anything and everything. He checks the temperature of the water in a smaller pot before adding the rice in, and you take that as a sign to pour the curry mix into the larger pot.

“I guess that’s true. Thinking on it, there’s just something special about making a good meal. Like, it’s one of the most satisfying things in life, eating good food that you made yourself, knowing others are happy because of something I did.” Milo pushes in the mashed berries into the curry while you prop up the skewers, lightly rotating them every once in a while over the fire. “Right now my mind is like, how can I make everyone happy with what I’ve got? I haven’t learned your preferences yet, but I feel like you’d enjoy this. And it would be really satisfying knowing that you did.”

Milo is quiet for a bit. You can’t tell if he’s thinking up a proper response or just taking in the moment. After you take down the skewers and toss the meat and remaining berries in, you begin to stir it all together. It smells how you imagine it, a savory-sweet smell which seems to waft over the camp since Pokemon are drawing nearer to the campfire. Sonia is back on her phone with her notebook in hand, and Leon is giving poor Thwackey a lecture. Curious noses sniff around the pot, but everyone can now read the look you give them to have some more patience.

“I can’t wait for you to see Turffield. I hope ya like it there.”

Milo’s voice was barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the crackling fire and Pokemon chatter. You turn to him, a little taken back from his Eldegoss and Gossifleur staring at you expectantly. His face is in profile from your angle, shadows and light from the fire flickering across his cheek as he watches the curry bubble.

Before you respond, you feel mass of wool bump up against you. Wooloo immediately and consistently begins to bleat at you, crawling into your lap and staring at the pot of curry. You notice that all the other Pokemon have gathered around the campfire as well.

“Okay okay, it’s about done. You all should know that the longer it similar the more-” a range of Pokemon whines and protests erupt. How did you suddenly end up with so many children?

Leon takes the ladle before you can reach for it and begins to serve the curry over rice. With a smile he hands you the first bowl. “You earned it.” Soon enough the humans have their servings and the Pokemon gather around a few large bowls they share from.

The sounds of happy eating pleases you as the curry came out nicely. You’re glad that you decided to grill some of the ingredients to give the curry some texture and not get more sweet than savory. It could have done with more spice, you’ll have to make sure you gather some cheri or figy berries next time for when there aren’t any in nature.

“This is amazing!!” Leon regards you with his mouth full, with Sonia more politely covering her mouth as she nods beside him. “I didn’t know you could cook this well! Might be better than Sonia’s cooking.” Which then causes her to frown.

“I’ll remember that the next time you’re pawing at my tent door for breakfast.”

The two get into their usual back-and-forth, letting you shift your attention to Milo. He was shoveling his food down, probably needing seconds soon. “Did it come out alright?” Mouth full, he nods and chews at the same time.

As the night goes on, conversation inevitable gets back to the gym challenge. Though the two are friendly, you can’t help but sense some tension between Leon and Milo. It’s clear that Leon perceives Milo’s gym to not be much of a challenge, and expects you to only be in Turffield for a short while before heading to Hulbury. Apparently there’s a train station there and he can visit you from Hammerlocke easily when you get there. “I’m sure Sonia will want to hang out with Nessa for a while, too.”

That’s when you realize that, while not arrogant, Leon was quite used to getting his way and being the center of attention. He didn’t demand it really, but it seemed like he had this magnetism that drew people to him and he based his understanding of everything bending towards him. Leon never once asked for Milo’s input about his gym or your opinion on what you wanted your travel plans to be. It’s like he had this vision and just needed everyone to play their parts.

The Pokemon quickly tired out after eating and grouped up in different piles ready to sleep for the night. Social groups are definitely starting to form, though you don’t really see anything wrong with that. You’re happy that Vanillite, who usually wants to return to her Pokeball come bedtime, has found a cuddle buddy in Trubbish. Watching them makes you yawn, and it’s only now you realize how tired the day has made you.

“I think it’s time for you to turn in.” Leon rises from his spot next to Sonia and begins collecting the dishes. “If you’re going to make it to the other side of the mines before sunset, we’ll need to get up early in the morning.”

After another yawn, a hand reaches down from above; it’s Milo, with a soft smile on his face, the jade of his eyes almost glowing reflecting the fire. Always the gentleman. But when you take is hand, you can’t help but feel all those funny feelings again. You’re sensitive to the tactile nature of his hand, one that is calloused and used to manual labor, is firm in grip only just as much as it needs to be. It’s difficult to not notice his bicep flexing as he pulls you upwards. Upwards towards him, almost enough for you to bump into his chest. Thankfully it’s dark out and he probably can’t tell you’re flushed being this close to him. You realize he’s slow to let go of your hand, and he looks like he’s working up to say something to you.

Another’s hand grasps your shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. Leon’s. “Sleep in my tent tonight, okay?”

You’re caught off-guard by the request, but in an effort to not reveal how embarrassed you were feeling, you just nod. The cool night air brushes over your hand as Milo releases his hold and creates some space between the two of you. Leon goes to wash the dishes (with Charizard, or else he wouldn’t find his way back), Sonia lets the Yampers hop into her tent, and you’re alone with Milo. His eyes are downcast, and eventually he rubs the back of his neck as he turns away from you.

“We should get to sleepin’, huh?” The uncertainty in his voice intrigues you. His shoulders then square and he turns back to you, looking determined. “I guess I’m the first challenge in your adventure. I… won’t let ya go that easily.” Before you can respond, he nods to his Pokemon and heads into his tent. Maybe Milo won’t be as easy of a gym leader after all.

After putting out the fire and whispering good night to all the Pokemon, you take your bag and head inside Leon’s tent. Wooloo sneaks in after you, followed by Pancham and Thwackey. Looking around on the inside, you’re not really sure what you were expecting, it’s just a tent with usual camping things. You decide to unfurl your sleeping bag and change your clothes while Leon is still away. The three Pokemon settle in the middle of the tent, and you crawl into your sleeping bag.

When Leon returns, you hear the clanging of pots and dishes. Outside the tent he wishes Charizard a goodnight before entering. He grins seeing all the Pokemon resting next to you. “Now that’s a picture.” His Rotom zips out but he flails to catch it before it does anything. “No! I’ll be in so much trouble if that hits Pokegram.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you make off all that? I imagine you don’t take it seriously if you’re letting me sleep your tent.”

He scratches the back of his head. “Huh? I just want to talk battle strategies…”

As he launches into the typical moves that Gossifleur and Eldegoss use and their counters, you realize that he earnestly just wanted to talk Pokemon. And boy, can Leon talk about Pokemon battles. You feel a little guilty hogging him as a resource, wouldn’t Gloria and Hop benefit more from his guidance?

Milo’s parting words echo in your mind. The thought of battling him makes you uncomfortable, and it was like he drew that line between you two. It definitely sounded like he wasn’t going to make his battle with you easy. Thinking of Milo as an opponent just didn’t sit well with you.

You began to drift to sleep somewhere around the part where Leon mentions something about… Gigantics? Maxismist? Something like that, that future you can deal with as you think about a certain peach-haired man as you slip into your dreams.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 2

Hello all, it’s me, back again with another chapter of the Midnight Striga!! I hope you all enjoy. Thank you.

“... And that’s everything I know about human anatomy.” Luz finished, as Gus eagerly wrote down her answer while the others watched in amusement. She quirked her eyebrow at the younger boy’s enthusiasm. For the past 20 minutes she’d been answering his questions as best she could, and each answer got her a huge grin, a bear hug at one point, and frantic scribbling across a notebook he had produced. It was like having a little brother, really, but less annoying… for now.

Clearing her throat, Willow decided to broach a topic that had been on her mind since they started this trip. “So, Miss Owl Lady, is it true that you’re cursed?” Willow carefully asked.

“Yup.” Eda bluntly replied. “One hundred percent.” She shrugged, unbothered by the question. “Not much I can really do about it, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

“So the legend is TRUE!?” Gus exclaimed, eyes wide with shock, and a little excitement.

Eda snorted. “Not hardly.” At the confused looks she got, even from King and Luz, Eda elaborated. “The general idea is right, but the whole thing is skewed.” Eda paused, glancing up at the sky. “I don’t know where the part about the Covens clambering for me in school came from, ‘cause it’s the first I’ve heard of that, unless they’re talking about the times they ambushed me to join at the early Coventions; that honestly just annoyed me, and it’s partially why I don’t like the things. If I’m gonna make a decision like that, it’ll be by myself, thank you!” She huffed, getting soft snorts from the others.

Grinning at her audience, Eda continued. “As for the whole ‘ego’ thing, I was already well-known troublemaker around Bonesburough, so even if it did go to my head, my behavior wouldn’t have changed at all.” This got nods of agreement from Luz and King, and looks of dawning understanding for Willow and Gus. Knowing what she would have to share next, Eda took a deep breath. “For my curse, I can tell you for fact that it wasn’t the Titan, or whatever cockamamy story the EC spread; a Witch cursed me. Specifically, they broke into my room and cursed me the day before try-outs for the Emperor’s Coven.” She said softly, provoking gasps from the group; shock from Willow and Gus, and outrage from her roommates, something that brought a smile to her face. Clearing her throat, she continued. “As for me denouncing the Coven System,” she said, making air-quotes, “All I did was say that Covens weren’t for me and forfeited my match for a spot in the EC.” She finished, gaining bewildered stares from the two Hexside Students.

“You gave up a spot in the Emperor’s Coven?” Willow breathed out, unsure if she was appalled or impressed.

“Why!?” Gus exclaimed, utterly flabbergasted by Eda’s decision.

Eda shrugged, indifferent to their confusion, but willing to explain. “Because I only cared about joining so I wouldn’t have to have any of my magic sealed. Plus,” She sheepishly rubbed her head, blushing lightly in embarrassment. “The other person actually cared about joining the Coven to help people. I could get the same outcome I wanted by not joining a Coven at all, but they wanted to make the world a better place. I’d say I made the right call.” She finished.

Willow and Gus were amazed. They still couldn’t really wrap their heads around her worldview, but the fact that she was willing to give up such a prestigious position that would’ve given her exactly what she wanted because her opponent had more selfless reasons… It was inspiring. King was bewildered; Eda’s motive for forfeiting went completely over his head, as he just couldn’t understand giving up power so someone else could get it, but he perfectly understood her view of being herself, no one could challenge the mind of the King of Demons. Luz… Luz was shocked, face gone white at what Eda had just said.

“Okay, wait a minute, back up. What did you mean, ‘seal your magic?’” Luz demanded, shaking with barely repressed anger.

Eda blinked. “Uh, I did tell you that joining a Coven means you can only use magic associated with it.” She pointed out. She was honestly a little shocked about how viscerally the kid was reacting, with Willow and Gus actually looking a little frightened at her reaction.

“You told me that, yes, but you didn’t tell me they actually made it IMPOSSIBLE!!” She shouted. She was furious. She had already thought the system here was pretty twisted, but this was beyond the pale.

“Well, how does the Human Realm do things?” Willow broached, hoping to change the subject. Gus nodded his agreement to her question, though more as a result of genuine curiosity. Eda herself was a little curious; the kid had mentioned offhandedly that the way the Boiling Isles did things was very different from back home, but never elaborated.

Luz snorted, feeling bitter. “That’s an understatement.” She inhaled, taking a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Slowly dragging a hand down her face, she elaborated. “Back home, we have Guilds. Guilds basically act as a way for Mages to get work reliably; as part of a Guild, missions and requests are sent in, which a member can take to complete in exchange for a listed reward. Joining a Guild is neither permanent nor mandatory, it’s just a way to make things more convenient for Mages, that’s all.” She raised her head, looking them all in the eye. “Also, being in a Guild has no bearing on what type of magic you can use or know; while some Guilds may have certain requirements for joining, they are rarely, if ever, connected to what type of magic you know.”

“But how do you keep everything from falling to Chaos!” Gus exclaimed, mind whirling at the influx of information.

Luz shot him a flat look. “It’s not anarchy; we do have an overarching organization that deals with magic-related matters and crimes, but we don’t have anything cementing an absolute structure to things. If you break the law, whether you do so using magic or not, you still have to answer to law enforcement and will be punished. There’s just no reason to suppress or control magic to such an extent. Most people, whether they have magic or not, just want to live their lives, so forcing them into a particular system or group makes no sense.”

“But what about people mixing magic?” Willow asked.

Luz blinked. “What about it? It’s no different from using magic any other way.” She shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

“Well, some kids at school tried mixing magic, and caused chaos! They trashed a bunch of stuff and hurt some of the faculty!” Gus argued.

Luz raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “And that’s different from any other day, how exactly?” She challenged, causing the two to blink. She continued. “The way you phrased it, they were being reckless; that’s a problem regardless of whether you know or are combining forms of magic. It honestly just sounds like they were trying to show off and went too far.”

“B-But, they wouldn’t have had those problems if they stuck with the magic of their track!” Willow insisted, though she would admit that it sounded fake, even to herself.

“And you know that how exactly?” Luz asked. When Willow clammed up, she added a little more. “Accidents happen, and people get hurt. Those exact same things had to have happened when your people first started practicing the magics that would form the Coven System.” As Willow and Gus seemed to fold in on themselves, Luz relented a little. “Look guys, nobody’s forcing you to learn more than one form of magic. Most people back home don’t learn more than one, either.” As the two perked up at that, she elaborated. “Just because you technically can learn every type of magic, doesn’t mean somebody wants to. People are always going to gravitate towards their personal interests, and that’s just a fact of life. That’s why I think the Coven System is crazy, because it’s putting an unnecessary restriction on people. But that’s besides the point, let’s talk about this sometime else, okay?” She pleaded, wanting to move on from the increasingly frustrating conversation.

“Yeah, as fascinating as this is,” Eda drawled, genuinely being fascinated by the debate, but wanting to get going, “We should really be moving along.”

With that, everyone started heading out.

A sickening crunch ripped through the air. A squelching sound and chewing could be heard as a lumbering figure peaked out of the shadows, teeth stretched into a bloody grin. A shadow darted across the area, silently slicing through the throats of unsuspecting Coven Guards. A Guard uselessly struggled in the air, a long coiled shape contorted around their body, slowly twisting their head to the side as it pulled at them, a snap soon being heard. Figures slowly prowled towards the Covention center, weapons gleaming.

Boscha growled, fighting the urge to snap at the elbows jabbing into her as she walked through the Covention, steadfastly ignoring the glares and whispers aimed her way. Trying to distract herself, she pulled out her Scroll. There were no new messages, aside from another blistering rant from Bo; it made sense, seeing as all of her old clique had blocked her. She snorted at that. It made sense after all, who wanted to deal with the psycho who spent nearly a week beating any and every demon they could find near senseless and had burned the throat of their “best friend.” 

Covertly palming her lighter, she subtly raised it to her lips, sucking in the delicate flame with a relieved sigh, the minty flavor balancing her nerves. She wondered if she might be forming a habit. At least she wasn’t lunging at fires to eat anymore, that had been pretty embarrassing. Glancing around, utterly disinterested in the bevy of Covens, she didn’t notice as she crashed into someone.

“Oof! Watch it you- YOU.” A familiar voice growled out. Glancing down, Boscha spotted the furious form of Amity sprawled down in front of her. Boscha slowly backed up, giving the girl room to pull herself to her feet. “Just what are you doing here?” Amity coldly demanded, crossing her arms. Her voice almost, but not quite, concealing the burning malice within. “I thought you always said Coventions were lame?”

“They are.” Boscha bluntly stated, relieved to be on a familiar topic. She shrugged. “But I’ve got nothing better to do, so I thought I might as well come and check it out. Nothing else going on today.”

Amity raked her gaze up and down the other girl’s frame, feeling a little frustrated at just how nonchalant she was asking. “You really don’t care, do you?” Amity muttered, feeling a smidge of disappointment. She turned a painfully steady gaze to Boscha’s face, locking eyes with her. “Do you really not care about what you did to Skara?”

“Since when do you care?” Boscha asked, feeling surprised. As much as she had previously claimed that she and Amity were friends, Boscha was painfully aware of how detached the girl was from the rest of the clique. As Amity’s face gained a dangerous look to it, Boscha winced at how, well, Bitchy she had sounded saying that. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, since when did you really have a relationship with Skara that would make you ask like that?”

‘Boscha… apologized?’ Amity thought, feeling flummoxed. Steeling herself, a familiar indignation filling her, she focused on the rephrased question, answering it. “Since she came to my house bawling her eyes out into my shirt asking what she did wrong.” She uttered gravely, taking a bitter satisfaction at Boscha’s flinch.

“She-?” Boscha started, feeling a little shocked. She knew that she had hurt Skara, but this? Eyes turning downcast, she morosely uttered. “She’s better off without me in her life.”

“At least you recognize that.” Amity scathingly replied. She stepped close to Boscha, chin to chin almost. “I… have more regrets about my life than I’ll willingly admit, and have done things that kept me up at night from guilt. But you? You betrayed the trust of the person who cared about you the most in the world, not in your right mind or otherwise. So I’m only going to say this once.” She carefully tilted Boscha’s chin down so their gazes were level. “Stay. Away. From Skara.”

Pulling back, lightly dusting herself off, Amity turned on her heel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a presentation to take part in.” She gave Boscha a backwards glance. “Have a nice day.” She said, almost as an afterthought.

Boscha sighed, morose at the confirmation that, yes, she was an awful friend. Still, at least she could use the Coven to distract herself from how crappy she felt. And hey, maybe Luz was here? ...Pfft! Nah! Chuckling to herself in a bitter tone, Boscha wandered through the Covention, steadfastly ignoring the looks, the whispers, the sneers. It wasn’t any different from her dreams really, just less graphic.

“And here we are!” Willow said, forcing a note of cheer into her voice. The conversation they had had prior still weighed on her and Gus, but they didn’t begrudge Eda or Luz any. It was just… a lot to take in. “The Bonesburough Covention center.” She stated, hands on her hips as Gus made an expansive, showy gesture next to her. She felt a hint of pleasure at the snort of amusement Luz gave at their theatrics.

As they made their way through the Covention, Luz quickly picked up on something. “Wait a minute, are these all, like jobs or something?” She asked, feeling bewildered.

“Uh, yeah?” Gus replied, feeling confused. “Isn’t that how those Guild things worked?”

Luz shook her head, still feeling a little surreal at the sight as she processed it a little more. “Not really? A lot of these Covens flat out don’t need magic at ALL! Heck, there’s a Baking Coven, why would you need magic to bake!?” She exclaimed, gesturing to the Coven stand in question.

The two Hexsiders glanced at each other, neither having ever really thought about it. They shrugged. Luz waved them off. “Forget it, I’ll just chalk it up to another reason why the way things work around here confuses me.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Eda mused, honestly puzzled herself as she thought about all the Covens and how little some of them had to do with magic, or, in some cases, magic just made things more difficult. But the way Luz phrased it… She shook her head, not letting herself get sucked down the drain following that line of thought. “King already left to start squeezing these clowns for freebies, so what do you two dweebs want to do while we’re here?” She asked, lightly scratching at the bundled cloth holding her hair in place, turning to Gus and Willow as the target of her question.

The two turned to each other, starting up a whispered debate. This hadn’t really turned out how they thought it would. They had been so excited to show their friend some of their world… and she didn’t like it, moreover she nearly hated it! But, they could still have some fun, even if things weren’t how they expected. Turning back to Eda, a woman they had gained some respect for after learning a bit more of her past. “We could go see the Emperor’s Coven exhibit?” Willow offered, knowing that it would most likely be the most directly exciting thing here, even if Eda didn’t like the group. “I hear they have a special guest!”

“Maybe I’ll be able to get some members to sign my forehead!” Gus cheered, heedless of the sheepish looks from Willow and Luz, as well as Eda’s annoyance. The boy was utterly unshakable in his enthusiasm.

Eda snorted. “Ugh, fine! But if this all turns out to be boring, the three of you are manning my Stand for a week, got it?” She faux-threatened; she wasn’t really going to go through with it, but seeing them squirm was good for a laugh, even if it didn’t phase Luz.

With their plan set, the four headed into the center of the Covention, unknowing of the group creeping through the center, malicious grins all around.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Strange Comforts

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x OC

Summary: A sequel to ‘Protective Instincts’ and a prequel to ‘Best Laid Plans’ (I wish I could link them here but I’m still figuring that stuff out). With T-minus 10 weeks to go before the baby arrives, Pope discovers that it’s the little things in life that bring the most comfort. *This one’s not based off clarke’s wonderful headcanons, but it’s set in the same universe so that’s where the credit goes!*

Warnings: Pregnancy fic, swearing, references to smut, references PTSD, references to therapy

A/N: Hi everyone! This is part three of who-knows-how-many of my Dad!Pope series. I’m still looking for a series title, and I’m trying to figure out how to create a masterlist for this so I can put them in order for y’all. I hope you enjoy! I loved reading your comments for the last two! Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments!

***

“…and, unless someone else wants to share, I think we’ll wrap up for today,” the kind-eyed therapist addressed the group of veterans, shooting a small glance towards Pope out of the corner of his eye.

True to his word, Santiago had been attending group therapy sessions for the last six months, his first session taking place exactly a week after Bex had told him the good news. Will had highly recommended this therapist, having gone to see him himself when his fiancée had left him, and hoped he could shed some light on Pope’s issues so that he wouldn’t walk out on his pregnant girlfriend next time things got hard.

And Pope had been attending the sessions. Listening to what other veterans said, the issues they were going through, it helped. Sure, both Frankie and Will had been fairly vocal about the problems they ran into while trying to adjust to civilian life, and Pope knew that Tom had had massive difficulties when they forced him to retire, and Benny’s issues were plain to see even if he didn’t talk about them, but those were his friends, his brothers, his family. They had all seen the same shit, so, clearly, they would have similar issues. But hearing random strangers, Marines, and Rangers, Navy and Military and Air Force men and women speak about seeing IEDs everywhere, and drinking to forget, and panicking at the sight of blood was…strangely comforting. The only problem was that Pope could never bring himself to speak.

He wanted to. God knew he wanted to. He needed to be okay. For Bex and the baby, for Frankie and Charlie and Mateo, for Benny and Will, for Molly and the girls, and, most importantly, for himself. So he could stop feeling like a major fuck up in every aspect of his life, so he could feel deserving of the life he had inexplicably been blessed with. But whenever he would try to open his mouth, he froze. How could he possibly talk about the shit he had done in the name of freedom? Was there a way to talk about his instincts shutting his emotions down without coming across as a cold-hearted bastard? Why did his tongue stop working whenever he tried to talk about how deathly afraid he was of screwing up this baby’s life, Bex’s life, their life together as a family? How deathly afraid he was that he had already screwed up Frankie’s, Will’s, and Benny’s lives? How he had nightmares of when Tom had died?

Santiago used to think he was a brave man, but now he felt like a coward. He could face down armed sicarios and terrorists without batting an eye, but he couldn’t talk about his emotions to save his family. It was complete and utter bullshit in his mind.

“Alright everyone, I’ll see you next week,” the therapist dismissed the group and Pope shot to his feet, beelining towards the coffee station.

Everyone else stood around talking, chatting about their daily lives or the weather or whatever, but Pope focused on mixing his coffee. He used to take it black, but then Bex started teasing him that only psychopaths took their coffee black, so he started mixing milk and sugar in instead. He liked it, but he needed it to be perfect.

“You actually drink this swill?” the therapist came up behind him and chuckled.

Pope cracked a smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“Haven’t we all,” he murmured. “Question Mark.”

Santiago shook his hand. “Pope.”

“You’re Ironhead’s friend, right?” Pope nodded. “Damn…he’s told me some of the crap you guys have been through. Sounds like holy hell.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Shit, man. No wonder you don’t talk during these meetings.”

Pope felt himself flush. “I mean…you know…”

“Hey, it’s fine. This is a no pressure situation. You just had me curious is all. Either you get people who don’t stop talking, or people who never talk in these sessions. But you…you always look like you want to talk but think better of it.”

Pope shrugged. “It’s like you said. Holy hell. Got used to not talking about the bad stuff.”

“So, what changed?”

Pope smiled softly, his eyes taking on a far-off look. “My girl’s pregnant.”

“Congratulations, man,” Question Mark slapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks…” Pope shook his head slowly, sadly. “I almost screwed it up. Hell, I’m half convinced that I did, and this is all a dream. But when she told me…”

Question Mark was already nodding. “All of your training went haywire? Started imagining the worst?”

Pope cocked his eyebrow grimly. “Basically.”

The therapist nodded understandingly. “I get that. Same thing happened to me when my wife got pregnant with our third. Despite the other two being great kids, something about my last tour made me think that I’d screw the pooch with the new one. Checked myself into a hotel for a few days and drank myself silly until my brother-in-law showed up and told me that my kids were asking about me. That sobered me up pretty quick.”

Pope grinned grimly. “It was my buddy Catfish for me. Called me and reamed me out, and if Ironhead has told you anything about Fish, you know that he’s not the type at all. But it shook me enough to get my ass back to my house and beg for her forgiveness.”

“But you still sometimes think it’s all a dream?”

“I always thought guys like me don’t get the happy ending.” Pope sipped his coffee and shrugged. “But I’ll take it and run with it. She’s the best thing in my life. I’m not gonna let her down again.”

Question Mark smiled and dug into his pocket, pulling out first his wallet, then his card from his wallet. “Listen, Pope. I know how it can feel trying to talk to a room full of strangers. It sucks sometimes. If you ever want to chat, just one on one, give me a call. I’d be happy to help.”

Pope sucked in a deep breath and took the card. “Yeah, man. That would be great. Thank you.”

“No worries, man. Just, do me a favour?” Pope nodded. “Remember that you deserve this, okay?”

With a final clap on the shoulder, Question Mark moved away and began chatting with another member of the group.

Pope guzzled down the rest of his coffee and threw out the cup, heading home after a successful session.

***

Bex giggled to herself at the soft sounds of cursing and arguing emanating from the spare bedroom as she stirred the pitcher of lemonade.

Frankie, Benny and Will had come over to help Pope put together the furniture for the nursery and, based on the echoes she was hearing, it was not going particularly well. She had abandoned her rocking chair in favour of making the team refreshments after Benny had let loose a string of impressive swear words in two different languages. At approximately 30 weeks pregnant, laughing as hard as she did while listening to Ben swear himself blue in the face just made her have to pee, so she dismissed herself knowing that if she didn’t she would have to endure a lifetime of teasing.

“Just a sec!” she called out as the doorbell rang.

Slow and steady footsteps descended the stairs as a call of “I got it, babe!” echoed down the hall. Rebecca came around the corner with her tray of lemonade and potato chips as Pope handed over a few crisp twenty-dollar bills to the pizza delivery guy.

“Thanks man, you have a good day,” he smiled as he closed the door.

“Mmm, what’d you get?” she inhaled deeply. She’d gotten pretty lucky with the cravings so far, but she would not deny that pizza sounded pretty damn good.

“Got us a meat lovers, got you a pepperoni and pineapple since I know you’ve been on a sweet and salty kick lately.” Pope opened the smaller box to reveal the steaming, cheesy pizza and Bex felt her mouth begin to water.

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” she asked, placing her tray of snacks on top of the pizza boxes Pope was holding out to her.

He smirked at her, his eyes drifting up and down her body slowly. “You told me several times this morning, but I’ll never stop you from saying it again.”

Rebecca felt herself flush at the memory. Those second trimester hormones had hit her hard and seemed to be lasting a good long while, and Pope was certainly not complaining. His girl was stunning. She was always stunning to him, but that primal part of his brain told him that she was even more stunning when she had a belly full of his baby. Her bump was prominent, her tits were bigger and more sensitive, her skin was glowing, and that alpha male voice inside his brain crowed every time he woke up to her beautiful face and growing belly that it was all because of him. He had knocked her up and, thank God, she had decided that she loved him enough to want to raise a family with him. She was achy and uncomfortable, but she loved him and wanted his kid, and that meant more to him than he could ever say. Luckily, with the influx of hormones the past few months, he had been able to show her instead.

He watched as she slowly climbed the stairs, taking care to stay a few steps behind her just in case.

“How’s it going up here anyway?”

Pope groaned. “I don’t get it, baby. I can field strip any gun you put in my hands blindfolded. All of us can. How the fuck is this stuff beating us?”

Bex giggled softly as she entered the nursery and absorbed the scene in front of her. What she wouldn’t give for her phone right now so she could take a picture. Benny sat in the middle of the floor, looking like he was about to cry; crib pieces scattered around him. Will was leaning against the wall with a tired hand over his eyes, a half-assembled dresser beside him. Frankie was sitting in her abandoned rocking chair, cap pulled low over his eyes. He looked like he could be asleep, if only his leg wasn’t bouncing up and down anxiously.

“Soups on, fellas,” Pope announced, prompting the team to abandon their projects for paper plates piled high with pizza slices and tall glasses of lemonade.

Bex smiled fondly at her family as Pope, Benny and Will sat against the far wall underneath the bay window, the three men examining the assembly directions for the crib like they were preparing for a siege.

Frankie held out his hand to offer her the rocking chair but she shook her head. “If I sit in that thing any longer, I feel like I’m gonna turn into a grandmother instead of a mom.”

Frankie cracked a small smile. “Fair enough…” he scanned the room quickly before meeting her eyes again. “Do you want me to go grab a chair from the kitchen?”

Again, she shook her head. “The floor is good, Frankie.”

“You sure? I can—”

“As long as you promise to help me up when I inevitably need to pee, I’m positive,” she chuckled.

“You got it, kid,” Frankie held her hands to help her gently lower herself onto the hardwood floor before throwing himself down beside her. “How ya feeling?”

Bex shrugged as she bit into her deliciously sweet and salty slice of pizza. “You know, I’m actually alright. I know I’ve gotten pretty lucky, but I thought this whole pregnancy thing would be a lot tougher.”

Frankie nodded kindly as he chewed on his own slice. “I remember how Charlie was when she was pregnant with Mateo,” he reminisced. “Couldn’t sleep more than ten minutes at a time, constantly had to pee, had to wear these ugly compression socks. She handled it like a champ for the first 30 or so weeks, but by the time he was finally ready to make his entrance, we were both ready for her not to be pregnant anymore.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” she murmured. When Frankie had raced over to calm her down after Pope had left, one of the first things he said was that he and Charlie would be there for them, no matter what. And they had been. Charlie in particular had been Bex’s lifeline. She had been so kind and understanding, helping Bex get set up with an OB/GYN, lending her pregnancy and parenting books, and just letting her bitch and cry whenever she needed a female shoulder to cry on. “She said she got to a point where she would’ve given anything to just get Mateo out.”

Frankie nodded. “Oh yeah,” he sighed. “The week before he was born, she was not sleeping. Her emotions were all over the place, she wasn’t hungry, she couldn’t sit still, and she would get angry at me for the littlest things. It got to the point where I didn’t recognize her anymore, you know? Like, where did the woman I love go?”

Bex reached over and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “That must’ve been tough.”

Frankie shrugged. “Like I said, she handled it like a champ. And I sure as shit wasn’t about to complain when she was in labor for the better part of three days.”

Bex whistled lowly. “Three days…Jesus…”

“I’m sure it won’t be that way for you,” he backtracked quickly, playing with the back of his cap as he ducked his head. “I dunno the statistics or anything but…”

“Hey, hey, Frankie, chill. It’s okay.” She pulled his hand away from his hat and ran her hand up and down his arm. “You feeling okay, Frankie? You seem…on edge.”

Frankie looked across the room at his brothers, deeply entrenched in the assembly directions, before sighing. “She’s pregnant again,” he whispered.

A bright smile crossed her face. “What? Oh my god, congratulations!” She reached out and wrapped her arms as best she could around his shoulders.

“Thanks…” he sighed.

“Do you…did you not want another baby?” she asked, confused at his dismal attitude. Frankie had been the one to talk Pope off the cliff, telling him how great fatherhood could be. And it was clear through his interactions with Mateo that he was an amazing father. He was one of those dads who flourished under the responsibilities of parenthood, who saw taking care of their child as a joy and a privilege, not as a job or as babysitting. If there was one thing Rebecca knew for sure, it was that Francisco Morales was a family man through and through, so she was a little surprised at the dread in her friend’s eyes. She had expected Frankie to be more…enthusiastic about having a second baby.

“Of course, I do, Bex, I just…” Frankie groaned, doffing his cap for a moment to run a stressed hand through his hair before redonning it. “I’m making jack shit right now at work, and Mateo is almost three, and the pregnancy was so rough on Charlie last time…I just…I can’t let my family down.”

Charlie shuffled herself closer and wrapped her arm around Frankie, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. “You won’t…” she murmured softly. “Yeah, this kid was unexpected but you and I both know your wife. She wouldn’t be having a second kid if she didn’t want one. Plus, you both know what to expect now. Hopefully she’ll have an easier time this go around, but you also know the signs and what kinds of questions to ask. And yeah, Mateo is young, but that’s okay. You guys can start teaching him responsibility early and, if they both end up being too much, call Benny to take Mateo.” Frankie cocked his eyebrow and Bex laughed. “Well, I was gonna say call Santi, but we’re gonna be a little busy ourselves. Benny’s energy can match a three-year-old easily though.” Frankie chuckled and wrapped his arm around his best friend’s girl. “As for money,” Bex shrugged. “I know Santi could use some help managing the security firm. He wanted you to partner with him anyway, and he’s still holding out hope that you’ll join him, so why not?”

Frankie nodded slowly. “I could help him out a couple of days a week and still teach flying lessons. Yeah, that could work. I’ll talk with him and see what he says.”

Bex chuckled as she shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not gonna be much of a conversation, Frankie, trust me. He’s been hoping you’ll take him up on his offer. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s missed working with you.”

Frankie smiled softly as he watched Pope grab Benny in a headlock while Will shook his head slowly. “Yeah, I missed him too.”

Bex shifted again and Frankie stood, gently helping her stand, recognizing the signs immediately. The two watched the MMA fighter and the security firm director wrestle on the floor for a minute before Will was able to separate them.

Bex turned to Frankie and smiled. “If you really missed him, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything for you, kid,” he smiled back at her.

“Stop fucking around and help them build the damn furniture please. I know you put together all of Mateo’s furniture on your own, so please, put them out of their misery.”

Frankie’s loud bark of laughter startled everyone. He wrapped his arm around Bex and gave her a quick squeeze. “Sure thing, kid. Hey, idiotas! Let’s get moving. We want this stuff ready before the baby’s first birthday, okay?”

***

Pope sighed contentedly as the golden rays of the setting sun illuminated the dust particles dancing in the air. These moments were quickly turning into his favourite nightly ritual.

The radio droned lowly as he sat in bed, dressed in a pair of shorts, with Bex sitting reclined against his chest. He had just finished applying coco butter to her skin, and now his hands were resting gently on her belly, waiting for their kid to make their presence known.

Bex took a deep breath, allowing the air to escape through her lips as she cuddled further down into bed, resting her head just above her boyfriend’s heart. She loved these moments too, when it was just the two of them. No museum breathing down her neck, no art classes to teach, no security emergencies calling him away from her. Just the two of them, bonding with the baby that was nestled safely within her.

Sometimes, Santiago would talk to the baby when they sat like this. He’d tell stories about his childhood, about their relationship, about the kid’s future aunts and uncles. Sometimes, he would play classical music on his phone and direct the speaker towards her belly. Sometimes, he would talk to her, sharing his thoughts and fears, tell her about the things that he wanted to do with their kid when they were old enough. Most of the time, he would just hold her in silence and wait for the kid to kick or roll inside of her so he could feel it.

“The nursery looks really nice, babe,” she mumbled drowsily, wincing slightly as her skin bulged out against Pope’s palm, the outline of a tiny foot appearing for a brief second.

“That’s all you, sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he soothed his hands up and down her swollen stomach. “The Hundred Acre Woods theme is stunning.”

Originally, Rebecca had wanted a jungle theme for the nursery, but Pope had borderline begged her to do something else, literally anything else, that wouldn’t remind him of crouching in the Colombian jungles next to Tom the day before everything went to shit. So, he hadn’t complained when she announced that she was going to Disney-fy the kid’s room with a mural of the Hundred Acre Woods and all of Christopher Robin’s friends.

“I made it pretty, you made it functional,” she yawned, shifting slightly to lie on her side, her left arm wrapping around his side as she nuzzled into his chest.

Pope snorted. “Yeah, once you convinced Frankie to stop being a prick.”

Under Frankie’s direction, all of the furniture was put together in less than an hour. The solid oak crib, dresser/changing table, shelving unit and rocking chair pulled the room together nicely, and the white bassinet sat in the corner of their bedroom, waiting to be put to use.

Rebecca smiled sleepily. “Not my fault you three didn’t notice that the one dad in the group was sitting around twiddling his thumbs.”

Pope grinned down at her. “We make a pretty good team, huh baby?”

She lifted her droopy eyes to him for a moment and smiled brightly at him. “Forever and always, my love.” She ran a gentle hand over her belly and sighed happily. “You’re stuck with me now.”

It suddenly struck Santiago how badly he wanted that to be true. What wouldn’t he give to wake up next to this beautiful woman every day? To be allowed to love her and spend as much time in her presence as possible? To raise their child together and be a family? To grow old with her by his side?

He ghosted his hand down her side and gently picked up her left hand, running his thumb over the knuckle of her ring finger as she drifted off to sleep.

“Not yet I’m not, mi amor,” he whispered. “But I want to be. If you’ll have me.”

He gently shifted them down the mattress, curling up behind her and resting his hands lovingly on her belly as he settled in to sleep, taking comfort in the knowledge that everyone he loved was safe in his arms that night.

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha

[aalissy]

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Day 19 of Ladrien June is doneee!! I hope you like it!! I had a lot of fun playing around with this chapter <3. Especially bc I loveeee social media fics!! Lemme know what you think :D

AO3

Marinette had three twitter accounts. Her public one, which she used to talk to her friends and show off her latest designs. Her superheroine one, which she used to discuss the latest akuma attacks and warn the citizens of Paris. And her private account, which she used to blather on and on about Adrien. 

This was why it felt completely natural to squeal about her crush’s latest photoshoot pictures. They were gorgeous and on her wall the second Marinette got her hands on them. So, just like she usually did, she posted a new status update. After all, Alya was the only one with access to the account.

However, instead of seeing her Adrien icon after it finished posting, she saw a different icon altogether. It was herself. But not her Marinette self, it was her Ladybug self. 

Ladybug: How is it that Adrien Agreste gets better and better looking with each photoshoot he does??!!! 😍😍

Stifling a startled shriek, she immediately pressed the delete button. Burying her flaming face in her knees she let out a choked wail. How could this have happened?! Tikki was going to murder her. She was so doomed!

With a quiet gulp, Marinette lifted her head up from her knees, cautiously reaching for her phone. Steeling her courage, she refreshed her account, preparing herself for the influx of notifications she was sure were coming. She let out a quiet sigh of relief when she saw nothing but comments on her latest post. Could she really be that lucky? Was it really possible that no one saw the post?! Her hands shaking with nerves, she refreshed once again. With a happy cheer, she noticed that none of the latest comments mentioned anything about Adrien. She was safe!

Plugging her phone into the charger, Marinette laid her head on her pillow, ready to sleep and take a small break from Twitter. Just as she was about to drift off into a comfortable sleep, her phone dinged. Blinking her eyes blearily, she reached for the device, wondering if Alya was messaging her about the latest photoshoot.

With a small yawn, she slid open the notification without even looking at it, barely able to keep her eyes open. Ready to type out that yes, she did see the photoshoot and was just about to fall asleep and would talk to her tomorrow, her eyes slid up to the top of her phone. Huh, that’s odd. She was on her Twitter direct messages. Alya usually texted. Marinette’s brow furrowed slightly and her eyes slid down to the name of the person messaging her. Her mouth fell open as she read it.

Adrien Agreste: Hey Ladybug, I’m really glad you liked the new photoshoot 😊! 

She let out a loud, high-pitched squeal, throwing her phone onto the opposite end of her bed. Any tiredness she felt before completely disappeared as she gnawed harshly on her lip. What was she going to do?! Why was it that Adrien was the only one who saw the message?! Tugging harshly on her pigtails, she looked down at her kwami who was, luckily, still sleeping soundly. 

Feeling nauseous, Marinette slowly leaned forward to grab her phone, hoping that she just dreamed his message. As she reached for it, the device buzzed with another new reply. With a muffled curse, she quickly yanked it to her face, eyes scanning the latest message.

Adrien: Unless it wasn’t you who posted that!! Or you never posted it in the first place and I’m just going crazy haha!

Adrien: You know what, just ignore me and these messages! I don’t know what I’m talking about!!

With a quiet whimper, Marinette nibbled on the corner of her lip. From what she could see, she had two options. She could ignore Adrien and pretend nothing ever happened, losing out on the chance to talk to her crush. Or... or, she could message him back with the truth. Sucking in a harsh breath, she decided what to do. She typed out her reply slowly and carefully, aware that she could screw this up entirely.

Ladybug: So... you saw the post then?

Adrien: Oh, you are still online!

Adrien: And yeah, yeah I did... was I not supposed too?

Clenching her eyes shut, she shook her head forcefully. What was she going to do now?! This was a terrible idea!! She should stop replying now and save herself from future embarrassment. Ready to put her phone away, another message came from her crush.

Adrien: I mean... I only saw it because I have your notifications on haha. 

Adrien: Sorry.

With a quiet frown, Marinette couldn’t stop herself from typing back to him.

Ladybug: Sorry?! Why are you sorry?! I’m the one who posted the message!! You have nothing to be sorry for, Adrien. I should be the one apologizing.

Adrien: Oh no, you don’t have too!! I thought it was really sweet 😊

A million butterflies swarmed in her stomach as the reality of the situation hit her. She was messaging Adrien, her crush, in the middle of the night, all because she posted on the wrong account. A maniacal giggle escaped her before she could stop it. A bright smile on her face, she typed to him once again.

Ladybug: I’m glad you thought it was sweet. I honestly didn’t mean to post it.

Adrien: Are you saying you have a secret fan account dedicated to me, Ladybug 😉 ? 

Abort! Abort! Marinette screamed in her head, scrambling to delete her private account.

Adrien: Haha just kidding!!

She blew out a relieved breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Running a hand down her face, Marinette decided that it was time to end the conversation before she had a literal heart attack.

Ladybug: Wow, that’d be pretty weird huh?

Adrien: Yeah, it would be. It’d probably be weirder if I had an account dedicated to you, though 🤪.

She blinked down at her phone screen. Was Adrien implying...? No, no! She didn’t have time for this! It was time to go to sleep! Shaking her head forcefully, Marinette quickly typed him back.

Ladybug: Well, it was lovely chatting with you, Adrien but I need to get some sleep soon. You never know when Hawkmoth is going to send another akuma, after all 🐞.  

Adrien: You’re right! Sweet dreams, Ladybug.

Ladybug: Goodnight!

Adrien: Do you think we could chat tomorrow too?

Marinette choked on nothing, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Blinking down at the message she waited for it to change. It didn’t. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth as she shot Tikki another look, she did something she was sure to regret later.

Ladybug: Sure!

With bright, flushed cheeks, she quickly turned her phone facedown away from her, burying her flaming face in her pillow. Ignoring the light buzz, she slowly forced herself to sleep, trying hard not to think about how amazing tomorrow was going to be.

[kariachi]

Am I completely happy with the end of this? Not really. But It’s been like six hours and 2500 words and damnit this is what y’all are getting.

Some almost-OV-compliant royal Kev fic!

~~

“Tell me I’m not set to inherit anything.”

“Well that all depends on you,” the Speaker said. “As a member of the Imperial clan you are, by default, in the running for any major clan position, including that of Imperial Heir.” Even with his face buried in his arms, Kevin’s groan was audible. Argit rubbed his back and muttered something in his ear in Erinaen that had him groaning all the louder.

“What if I don’t want to inherit anything,” he asked. Gracidea shrugged.

“You’ll have to take that up with the relevant members of the clan. I’m just Voice of the Clan.”

“Then shouldn’t you-” Argit began, only to be interrupted.

“I haven’t been given authority to speak for anyone on this matter.”

“Of course not, we couldn’t be so lucky.”

~~

Things had gotten, rough, after the Rooters incident. Finding out your recently dead mother had never actually been your mother at all. Remembering your actual, not-so-recently-deceased mother. Learning your stepfather was a fake. Remembering your actual stepfather, who’d never been sober enough to be scared of you. Learning your relationship was started on a lie. Having that relationship strain as the traits that had been forced on you to facilitate it crumbled away. Finding out the man you’d been made to think was your father had never existed, remembering you at no point had any idea who your actual father was. The sudden influx of a load of forcibly-repressed trauma. These were all things that made life difficult for a young man who with every passing day really just wanted to buy some land in bumfuck-nowhere Chenango County and become a hermit raising sheep in the spaces he couldn’t restore to pre-colonial standard and occasionally throwing a new patent out into the galaxy.

There wasn’t much besides trauma Kevin’d gotten out of the situation. A few tentative friends? Siblings? Things did not stop being awkward there so… He’d gotten the Tennysons and some security out of the situation, which he supposed was a good thing. He didn’t count Argit on the list though, the longer they knew each other the more certain they each became that they would’ve found each other eventually. Nor did he count learning his species, unlike the Tennysons, because that he learned from Kwarrel.

His best father.

His only father.

No matter what anybody else said.

Gwen had been the one to spearhead the ‘find Kevin’s father’ campaign. She meant well, and it wasn’t as if her logic wasn’t sound- the Empire kept track of it’s citizens so in theory it shouldn’t have been too hard to find out who was on Earth and where at the appropriate time as log as they asked nicely. Very nicely. Exceedingly nicely. (In the end Kevin had had to ask, complete with a chunk of the story, because no Osmosian was going to give that sort’ve information to some random Plumberbrat.) In the end all Gwen wanted was for Kevin to have some loving, living family in his life. All Kevin wanted was for this to not turn out to be a shitshow.

At least one of them was getting what they wanted.

Kevin would’ve appreciated it being him for once.

They’d all been expecting- hoping, in Kevin’s case- to find something fairly mellow. Just some random shmuck passing through, who Kevin would be perfectly happy to have not want anything to do with him. (And where had that come from, when all his childhood he’d wanted to meet his actual father and have him at least give half a rat’s ass?

Oh. Yeah. Trauma.)

At best they’d thought they’d get a merchant, or maybe his father really was a Plumber at least. But no. Kevin didn’t get that lucky. What Kevin got was another Osmosian showing up at his door (the door for the house he’d bought his not-mother, the one he was thinking of giving to the other Amalgams), a Speaker for his father’s clan.

A Speaker for the Imperial clan.

Ben was never going to let him live this down.

If he didn’t just run away and buy that acreage tonight.

So he’d called up Argit, because like fuck he was getting any the Tennysons involved while he was off-kilter, and Argit had come out and the three of them started talking and-

And Kevin wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it.

Because apparently his father was a prince. And just because that title didn’t technically extend to him (“I mean, Mother’s sire is a territory holder, but that’s a separate clan, there’s nobody you could have inherited the title from.” “Wait, if it has to be through his ma, then he’s not part of your clan either.” “We’ll get to that.”) didn’t mean he wasn’t already feeling it weighing on his already well-worn shoulders. Because really, like couldn’t go his way just once without a fight-

~~

“Okay, so, let me get this straight.” Argit leaned back in his seat, surprisingly little of his food eaten given Kevin felt like spending the next week stress-baking, and fixed Speaker Gracidea (his Aunt Gracidea) with a look that had once left Vulcanus fidgeting like a misbehaving third grader. She hardly even blinked. “Osmosians are part of their ma’s clan, which means Kevin can’t be part of the Imperial clan. But, he’s still in line for this shit.”

“Yes.”

“Because…?” Gracidea smirked, and Kevin could just make out Argit muttering about it ‘looking familiar’.

“As an adult member of the Imperial clan I’m allowed to adopt new members into the clan as long as I have the approval of the Clanhead. Approval I happen to have.” She turned to Kevin, expression softening. “Vaca would’ve come out and done it himself, but it was decided having a higher level of authority involved would be for the best.”

“Understandable,” Kevin about managed to squeak out, even if it really wasn’t. Gracidea nudged his plate closer to him and continued.

“It wasn’t as if it was a hard decision, mind. You’re an underage orphan of Imperial blood, we weren’t about to just abandon you now that we know you’re here.” He kind’ve wished they would’ve. Just how interesting of a life was he going to get before this curse was satisfied? “Besides, even if you weren’t blood, some… research has been done and Astel intends to make some examples of people.” Argit’s mane rose in interest, ears somehow twitching even further forwards.

“Examples of who,” he asked with the heavily veiled excitement of someone who was trying to maintain authority but also really wanted some people made examples of.

“Starting with the Magistrata and working her way down.” Turning to Kevin, Argit flashed a grin.

“I think I like these people.”

“You just like the idea that I might end up on a throne,” Kevin replied, swatting him on the arm.

“Well yeah, but along with that, I think I like these people.”

Again, Kevin dropped his head on his arms and groaned. Louder and longer this time.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Gracidea said, “we have plenty of cousins eligible for the same positions you are. Unless you make yourself standout as someone prime for the position it’s unlikely you’ll end up head of the clan, nonetheless Emperor.”

“Does it have to be an option at all?”

“Like I said, talk to Chern and Astel about it.” More groaning. “Is he always like this?”

“He’s had a very long… life, really. I think he’s expecting this to be another thing that blows up or crumbles in his face.”

“Huh. Any advice on making him not feel that way?”

“Talking like I’m here might help.”

“Not really. I mean the problem is that he’s normally right. Sometimes he’s not, but even then he generally ends up with somebody rubbing his nose in it so in the end he still turns out right.”

“Poor thing.” Curling up and dying was starting to sound more and more appealing.

“How am I supposed to tell the Tennysons about this?!”

“Don’t,” Argit said, scoffing. “Not their business, let ‘em find out with the rest of the galaxy when the Emperor apparently makes heads roll.” Gracidea chuckled.

“Oh it won’t be anything so easy.”

“Can we focus on my struggles for a moment please?!” Argit reached out to pat his shoulder.

“Look, there’s no hurry. I’m sure the Emperor’ll hold off on shit long enough for you to at least get comfortable with the whole situation-”

“She will. You’re clan, and the problem people aren’t going anywhere soon.”

“-so just, take you time. Get used to shit.” Grumbling, Kevin leaned into his touch.

“I’m running away. Gonna be a hermit in the New York wilderness.” Gracidea raised an eyebrow, but Argit just chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a couple hours to pack, leave a note letting Helen know how much the rent is on this place.”

“You will charge rent over my dead body.”

“It can be arranged.”

“You wouldn’t, then you’d have to ward me again when you brought me back.” Across the table, Gracidea’s expression was getting more and more fond.

“Kev, buddy, at this point I just count warding supplies as the baseline cost of knowing you.”

“I do not die that often.”

“Three times.” That got the Speaker’s attention.

“How many times?!”

“It’s not that many.”

“Yes, it is Kev. That is an excessive amount of deaths.”

“Agreed!” With a final groan, this one finally with an aggravated air instead of a ‘please kill me now’ one, Kevin shoved away from the table and stood. The other two stayed where they were, Gracidea gaping at him and Argit rolling his eyes.

“Look, you two wanna discuss that, go ahead, I’m gonna be in the kitchen, making dinner or something.”

~~

The problem was that Kevin was perfectly okay being a nobody. As a child he’d wanted attention, all the attention, any attention, but he’d grown up since then. He’d seen what having attention got him. How many times had he been kidnapped and/or enslaved now? And that was just as a result of his powers and being close to the Tennysons. How bad would things get for him if his being cousin to the Emperor of the Osmosian Empire got out? He was going to never know peace. And then add onto that the possibility of being chosen as Imperial Heir (was it likely? in a just world, no. in the world he lived in? practically guaranteed) This was his life, an ongoing disaster that sometimes tried to disguise itself as good things.

He didn’t want any part of it.

Oh there was a whole lot out there about how awesome loving families were, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Best case scenario, he ended up in charge on an Empire which he would probably ruin. Worst case scenario, everyone died. Most likely scenario, this whole thing fell apart around him, leaving him right back at square one but with even more trauma.

He had to stop listening to the Tennysons, really he did. They meant well, but they didn’t get it. Good things happened to them. Actual good things. Any good thing that happened to him was a trap. Which was why they couldn’t find out about this, because if they did not only would Ben never let him live it down, but Gwen would insist he go along with it. For his own good, she’d poke and prod and bulldoze right over him until he played along with a situation that was only going to end with him punching a wall.

It already felt like a five-puncher.

~~

“Kevin?” He was scrolling through his phone when Gracidea walked into the kitchen, going through property listings as he waited for dough to rise and sauce to meld. And now considering if throwing himself out the front window would be rude.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” She leaned against the opposite counter, giving him plenty of space. “I know having this dropped on you is probably rather…”

“Overwhelming? Disconcerting? A blow to the gut for somebody whose opinion on authority is generally ‘fuck off’?” He flashed her a half-hearted smile. “Tell me when I’ve got it.”

“That, all sounds about right,” she said, then sighed. “Nobody intends to force you into anything, you know. Not even having anything to do with us.” Clearly she had never met a Tennyson in her life. “Yes, it would give us more ammunition to tear down those who’ve denied you your rights and your justice, but even if you refuse to become part of the clan we’ll still pursue them, if just to prevent mistreatment of further chicks.” Scraping his teeth over his lips, Kevin sighed and put down his phone.

“Mike Morningstar.” Gracidea chirped questioningly. “He’s another Ossy hybrid, don’t know anything about his clan or if he even has one but, it’s not near as much as me-” thank fuck, he wouldn’t wish that shit on anyone “-but he’s been through some shit. Ya know, if you need more names to throw around.”

“We didn’t really but,” her eyes were narrowed as she spoke, “it certainly won’t hurt. I’ll have the matter looked into.” Kevin nodded and the room lapsed into silence as she looked him over. “You know, you might make a decent clanhead.” He actively kept himself from tensing. “Even if you don’t accept an adoption, at this rate within a few years you’ll have made enough of a name for yourself to start a clan of your own.”

“Yeah,” Kevin replied with an awkward chuckle, “that’s not the best idea. Not exactly the most stable person, in case that didn’t come up in your ‘research’.” Gracidea just shrugged.

“You get it from my mother, and she’s made a great leader.” She smiled at him. “I admit, I don’t know you well, yet, but from what I’ve seen there’s some potential there. I’d rather it be added to the clan, I’d rather you be added to the clan, but it’ll come out somewhere regardless.” He bit his cheek, checking the sauce for something to distract himself. “We’d love to have you, Kevin, but your comfort is more important. Just, consider it. Please.”

Kevin glanced at her. Easily as tall as Aggregor had been, if not more so, though maybe it was the antlers giving that illusion. Dark hair, dark scutes, and those same blue eyes that had come to Eric seemingly out of nowhere. Smiling at him, the asshole.

“I’ll… think about it,” he said, and her smile widened the slightest bit.

“It’s all I ask, nibling-mine.”

~~

There was a good hundred acres of land available right where he wanted it for only a few hundred thousand.

Kevin put flying back out east on his schedule.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

My routine for getting in the character's head.

I’ve been asked about this a lot over the years, more so recently with the influx of new readers from Let The Flames Begin.

Now you guys can take this with a grain of salt. I’m not saying this is the RIGHT way to do it, or that its the ONLY way to do it. I’m saying this is MY way of doing it.

The biggest compliment of my writing and the one I get the most is how well I write characters from the show, keeping them true to themselves. This is a huge fucking deal for me because I put a lot of effort into doing this, so the fact people notice makes me all happy inside.

I like to think it's one of my strengths in writing. I know my strengths and my weaknesses, and there's nothing wrong with knowing what you're good at, before people start telling me I’m being arrogant loooool.

When actors are playing a role, they all have their own little things they do to get into character before they start filming. I do the same kind of thing to try and get in the right mindset. I do it before writing each chapter to try and get the best feeling for the story. I’ve been asked so many times how I do it, so I figured I’d just make it into a post for anyone that might be curious or wants to find a new method of doing this shit.

Actors

As mentioned above, actors have their own shit they do. It's worth googling the actor that plays the person you’re writing about. See if they have spoken about what they do to get into character right from the source. 

This shit can be really helpful for you. You’re finding out from the person that plays them just what goes through their mind when they do it themselves.

With me writing for Daryl, Norman has mentioned how he listens to a lot of Motorhead to get into character. This has been helpful for me but I won't go into detail yet, I talk about music further down the list.

The point is, if your actor has spoken about this, either in interviews or panels at a Con, it’s worth slurping up that knowledge greedily. Maybe it’ll work for you, maybe it won't. You won’t know unless you try it.

YouTube clips and shows/movies

I watch a lot of clips on YouTube before each chapter. I find YouTube better than watching the show or movie I’m writing about, because it's quicker to find what you might be looking for. You can just search for a certain season or scene, or even the character with a specific emotion. I don't have time to go through the show and focus on all the other characters that might not be relevant for that chapter. 

But whichever you choose to do, I’ll tell you what I look for.

Now I write for Daryl, and his voice has changed a lot throughout the seasons. I mentioned before about it, how at first it sounds like Norman’s real voice with a southern twang smacked on top, and now it's deeper and more gritty. 

It doesn't matter who you're writing for really. Maybe their voice changes, maybe it doesn't, but it's still helpful to watch the clips that are most relevant to you.

I will search for whatever season Daryl I’m writing for to get it just right, so I can hear him crystal clear in my head.

I want to hear his accent, the cadence of his speech. I want to hear how he says certain things, the tone he uses, certain phrases he might use a lot. I want to get his speech down so that no matter what I make him say in my fic, I can make it sound like he actually said it. I need to be able to hear it clearly in my head in that voice of his.

You might not think this kind of shit is important, but to me it is. And as I said, this post is me saying the shit that I do. Hearing him in my head perfectly and being able to translate that to my writing is one of the most important parts of getting him true to character. 

There’s been times when I haven't watched the clips, times when I thought I had his voice down already. But then something seemed off. So I watch a clip and I realise I’m just a bit off. But then I can fix it. 

Am I being a bit anal here? Yeah, probably. But I pride myself on trying to capture the essence of the character, and this is the effort I put into doing so. I especially put more effort into his speech since I’m from the UK, so some of the stuff doesn't just naturally come to me.

I look at his mannerisms. What things do your characters do when they’re happy? Upset? Angry? Anxious? All of these little details make a huge difference because it makes your readers see it in their mind. And if it's something they’ve seen them do before on the show or movie, it rings true in their mind. They don't have to try and imagine something that never happened, because if the character acts that way, then it's already in their memory for them to draw from.

Being able to see how they react to certain things, see what they like and don't like. It really helps you keep things as in character as possible. For it to line up with the character your readers know from the show.

If you’re writing about the character, then you obviously know and like them. But observing them like this steps it up a notch, to really get right in there. Make notes if you need to. Watch it for the sole purpose of observing them and what makes them who they are.

Headcanons

Headcanons are fucking wonderful things. I love headcanons. I love thinking about shit, I love talking to people about my headcanons. Gimme all the headcanons.

Now with these being headcanons, I will politely remind everyone that headcanons aren't gospel, they’re someone's thoughts. So don't be telling people their headcanons are wrong. That's just plain rude so don't act like a dick, yeah?

We’re humans and we’re entitled to our own opinions. We don't always agree on things and that's fine. But your own headcanons, whether you talk about them or not, can be really helpful in defining your character and getting to ‘know’ them on a personal level for your fic.

Headcanons really help me think of things that could alter the story, little things I could add that just make things more interesting or sound like I really put the effort and time in to think about it.

I think about their past, things that aren't seen in the show or movies. Certain memories, maybe moments that changed them a bit that might play into the fic at some point. 

I think about their relationships with certain people and how it affects them.

I think about even small shit like their fave colour or what they like to eat.

When we make an OC, generally people think about all this shit. Some people even make character sheets and go all out.

Just because we're writing a character that is already there, doesn't mean we can’t try and get to know more about them than what's available out there. And it doesn't mean we can't use headcanons to bridge that gap between canon and what we don't know.

Headcanons are really useful tools for this shit, but like I said, not everyone will agree with them. I just ask everyone to be respectful when reading a fic if someone mentions a headcanon you might not agree with. We’re all entitled to our opinion.

This falls under YouTube and headcanons, but I love watching clips and dissecting them. Most of you guys have probably seen my post about the scene where Daryl finds Merle as a walker. I watched that clip and analyzed the shit out of it. I put myself in Daryl's shoes about everything he went through in that moment. 

I do this a lot. I’m like a fictional character psychologist loooool But trying to think about why they act a certain way or why they react to things can be useful for you to use in later situations.

Music

Now music is a huge part of my life anyway. Listening to music has been a massive part of my life since the fucking portable CD walkman things way back when. Anyone else remember when the fuckers use to skip if it wasn't flat? Loooool

Anyway, this one might not work for you if you don't like music. But if you don't like music, I’d like to argue you aren't a fucking human honestly.

Try to think about your character and what music they like. Maybe they mention it in the show or movie so you already know what they listen to, maybe you don't know. But what can YOU see them listening to? What goes with their character? 

This falls into headcanon territory if they don't make it known in canon, because you might think they like something others don't and it's your thoughts, and that's fucking fine.

Don't just think about songs you think the character would listen to. Think about songs that remind you of that person. It might not be something they would listen to personally, but something that when you listen to it, you think of them. Maybe the lyrics really remind you of that person or something they went through. Anything that screams that character when it hits your ears, it’s worth listening to before you write.

I have a playlist for Daryl that I was thinking about posting, not that anyone wants to know loool. It’s a mix of songs I think he would listen to himself and songs that just remind me of him when I listen to them.

Another helpful thing to do is listen to music that fits the feel of that particular chapter. If I’m writing a sad chapter, I listen to sad music. An angsty chapter, bang on some fucking Beartooth or Bring me the Horizon and I’m gold loooool

The point is, music affects me deeply. And I mean deeply. I cry at songs, I get mad when I listen to angry songs that make me think of shit. If you're like me, this can be so fucking useful to really get you in the right frame of mind. 

I love to really convey emotion in my writing and I’d like to think I achieve that. I’ve had a lot of people say I do and some even say I’ve moved them to tears a time or two. Music is what helped me with this. When I’m feeling all those feels, it just pours out of me better. Sometimes music can be the little nudge you need to get you in the right emotion to write that certain chapter, or to really get a feel of the character.

Writing someone in character is all personal choice. Some people choose not to. Personally, for me, I love it. 

It’s that saying of ‘write what you read’. I love reading characters that are really in character, it brings the fic to life for me. I can't sit and read a fic where its Daryls face and name but he acts nothing like himself. That's just my personal preference.

AU is different, sometimes it calls for the character to be out of character, but some things may stay the same. Like how they talk, some mannerisms and stuff.

You guys can do with this info what you will. I get asked quite a bit so figured instead of typing this all up multiple times I could just smush it into a post and refer people to if they wanted.

Maybe you don't agree with me, maybe you don't care or maybe you already know all this. I’m writing it for the people who have asked, the people who may ask in the future and for anyone that might be curious.

I’m not a professional, don't claim to be. Nor do I claim to be a wonderful writer. 

The whole point of these fanfic Fridays is to kind of help anyone out in any way I can. Going off my own personal experience and anything I might be able to offer.

If this is helpful to even just one person, then my work here is done.