#jokes aside i did have a lotta fun with this even if it EXTREMELY got away from me

[espurr-roba]

"They said I couldn't play baseball..."

Original audio from: My Chance - Game Changer's Mountport

[elexica]

Wasted

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671706

Summary: Kaiba gets drunk at Mokuba's fraternity initiation party and does the cute orientation leader's calculus homework. He's bad at flirting, but he's good at math.

Rating: Teen for Drinking

Pairing: Kaiba/Joey; Puppyshipping/Violetshipping Word Count:1568

(exactly what the summary says; read under the cut!)

“You are the glass half empty, sippin my ocean dry , emotionally spin me so that our planets cannot align, but I guess I can stand you one more night. . . I like us better when we’re wasted.”

– “Wasted,” by Tiesto.

“An’ over here is the cafeteria!  It’s all you can eat while ya live in the dorms!”  Joey smiled brightly as he waved an arm towards the cafeteria dorm.  “But if yer not in the dorms, you gotta pay.” He shook his head in exaggerated sadness.  “Unless you can get some Frosh to swipe ya in!”

Seto nodded serenely.  They continued to walk around campus, heading back to the student union.  Joey was the best orientation leader on campus—known for making everyone feel welcome and comfortable.  This was why they were always giving him the most difficult transfer students, he was sure.  He was also the only transfer student who worked for the orientation office as part of his financial aid work-study plan.

“So uh… yer clearly a little older than the freshies here… are you a transfer student or something?”  Joey rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  “Not that I’m judging or anythin’! I’m a transfer student too! Saves a lotta money and you get the same degree anyway!”

Seto did not look at Joey, as if he was wholly preoccupied by observing the various bicyclists streaming past them.

“It was time for my brother to start as a freshman, and I determined that I might as well secure a diploma simultaneously.”

Joey laughed, not because Seto had said anything funny, but because he was trying to lighten the mood.  His partner didn’t offer anything else, and it was painfully awkward.  Joey looked down at the information the admissions office had given him.

“So ehhh, looks like you’re a computer science student.” Joey offered.

“That’s correct.” Seto said.

“Which means…  you any good at calculus?”

“I am excellent.”  Seto rolled his eyes.

“So uh, if you got the time… you think you could help me?  It’s a pre-req for a biology class I gotta take for my Child Development minor and…”

“A minor in Child Development? Are you studying to be a teacher?”  Seto’s voice was harsh with derision.

“Close—social worker!” Joey beamed a little extra.

Seto rolled his eyes, his ice finally freezing any further pleasantries.

. . .

Seto Kaiba hated Fireball whiskey.  He was a man of taste, and had no problem sipping quality whiskey with the best of them.  But four shots of fireball in at his brother’s initiation Frat Party left him entirely nauseated.

Cinnamon-tinted bile worked its way up his throat as he balanced against the sticky wall of the party.  Portraits of the last 50 Fraternity Presidents glared at him, and he had half a mind to projectile vomit on them.

The world was spinning, but if he put down the red solo cup of what Mokuba had affectionately called “Jungle Juice” he would be forced to interact with another living soul in the building, so he choked down the fireball with some of the alcoholic fruit punch.

That was a mistake.  If the world had been slightly off-balance before, the combined effect was really hitting, and the whole world was clearly spinning.  He didn’t dare dislodge himself from his spot on the wall.

“Kaiba?”  Joey approached.  Kaiba wanted to bite out some witty line about the profit margin on social work, but he didn’t totally trust himself to open his mouth.  “You ok?”

With a thick swallow, Kaiba looked over and bit out, “Fine.  How do you remember me from…”

“Yeah uh, I don’t give a lotta tours to CEO-billionaire transfer students, ya stuck out.”  Joey leaned in, clearly concerned.  “You don’t look so hot, you wanna sit down?  Have some water?”

Kaiba stepped away from the wall to get out of the situation, and maybe start walking back to his apartment.  Within two steps he stumbled.  His spatial reasoning was totally shot.

And so was all his good sense, melting into the strong arms that caught him.

“Yeah, let’s get ya some water, alright?  Man, you do not look like yer having a good time.”

“Still want me to tutor you in calculus?” Seto managed to say, leaning embarrassingly into his counterpart’s chest.

“Honestly, if you still understand it, in yer condition, then yeah, that’d be great.”

“Ha! It would be easy.”

“Look, I’m gay, okay, I can’t do math!” Joey laughed at his own joke.

“Pathetic! I am also gay, and I am the best at math.” Seto slurred, but sounded devastatingly serious.  Joey leaned the belligerent drunk into a chair in the dining room of the frat house.  “You don’t believe me?”

Joey raised his hands defensively, “I believe you!”

“No, you don’t.  I’ll prove it.  Bring me your homework.”

Joey wandered away.  At some point, he must have told his fraternity bros that Kaiba was going to do his calculus homework drunk, because Mokuba and a group came over.

Mokuba was wearing a Delta Mu shirt from their charity event last week—some sort of poker night—and his hair was even wilder than normal.  “Seto! This is so like you.  Did you really have to steal the spotlight at my initiation party?”

Seto looked up from a solo cup of water that Joey must have left behind.  “I am not here for any spotlight.  I’m going to prove a point.”

And with that, Joey reappeared with his old laptop wide open.  “The worksheet is open.  The software calculates your grade immediately after you press enter.”

“I know how the interface works, dumbass.”  Kaiba rolled his eyes and stretched his fingers in front of him.

“Ahh yer a mean drunk.  You might need a graphing calculator, by the way.”

“Then bring me a graphing calculator.”  Joey flipped him off, but left the room to get one.

The pledge-master, Tristan, stepped in.  “I dunno if this guy’s actually drunk, or just faking.”

“What incentive do I have to—”

“Moki-Moki, he’s your bro.  What do you think?  What would he never do if he was sober?” Tristan said.

“Talk about his feelings,” Mokuba said instantly, rolling his eyes and taking another sip to hide his smirk.

“Ok.  Well?”

Kaiba opened and shut his mouth a few times, before he announced, “I’m about to puke on this fool’s laptop.”

“Sounds like Seto.” Mokuba’s smirk blossomed into a smile at getting to make fun of his brother for once.

“FINE!”  The cold fire behind Seto’s eyes lit up.  “I am thissss close to making out with the hot blond dumb ass, but instead I’m going to do his homework.  Happy?”

“Moki?”

Mokuba’s smile vanished, and he wasn’t in any state to hide his shock.  “Checks out.  I’m … well I was… the only person who knew that Seto liked boys.”

Seto leaned into the computer.  “Great.  Bring me that graphing calculator and tequila shots for everyone.  I’m going to raise that guy’s grade 15%, and this is supposed to be a party.”

Joey reappeared with the calculator, and was shocked to see Seto actually making some headway on the problem set.  There were about fifteen problems.  Tristan put a neon plastic shot glass on the edge of the laptop, and without looking away from the screen, Seto slammed the shot.  If it burned his throat, he didn’t show it.

The gathered crowd looked at each other, holding matching neon shots awkwardly.  Tristan had clearly expected that Seto would have followed proper shots conduct and waited for the announcement.

Mokuba had years of experience with covering Seto’s faux pas.  “You saw the man! SHOTS!”  Everyone else downed them in tandom.

After a few minutes the group was chatting about other things and several of the brothers had entirely lost interest in watching Kaiba do calculus.  A smaller group of hold outs was extremely entertained, and Seto was going shockingly fast.

Within fifteen minutes the homework was complete.

“Done!” Seto shouted, pushing the graphic calculator across the table and was handed another tiny neon green shot glass, which he quickly downed.

Joey inspected the website.  It looked right enough.  “I dunno if I should submit this…” Joey waffled.

“Fool! Then we won’t know if I was right.” Seto looked unbearably offended.  

“But the academic honor code?”  Joey was actually nervous about this.

Seto leaned all the way back, and threaded his hands through his long hair.  “Screw the academic honor code.  I have money.”

“C’mon, don’t you wanna know if he’s the genius he’s supposed to be? Plus, no one else is going to know!” Tristan prodded.

Joey pressed enter.

The whole room paused while the site processed his answers.

“PERFECT SCORE!” Joey shouted, throwing his hands up!

The group had grown again and cheered, and Mokuba called for another round of celebratory shots, which served to drive the group back into the kitchen.

Joey and Seto were left alone.  Seto rested his head against the table and looked up at Joey.

“So… uh… ya wanna make out with me?” Joey blushed a little.

“I am literally going to puke, right now. Step aside.”  Seto shifted to get up.  He looked determined to make it to his feet, but it was not promising.

Joey leaned over to help.  “I can’t believe that you can do calculus, but ya can barely stand.  Yer ridiculous.”

“Still want me to tutor you?”

“So much.”

The end.

[rocket-remmy]

The Great Irish Bake-Off|| Deirdre and Remmy

March 7th. Baking, brains, and banshee friends. Happy Birthday.

March 7th. Remmy stared at the calendar. The little Google notification on their phone had gone off earlier that day and Remmy didn’t know how to turn it off, or change it. March 7th. Happy Birthday, Remmington! You’re 30 today! And a little smilie face with a party hat on next to it. March 7th. Calendar Reminder! Baking w/Deirdre! All day event. March 7th. Remmy tapped on the notification. Tapped on the trash can icon. Deleted it. March 7th. Just another day. Baking with Deirdre. That was all. 

They looked up, glancing around the kitchen. It was a Saturday, but Blanche was out of the house and there was almost a peaceful quietness about. Moose was sleeping on the floor next to Remmy’s feet as they scrolled through pictures online of cool cakes. The Great British Bake-Off was paused in another tab of Netflix. Remmy checked the clock, still a few more minutes. They wondered if Deirdre was the kind of person to show early. They bookmarked a few more ideas that looked fun before setting about pulling out all the ingredients they thought they might need. There was a roll of fondant at the store, but Remmy figured it was best to keep busy all day today, and thus had, instead, bought all the ingredients to make it by hand. Baking was easy for them. Step by step instructions with exact measuring. Easy. It was cathartic, relaxing. They wondered if they’d gotten that knack from their mom. It was always hard to know. It was even hard to know what traits they’d picked up from their father, seeing as the man was either drunk, passed out, or gone. Or yelling. 

When the knock finally came, Moose perked up, following Remmy out of the kitchen and into the foyer. They paused a moment, though. Deirdre was an enigma to Remmy. They liked her. She was nice to them. She told them about what they were and answered all their stupid questions. And she had this soft, almost missable way of showing her affection. It was probably why Morgan had fallen for her. Remmy didn’t want to scare Deirdre away, because they liked her, too. She was a good friend. Well...she was on her way to being a good friend. Opening the door, Remmy put on a smile. “You ca-- is that a stand mixer?”

Someone should have told Deirdre that stand mixers were heavier than they looked. Of course, she owned one, but she rarely picked the thing up and moved it around. Buying a new one, in a fun yellow color she thought Blanche might like too, and carrying to her car and then from her car to the front door, was more work than she anticipated. But this was work for someone she felt deserved, or needed it, or something. She wasn't one to question her whims when they arose. What did she do when she wasn't screaming and killing? Wasn't that up to her? "Yes, it's a stand mixer. Do you want to point out that I have hair too and am wearing clothes? Is this what we're doing? Pointing out observations? I see you have a nose, Remmy," she said plainly, holding the appliance tighter in her arms and gesturing to the bag dangling from her arm. "I also bought some supplies, those fancy things the real bakers use—or so I was told." She couldn't tell a sales pitch from genuine information when it came to things she didn't care about, and she had the money to not really care either way. "I—now, don't look at me like that. It's your birthday, and soiled as you think the day is, I think we can bake something like your moth—" she slammed her mouth shut, cutting the sentence off and narrowing her gaze on the zombie. "Did you think I just picked this day randomly? For watching a baking show?" She shifted again, adjusting the stand mixer's box again. "Can you move aside and let me in, please? I'm going to throw this at your face if I'm made to hold it for another second." 

“I just-- didn’t expect you to bring a whole stand mixer,” Remmy said, giving a little shrug. They stepped out of the doorway to let Deirdre in. “You talk a lot. Here, I’ll carry it,” Shifted to reach out and take the stand mixer from her, closing the door with their foot. They’d cleaned as much as possible yesterday, but it felt like the house was eternally a bit dusty. They supposed the ghostly roommates just liked it that way. “Um-- mind the snakes and tarantulas, please. They’re my roommate’s. I tried to put as many away as I could but sometimes they still get out. They’re all harmless though.” Moose padded along behind Remmy as they lead Deirdre through the foyer, past the old wooden grand staircase, and into the kitchen and breakfast nook. Set the mixer on the table next to all the other stuff they’d pulled out. “Deirdre, I know why you wanted to come over today. I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

“That--I don’t--you--I don’t talk a lot.” But Deirdre did, and she knew that. She handed the stand mixer off to Remmy and grumbled her way inside. “Luckily for your roommate, I enjoy snakes and tarantulas. Though dead preferably and--” Deirdre paused, looking up. “Did you...get a haircut?” She was aware, suddenly, that she was talking too much again but these words were important and she wanted to say them. “You look good,” and she smiled as she followed behind Moose, keeping a very respectable distance from the slobbering creature. “Oh, good then,” Deirdre pulled a knife out, with flourish, “I’m here to kill you and I’m so happy we’re on the same page about this.” She paused, expecting laughter as her smile grew from simply lopsided to cat-like. “No, I’m just joke--am I talking too much again?” The fae coughed and slid the knife away. “I, um--ahem. I only came over because I assumed you’d do something dumb like...not...cele--you know what? I don’t need this. I can leave.” 

“You kinda do,” Remmy commented, but didn’t push it further. Deirdre was kind of flighty, and they never knew if they were going to say something to offend her. They patted their head, forgetting that they had, in fact, gotten a cut. “Oh, um yeah, thanks. It was time.” Remmy started fishing the stuff out of the bag Deirdre had bought when she pulled out her knife. They couldn’t help but jump a little at first, before giving a chuckle and shaking their head. “You won’t kill me,” they said simply, “You like me.” Smiled gently as she started talking again. It was kinda nice, actually, to meet another person who could ramble and not realize it. Remmy was just looking back down at all the stuff when Deirdre slid the knife away and they felt their stomach do a little flip. “Please don’t leave!” they said, perhaps a little too quickly. “I mean...please stay?” They looked at all the stuff spread out. “I wanna bake a cake with you. Look--” turned the computer so Deirdre could see the cakes they’d been looking at, including one that looked like a human heart, and one that looked like a pile of bones. “I was looking up ideas.”

"I don't like you. Morgan likes you and I like Morgan." Deirdre explained simply, offering a huff before her eyes widened as her words occurred to her. "I don't—I don't like—" the Fae coughed, shaking her head and leaning over to look at the computer screen. She needed to spend more time with other Fae, the humans were starting to get to her. But for now, cake. She narrowed her gaze on the examples, "I appreciate the novelty of a cake that looks like a bone but I would also like to point out that you said you've never done this kind of a cake before and I don't intend on helping any more than flipping a switch up and down. Now, are we butting bones inside the cake because that seems far more exciting to me, and I always carry a bone." She looked over at Moose, communicating in a series of glares that he wasn't going to take it. Then she glanced back at the screen, "why don't we try to do the one that looks like a brain? So it's thematic in a tacky way just like birthdays are." Deirdre turned to Remmy, "what do you think? You can...make up your mind."

Remmy raised a brow, but dropped it for now. They didn’t need her to say it to know. And the little cough made them understand it all the more. Lydia had said fae can’t lie, and Blanche said something about it making them sick, so it only made sense. “I mean, I’ve decorated cupcakes before,” Remmy said, pulling up a photo of the moose shaped cupcake they’d made for Blanche recently. “See? It’s just that, but bigger.” They raised a brow at Deirdre. “You carry a bone with you? I mean...I guess I can’t really say much. I do, too, sometimes, but mine’s for Moose. Sometimes he finds bones on our walks, too. Lotta dead things out in those woods.” They started organizing the stuff and pulled up a recipe, before giving a soft, genuine laugh at Deirdre’s little joke. Gave her a lopsided smile before they started opening up bags. “Then you can be the resident stand mixer operator. I’ll do the rest of the work.” 

“That is not the same thing and we both know it,” Deirdre groaned, mostly to suppress the impressed grin that wanted to twist her lips. Maybe there was something to be said about inherited skills. Deirdre imagined she got her cutting coldness from her own mother. “Mine’s for me,” she said, moving around the kitchen to set up the stand mixer, a skill she only had because she spent an hour on hers--even though it was as simple as unpacking and plugging in. “Yes! The woods are delightful for dead things. This whole town is,” she hummed. Once done, she looked up from her work, which was obviously extremely hard. “I’m done,” she deadpanned, “and now I’m bored. Let me do something else. Or--” she paused, pretending to get back to something on the stand mixer, “what was your mother like? From what you’ve heard? I just--it’s nice to talk while we work.” 

“It’s kinda the same!” Remmy argued, giving a little huff. Just because they’d never tried decorating a full cake before, didn’t mean it would be hard. They’d watch quite a few videos to prepare, too. Blanche had shown them the tutorials part of YouTube and now Remmy was obsessed. What else did one do when they didn’t sleep? “Huh, guess that’s why I was drawn here, too, then.” They went about setting the different mixing bowls up in order from largest to smallest and then set each ingredient that would be needed for each different part next to those bowls. Nice and organized. They were just about to start measuring when Deirdre asked her question. They paused as well, picking at the edge of the measuring cup before shrugging and digging it into the bag of flour. “You can measure the liquid stuff into the bowl if you want.” Dug into the starch next. “My uncle said she was always giving people free cakes. Even though it was the only way she made money. He said she just liked to see people smile.” Dumped it into the bowl. Salt. Sugar. Reached for the eggs. “She was from Ireland, I guess. They both were. They’re parents got mad she wanted to marry a Scot. Not like, really really mad. But he said they gave her shit for it.” Cracked an egg. “He always said I reminded him of her but like...how am I supposed to know? I never met her. I could never tell if that made him happy or sad.”

Deirdre realized this was a bad idea as soon as Remmy started speaking. She wasn’t good with comfort, or emotion, and most of the time she didn’t care to do either of those things. It was pointless, but so was holding weight to a day of the year that should have been light. Her logic, about as sound as it was when she threw Remmy in front of that car all those weeks ago, was what she used to perk herself up and listen. She did her assigned job of measuring and pouring diligently, nodding along. Remmy’s ability to speak casually about what should have been easily traumatic for any other human (or ex-human) was impressive. Deirdre liked it. “She sounds like she was a good person.” A really good person, a foolishly good one. Remmy and her had that in common, it seemed. “Ah, Ireland! I’m also from--you know that.” She paused, halting her one job and simply letting Remmy pick up the slack where she left it. “People always say that...about dead loved ones. They’re always reminded of them in other people. Who knows how much truth that had...but it must’ve made him happy. To see her again, in the littlest ways.” Deirdre stepped back, jumping up to sit on the counter and watch Remmy walk, her legs kicking like a restless child. “Maybe you get your generosity from her, maybe you don’t. Who's to say? Is it wrong to want to remember a woman you’ve never met? To wish you could? Of course not. But we’re also baking a cake for you--in the metaphorical sense.”

Remmy had never thought much about the detached way they spoke of their dead mother. It made sense, in their head, that they weren’t upset about it because she wasn’t someone they’d ever known. How could you possibly grieve someone you’d never met? It didn’t seem logical. Still, something Deirdre said made Remmy’s heart clench just a little harder when they thought about her. “What’s it like over there?” Remmy asked, not meaning to ignore Deirdre’s words of comfort, but more than sure that they wouldn’t be able to hold on to their cool demeanour long if they lingered on those thoughts. They still felt weary and drained from breaking down so fully on Skylar last week. “In Ireland. My Uncle had an accent, like yours. They were kids when they moved over here, so it wasn’t like-- a thick one. But he said certain words funny.” They glanced back at her, moving almost automatically over to the stand mixer and pouring in the ingredients. They gestured to the on button. “Will you do the honor?” they asked, giving another lopsided smile. 

Deirdre refrained from explaining that her Ireland was much different from a humans. She knew the rolling hills well, the forest and its trees. She knew the pixies and the leprechauns, and those were the parts she loved. The pieces away from the humans. “Beautiful,” she said after a moment, “more than the pubs and old streets will tell you. There’s something that you just have to see for yourself. I’ll take you one day, Remmy. I told you that we have about two hundred years.” Deirdre had about two hundred more years, years she could spend as Remmy’s friend, if she wanted to. “I can give you a promise, if you want.” She smiled, finally flucking up the small switch at the side of the stand mixer, starting it at a slow whisk to prevent ingredients from flying up in their faces. She’d done that at least once before. “Ireland’s small, so you can go all over--one end to the other. Know the land, know your way home. Yet, big enough not to feel suffocating. It’s not like America in that. This country’s so big, you’d probably forget where you were--are.” 

“It sounds great,” Remmy said, making sure to start stirring in the wet ingredients to make the batter nice and smooth, just they watched the professionals do. “It also sounds like you kinda miss it.” They added the last ingredient, let it sift in, then motioned for Deirdre to turn it off. “You don’t have to promise me,” they said with a grin, glancing sideways at Deirdre as they pulled the bowl out and started pouring the batter into the different pans. One square, one round. They could carve the cake after. “I know you’ll keep your word.” They set another bowl down on the stand mixer and started putting in the ingredients to the fondant in. “What flavor do you want? I can’t taste it so it’s up to you to pick,” they said, holding up the different vials of flavor they’d bought. “Cherry?” A grin.

Deirdre tensed, tightening her grip on the counter’s edge. “I do miss it, but missing something isn’t as simple as....missing it.” She turned her gaze, staring out at the kitchen wall of this gothic Victorian house instead. “The secret, I suppose, is that you’ll always miss something, no matter where you are.” With no desire to really explain herself, she sighed and brought her attention back to the zombie. “Sometimes the promises are reassuring, words are just words, otherwise.” She paused, eyes wide suddenly at the mention. “I love cherry! It’s--have I ever told you about the cherries that would grow at the edge of my family’s estate? They were unbelievably bitter so the only time I got to eat cherries I could actually swallow was the--” she paused again, this time to collect herself. Taken with excitement, she’d forgotten the person she was supposed to be. “Cherry is fine, I suppose. Or we could dump a couple of spices in there and make it into something you can taste, and I can pretend to chew and then spit out.” 

Remmy blinked. The statement didn’t make sense, but a lot of what Deirdre said didn’t make sense to Remmy. She spoke in a way that they didn’t quite get yet, but they were working on it. Her explanation helped. “So, you don’t wanna go back? You like it here?” they asked, picking up the cherry flavor. “Well, words mean stuff to me, so I don’t need the promise. But if it’d make you feel better, we can promise.” They couldn’t help the grin that spread on their face as Deirdre exploded with her cherry excitement. When she stopped, it almost hurt a little. As if she were stopping the person she was in order to be the person she was supposed to be. Remmy had seen that so many times, in the faces of their friends. “That’s okay, I really want someone who can taste to try the cake more than myself. I wanna know if I did a good job.” They poured a few drops of cherry flavor in before turning the mixer back on and letting it mix into the butter cream. “I’m gonna start the oven, turn that off when it’s all mixed in,” they instructed, heading over to the oven in the corner of the room.

Deirdre tensed again, how was it that coming over to help Remmy had the conversation momentarily flipped on her? It was Ireland. They shouldn’t have been talking about it. “I can’t go back,” she sighed, “I’m needed here.” And she urged silently that the topic be dropped there and left there. Her desire to speak of herself diminished more each day that passed, until her sense of self would fade under the ideal she should be. “Words mean stuff to me too,” she repeated, pensive. Again, urging a shift into lighter topics. “Well it smells good,” Deirdre spoke over the mixer, eyeing the buttercream. “How do I know when it’s done?” The red coloring swirled to create a pink and Deirdre eyed it, waiting until it resembled something she was used to seeing before flicking the mixer off. “Do you only bake when you have an occasion to? Or do you make things for your friends often?” 

Clearly, Deirdre didn’t wanna talk about Ireland anymore. That was a hint Remmy could take, even if they were oblivious most of the time. “Right, that’s fair,” they said, closing the oven after the cakes were in. It only took a few minutes for the smell to encase the room, and Remmy felt a small pang of sadness at the idea of not being able to truly taste it. They wiped it away, though, put it back into the box in their head where every other sad thought went, and moved on. Started rolling out the fondant with the roller, into a big enough sheet, just like the guy in the tutorial video had done. It seemed to be the right consistency. “Is it all one color?” they asked, glancing over. “Yep, it’s done. Nice!” A toothy grin. “I don’t really do it often, no. I guess I’ve been doing it more lately cause like...it helps relieve stress or whatever, but not too often. It’s easy to just follow instructions, you know? Don’t have to think too hard about anything.”

“So you should do it more often then,” Deirdre started, her mouth fell around the rest of her words, opening and closing lamely around something she wished could be inspiring or comforting but knew wouldn’t be. In the end, she settled on a soft chuckle. “White Crest is certainly a place full of stress, but I mean you should bake just for you, Remmy.” Now she was even starting to sound a little like Morgan, that’s what she got for spending so much time around the human. “One day your life will be the way you want it and your birthday won’t feel so heavy. One day, I know. That day isn’t today, but I hope it can be a start for you. Your mother sounds like a kind woman, she’d want the best, despite the circumstances--wouldn’t she?” Deirdre jumped down from the counter, wandering around the kitchen like a bored cat. “If you could have one thing, Remmy, anything at all--just yours--do you know what you’d ask for?”

“Oh, um--” Remmy started, reaching over and pulling the bowl with the buttercream in it out. They had a half an hour until the cakes were done cooking, and then they’d need to cool, so it was going to be a bit. Remmy grabbed a spoon and scooped a little onto it. “I don’t really...baking for myself would be like, kinda pointless? Since I can’t really eat it. I just like...doing it for other people. Here--” held the spoon out to Deirdre, “--taste it. Cherry enough? I can add more.” Once Deirdre took the spoon, they went back to the fondant and started dumping some of the rolling flour onto it. It puffed out and caked itself onto the counter some. “I don’t...I mean, that seems so far away, right now. All of that. Being-- okay.” They turned to watch Deirdre wander the kitchen. “I don’t know what I want. I’m not, like-- good at anything. Or with anything. I don’t--” matter? “--want for a lot, I guess. I just want...to be at peace. I want to be alive again.”

“No I mean--” Deirdre pinched the bridge of her nose, “I mean you bake for your pleasure, but the food you give to--oh, why not Blanche? I bet she’d love to come home to cupcakes. You do something for yourself, you do something for others. It’s not like cupcakes will go uneaten. It’s…” Deirdre trailed off, coughing as the rest of her sentence fell from her lips, “...equivalent exchange.” The banshee took the spoon happily, grateful mostly for the distraction. “Mhm,” she hummed, “it’s good. I mean--it’s okay.” What was she doing here? This also wasn’t really her job at all. She froze then, hearing Remmy continue. “It’s good, Remmy,” she corrected herself, pride be damned. “It’s good. So herein lies the proof you’re good at one thing. And emotions, those are another thing you’re good at. Helping people....” Deirdre trailed off, tilting her head. “And were you at peace when you were alive, Remmy?”  

“You sound like Morgan,” Remmy said absently, continuing to work the fondant until it was a nice shape. They stopped, looking over at Deirdre. They recalled all the times she had told them to call her and asshole, and told them that they weren’t friends. All the times she’d told them they had a place in the world and if they didn’t perform that, then what were they worth? And yet, here she was now. Under all that hard exterior, there was a soft, good person. Otherwise, why would she be here? And who was Remmy to judge. Whether Deirdre was a good person underneath at all or not, she still deserved happiness and love. So why couldn’t they ever believe that about themself? Remmy kneaded the fondant a little too hard, feeling the rolling pin snap under the pressure. “Why are you here?” they suddenly asked, turning to look at her. “You said we’re not friends, but you--” they stopped, turned away, eyes boring into the creamy substance on the table. “I don’t know if I was. I don’t know if I’ve ever known peace. I don’t know what that is, what that feels like. But I know for one split second, before I died, and I was on the ground...I was okay. In that moment….I was okay.”

Deirdre grimaced at Remmy’s comment, a bitter ‘I know’ sat between her teeth. She didn’t want to sound like Morgan, like a human. She didn’t want to be here, caring like some paragon of generosity. Fae needed each other only, she should have been with them instead of with some ex-human. She wished so desperately for those lines to come back, the kinds she could draw easily in the sand, working them over and over again until they became trenches. But she’d just been spending so much time on this side, finding parts she liked. Was it wrong to be happy like this? Yes. Absolutely. The small smile fell from her face and her features turned cold. She tilted her head, looking at the snapped rolling pin. Funny how that worked, how easy things could break. And that perverse desire to see it happen, to feel something else shatter other than themselves. Did Remmy feel it too? 

“When you were dying, you mean,” Deirdre straightened up, “there’s peace in death, I know it well. I’ve seen people go screaming, crying, and those that pass with a smile. Those are the smart ones. But dying isn’t living, and you just answered your question. You want peace, you want to be alive--being alive didn’t give you peace.” What did it say about Remmy that their one moment of peace was dying? What did it say about Deirdre that she understood the feeling completely? “You can close your eyes and wake to nothing, to know a world without life--without pain, torture, sadness. Death is a mercy, my family has said it a thousand times. It’s simple.” And so, what did it mean that Remmy knew undeath then? “I think I came to comfort you, Remmy. Offer you peace. But the only peace I know is death, and I never learned how to give comfort.” She stepped closer to Remmy, placing her hand on their shoulder. “All of your life has been living where others have died, hasn’t it?” She pushed down, pressing her weight into Remmy’s shoulder. “Is that what you carry with you?” She pushed harder, imagining none of these brought Remmy any pain. “Guilt? The desire to find a kind of peace you know isn’t the answer? To finally lay yourself down as life should have taken you?” She released her force, lifting her pressure away. “You have a life again.This can be peace too, you know that, right? Complicated peace, but genuine.”

Remmy’s eyes followed Deirdre as she stood up and came over to them. Death was a mercy. How were they supposed to believe that when death hurt so much? And not physically. No, emotionally. Psychologically. Deeply. A pain Remmy felt so far in their soul the only way out of it was to pretend it wasn’t there. Lest they fall into the dark pit, where every single one of their friends was dead. Where they had woken up. Where they had to carry all of them and their burdens on their shoulders. Guilt. Deirdre was right. Remmy carried all of their guilt. All of their pain. All of their souls and memories. And maybe they didn’t need to, but they couldn’t figure out how to put it down without falling to pieces. Without understanding what had happened. Her hand was heavy on their shoulder. The weight of their guilt. They understood this. Deirdre removed her hand, removed the pressure-- but for Remmy, it was still there. It would always be there. The guilt was the only thing holding them together anymore. “I don’t know how,” they finally said, glancing down. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I want with my life, or my new life. I don’t know what makes me happy, and I don’t know what my place in this world is. So why me? Why do I get this chance? It’s just wasted,” they said, hand tightening on the counter, “I’m just a waste.”  

Deirdre cast her eyes down too, wondering what Remmy was trying to find in the tiles, and if she could see it too. The tiles, however, just looked like tiles to her. No answers there. She looked up, letting silence hang between them for a moment. There were a hundred things her mother had told her about worth, how one’s value could only be found in living their purpose. Deirdre’s was to serve fate, Remmy’s was as the world’s bottom-feeder. She opened her mouth to explain this again, then shut it just as quickly. “I don’t know,” she sighed, “what to tell you, I mean. There’s no magical answer, I suppose. I know Blanche or Morgan would have something more comforting to say. I can tell you that Blanche feels the same way about herself, and I can tell you to try and listen to the same things you’d tell her….but no comfort. No answer. That’s not---that’s not something I’m good at.” Deirdre reached out again, another hand on Remmy’s shoulder, this time devoid of metaphor. “I can tell you, Remmy, with honesty that...waste or not...I do...enjoy your company. And you don’t seem like a waste to me. Life shouldn’t be a waste, no matter if it’s lived again.” She paused, pulling her hand back. “You are my friend, Remmy. And no matter what you think of yourself, that fact won’t change. I’d rather you not see yourself that way, but even if you do, I’m still here---I’m still your friend.” Her mother’s voice clattered at the back of her head, and she winced, silencing the sound. She knew, without a doubt, that Remmy’s only value could be in serving their purpose. But this wasn’t kind, and most of all, it wasn’t what she wanted to tell Remmy. “I’m sorry I don’t have a way to fix that for you, Remmy. I wish I did. All I can offer is my friendship….I hope it means something.”

Remmy didn’t want to cry. In fact, they’d done more crying lately than most of their life, probably. They hadn’t even had the energy or the heart to cry after coming back from overseas. And yet, here, it was like one after the other after the other. Remmy turned away from Deirdre at first. Somehow, her non-comforting words did comfort Remmy. They were so tired of everyone just saying it was going to be okay. That they were still them, that everything would work out. Remmy didn’t want those words anymore. They just wanted an answer. And Deirdre didn’t have them, either. The hand on their shoulder made them turn their attention back to her again, unsure of what to say, even in the face of her admission. Hadn’t Deirdre been the one to tell them that they were nothing if they didn’t fulfill their duty? Hadn’t Remmy accepted that fate? Yet, here she was, telling them, waste or not...they were friends. Remmy’s eyes blurred and they blinked, trying to wipe them dry, but only making more come. They turned away from Deirdre again, hands braced against the counter’s edge. “I don’t-- you said we--” DING! Remmy’s head swiveled, silently thankful for the interruption. They scrambled away from Deirdre and over to the oven, pulling it open and reaching in for the pans. They were already halfway out when Remmy realized they weren’t using any hotpads. The pain set in a moment later. There it was again, that dulled ache. Getting bigger. Remmy stumbled-- “Fuck!”-- tossed the pan onto the counter, knocking back the bowl of buttercream and toppling several bottles of food dye. Their hand was a searing red. All they could do was watch it bubble, blister, burn red, then start to fade. Just like everything else. Nothing lasted. They walked slowly over to the sink and started running cold water over it. More of a reaction than a relief. “It’s okay,” they finally said to Deirdre, not quite looking at her yet, “that you’re not good at being um-- comforting. Not everyone is and that’s...okay.” They turned the sink off and finally turned to face her again. “It does, um-- mean something to me. That we’re friends. It means...a lot.” They came back over to her. “You make me feel like...less of a waste.”

It was an odd scene to watch, and then suddenly very comical. Deirdre laughed, loud and proud the way that she did; head tipped back and teeth bared as though she could snap from laughing to anger in a second. Remmy, on the other hand, didn’t find it so humorous. And, given the heaviness of the topic before them, maybe it shouldn’t have been. But Deirdre knew to take life in stride, simply as it came. Likewise, she knew to take people like that too; exactly as they are. “I was just about to say that I thought this kitchen needed a little more red!” She laughed, leaning against the counter and trying to meet Remmy’s eyes. She went about righting the bottles of food dye a moment later, half a mind to at least spare Remmy the clean up (she didn’t plan on helping, naturally). “Well, good,” she crossed her arms and looked over at the zombie, “because you’re not a waste, in my opinion.” Nothing in life really was a waste, so it wasn’t that much of a lie. Even if the voice of her mother, often intermingled with her own, droned on about an undead’s use in the back of her head. “And it should mean a lot,” she reached out to jab her finger into Remmy’s shoulder, a playful gesture more than a spiteful one. “I’m not just friends with anyone. I have standards, after all.” She smiled, gesturing to the cake with her head. “There’s a fun metaphor about cakes being hot my mother would tell me; you have to wait for them to cool, and so too does time need to be obeyed to correct pain. Of course, none of that matters in the moment, where the cake is hot and you still feel like shit. So you focus on what you can do, however small,” Deirdre reached into the bowl of buttercream and swiped some with her finger, “which is to say, remember that things are hot next time, my friend.” She smiled, licking her finger. 

Remmy couldn’t help the smile pulling at their lips. Deirdre’s laughter was infectious. And so was her smile. And her presence. They shook their head, smacked her hand when she swiped for the bowl. “Hey! Save it for later!” They grabbed the bowl away from Deirdre and made sure to find their hot pad before moving the cake pan over to the freezer to cool, along with the other one. “Your mom sure had a lot of bits of wisdom,” they said, closing the door and looking back over at Deirdre. “Was she always like that? Or, um-- is she? She’s still alive, right? Cause you guys live for like...a long time?” Remmy wondered what their mom would think of them, now. If she even ever had an opinion on a child. If she’d be proud or happy that Remmy could bake a cake. That they tried their best to smile every day. Would she have been upset that Remmy felt like a waste? That they were wasting this gift at second life. “I’m glad you finally admitted it, though,” they said, coming back over and scooping a spoonful of butter cream out before putting it in the fridge to settle. They held it out to Deirdre, climbing onto the counter to sit. “That we’re friends. That’s the best gift anyone coulda gotten me today,” they smiled, soft, tired, little lines pinching at their eyes, even in their now immortal body. It was a weariness that didn’t ever quite leave. “Asshole.”  

“All we have is the present, Remmy! Let me seize the day and the frosting!” Deirdre pouted, foiled in stealing more buttercream as her heart desired it. “Hm,” she hummed, lost in her forsting-based thoughts. “My mother? She...well, yes. Everything is a metaphor or a lesson with her. She doesn’t believe in…” in waste, Deirdre swallowed the words back. “In not doing things simply for the sake of it. Everything needs to have a use with her.” It was easy then, to see where Deirdre got it. Who she learned from and how it shaped her. But she didn’t comment further, her mother was a topic she didn’t like to tread. She loved her, but that love was often hard to explain--and it was the sort of love that needed explaining. “She is still alive, she’s not even a century old yet. She is, for lack of better words, in her prime.” Deirdre tried to stop herself from hissing the words. Part of her mother’s youth contributed to a plethora of issues between them. None of which she wanted to talk about. “Admitted? I’m sorry--” her lip twitched, “I just decided right now that we’re friends. There was nothing to admit to.” But she broke into a smile and shook her head, accepting the spoon. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve got a kitchen to clean now.” Her smile grew as Remmy went on. “So it’s my birthday too then?” She put the spoon in her mouth, freeing her hands to clap. “Thank you, Remmy,” she pulled the spoon out, “you’re the gift that keeps on giving, truly. Now, if only we could work on that confidence of yours.”

“Huh,” Remmy said off-handedly, “your mother would hate my dad. That’s not even including the uh-- human thing.” They moved their feet up and down a little, finding it hard to sit still for some reason. “All he ever did was complain about shit and do whatever he wanted for whatever reason. Nothing had meaning to him.” Not even me. They leaned back on the counter, hands bracing against the cool stone of the tabletop. It was almost as cold as Remmy’s skin, and the smoothness of it was a small comfort. At least they could still feel texture. Remmy’s brow rose. “Uh huh, sure, right,” they said in a soft mocking tone, “just now admitted. Of course, sorry. And, you know, I say this from like the bottom of my unbeating heart: my bad.” A cheeky grin spread across their face as they waited for Deirdre’s response, giving a slight bow as she clapped for them. “Hey, I’m not being dramatic! It’s the truth. I’m not a very dramatic person, anyway. Thought you knew that by now.” They shrugged. “Well, I’m getting more confident around you, so like, that counts for something, right?” Because it had to. If Deirdre’s mom was right, and everything needed to mean something, then their friendship needed to mean something, too. And if it wasn’t enough, Remmy would make something more. Because they weren’t lying-- this was the best gift to receive today. It made their unbeating heart feel just a little bit lighter.

“She would hate him, and for what it’s worth, I hate him too.” Deirdre sighed, though not annoyed by the conversation or Remmy’s nonchalance about it. She was, however, angered by the mere idea of a man like that.The failure of a parent struck her as the worst kind. Children were vulnerable, innocent creatures. The most like animals that humans got, before instincts became coated with intent and opinion. “That is the unfortunate benefit to being human: the freedom to act as you please. Bad or good, kind or cruel.” Her family had spent generations observing humanity, she knew them well through teachings. She’d seen enough death to know them better, or to think she did. “And I say this from the bottom of my slow-beating heart: shut it,” Deirdre laughed, licking up the rest of the frosting off her spoon. “Oh? You’re not very dramatic? You just bowed for me,” the banshee smirked, “saying friendship if a great gift is a wee dramatic, Remmy.” More than a wee, if she was being honest. “It does count for something, and I’m honored I inspire this confidence. You’re better confident, just like you’re better with that hair. Better comfortable, everyone is.” Better making jokes, better taking their bows. Better like this, baking a cake. Better than thinking they were worthless. “I don’t think I said it, Remmy...but...happy birthday.” She smiled, “what great fortune you’ll get to celebrate again when Moose Day rolls around.”

Remmy didn’t respond at first. They weren’t sure how they felt about their dad, after all. It was only logical to hate him, after everything he’d done, but-- they often found that, when they thought about him, they didn’t hate him. They just felt...sad. For him, for their loss, for the fact that they’d never get to know what it was like to have a true, caring father. It just hurt, like everything else right now. So they didn’t think about it. Remmy looked at the timer and went back over to the freezer, testing the cake temperature with a thermometer. “That’s not dramatic,” they said back, pulling the first pan out and setting it on the table, “that’s just being showy. There’s totally a difference.” They pulled the next one out and set them side by side, prepping the counter to spread them out. They took a small moment to run their hand over their hair again, at Deirdre’s compliment. “You really didn’t like my long hair, did you? And um...thanks,” they teased, reaching to put on the rubber gloves and start removing the cakes. “Okay, here goes nothing.” And-- plop! The cake came out perfectly. For once, everything was working right. They plopped the next one out and stacked them up, then started the carving. It wasn’t so hard, though carving pliable, spongy cake was a tad harder than carving wood or clay. Still, it went well enough, and soon enough, Remmy was coating the thing with pink, cherry flavored buttercream. “See? I told you I could do this,” they said after a while, stepping down and motioning to the slightly lopsided brain cake. It didn’t look half bad for a first attempt. “It’s lumpy, just like regular brains.” They held up the knife to Deirdre. “Would you do the honors?”

“Right...dramatic and showy are different…” Deirdre trailed off as the conversation meandered. Yes, she did hate the longer hair. It was messy and betrayed a sense of self-apathy that unsettled Deirdre. This was better, a look Remmy could be proud of was better. She’d support that, even if they weren’t (newly-made) friends. She watched the zombie work, a smart comment offer here and there, but largely devoid of anything that could be too distracting. There was a joke in it somewhere, but Deirdre did enjoy watching people work--it was better when they seemed to like it as Remmy did. “I didn’t doubt you, Remmy.” She smiled softly, unsure if she might have actually said that she did; she really couldn’t keep track of most of the things that left her mouth. But there were a few that mattered enough to remember, Remmy being her friend was one. She eyed the cake, now done. She couldn’t see the lumps, weirdly enough. The objective merged seamlessly with the subjective and she knew, without doubt, that she was looking at the perfect brain cake. Deirdre nodded, taking the knife and cutting and plating herself a slice. With her spoon, she took the first bite...then the second, and the third and the fourth until she remembered that Remmy was awaiting an opinion. “It’s goob,” she spoke with her mouthful, swallowing it a moment later. Somehow, in some strange way, it was better knowing Remmy had baked it. That paired with its objectively good flavor made it an exceptional cake. “Remmy…” Deirdre put the plate down, staring at the zombie, “I promise you this is the best cake I’ve ever eaten.” And she didn’t tremble, didn’t even offer a cough--the promise was true and she’d meant every word. She hadn’t expected the zombie she threw in front of a cab to call her a friend, or to bake a cake largely just for her, but it was the present moment that mattered. And what mattered was that her friend had baked the perfect cake. 

[geckcellent]

tagged by @habenaria-radiata an i’ve been sleeping on this for like 2 days bc iT LOOKS SO FUN 8′| but haven’t been on pc til now. ty 4 tag !! answers are below the cut.

1. rean/jusis (sen no kiseki) 2. inaho/slaine (aldnoah zero) 3. naoya/abel (desu1) 4. hibiki/yamato (desu2) 5. johan/judai (ygo gx) 6. nanashi/hallelujah (smt iv:a) 7. jomy/blue (terra e) 8. protag/arata (digimon cyber sleuth) 9. abel/atsuro (desu1) 10. karma/nagisa (assclass)

All questions for copy+paste:

1. Do you remember the episode/scene/chapter that you first started shipping 6?

2. Have you ever read a fanfic about 2?

3. Has a picture of 4 ever been your screensaver/profile picture/tumblr screensaver?

4. If 7 were to suddenly break up today, what would your reaction be?

5. Why is 1 so important?

6. Is 9 a funny ship or a serious ship?

7. Out of all the ships listed, which ship has the most chemistry?

8. Out of all your ships listed, which ship has the strongest bond?

9. How many times have your read/played/watched 10’s fandom?

10. Which ship has lasted the longest?

11. How many times, if ever, has 6 broken up?

12. If the world was suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse, which ship would make it out alive, 2 or 8?

13. Did 7 ever have to hide their relationship for any reason?

14. Is 4 still together?

15. Is 10 canon?

16. If all 10 ships were put into a couple’s Hunger Games, which couple would win?

17. Has anybody ever tried to sabotage 5’s ship?

18. Which ship would you defend to the death and beyond?

19. Do you spend hours a day going through 3’s tumblr page?

20. If an evil witch descended from the sky and told you that you had to pick one of the ten ships to break up forever or else she’d break them all forever, which ship would you sink?

no obligation ofc but! tagging @neutralend, @jusis-albarea, @moments-minutes-more + cien/king/azu/lightful whose urls i fORGET BC I’D FORGET MY HEAD SOMEWHERE IF IT WAS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE TO PUT IT DOWN 

1. Do you remember the episode/scene/chapter that you first started shipping 6? LITERALLY LIKE THE SECOND JUSIS WALKED ON SCREEN 2 SECONDS INTO SEN 1 AND CALLED THEM ALL DUMB HOES 😂😂

2. Have you ever read a fanfic about 2? bitch i'm like pretty sure i've read the entire ao3 tag. not that that takes long tho //rarefandom blues

3. Has a picture of 4 ever been your screensaver/profile picture/tumblr screensaver? UHH. on my psp like years ago, when i was a baby geck i stored all my ~pg-13~ pics on my psp bc my dad was always remote monitoring stuff on my desktop acct sO YEAH i had a rotating background pic of various low res kazunao on cycle

4. If 7 were to suddenly break up today, what would your reaction be? HEY OP, THAT SURE IS IRONIC, FUCK YOU

5. Why is 1 so important? LISTEN WITHOUT THEIR VERY GAY ~BOND~ JUSIS WOULDA STILL BEEn an asshole tryhard """perfect noble""" and rean woulda been 4eva alone bc honestly..,,, ... .. ,,, , if they hadn't had a superstrong bond then the plot would've crashed and burned like midway through sen 2 as well tbh

6. Is 9 a funny ship or a serious ship? why are you calling me out like this?????? >:T is a serious ship but they're pretty funny funky compared to kazunao (thinking emoji)

7. Out of all the ships listed, which ship has the most chemistry? THAT'S TOUGH BC LIKE I FIRMLY BELIEVE ALL THESE SHIPS WOULD DIE/WALK THROUGH FIRE/EAT A LIVE BULLET ANT FOR THEIR PARTNER but uhh if i had to pick i'd say karma/nagisa just bc of how amazing of a team they are in canon. least chemistry though?? DEFINITELY inaho/slaine, they make it work with a lotta dedication and grease and also by being more stubborn than god tbh

8. Out of all your ships listed, which ship has the strongest bond? honestly op this is like breaking into my house and taking my dog and cat hostage and saying only one of them can survive wtf !! iii think strongest bond is either inasure once all issues have been started working through, or hibiyama at basically any point post-sept route though.

9. How many times have you read/played/watched 10's fandom? all the way through?? like 3 times, once the anime and twice the manga aaand then i read bits of the manga piecemeal from time to time.

10. Which ship has lasted the longest? WELL LET'S SEE UHH my immediate urge was to say hibiyama for having 2 whole lives together (+1 4eva alone pining cycle for yamato) but honestly 2 ain't got nothin on kazunao for lifetimes spent statistically LMAOOOO. but also like rean/jusis is going strong 4 games now and H O NEST they only get gayer every game !! err if this meant ship longevity relevant to shipper then johan/judai is the 1st ship i fought my homophobic parents over as a baby geck and honestly there was no turning back,

11. How many times, if ever, has 6 broken up? I'M GOING TO SCREAM I THINK BECAUSE THEY DID ONCE. IN CANON. IT WAS VERY MESSY THERE WAS A LOT OF DEATH INVOLVED AND HONESTLY I LOVE IV:A BUT HOLY FUCK

12. If the world was was suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse, which ship would make it out alive, 2 or 8? Huh that's tough actually. abel is basically god and atsuro's a smart techie so they're a superpower team, but canon already ran inasure within like a millimeter of their lives and both of them are extremely competent AND dogged af so?? i think they both would. but also like any survival/gauntlet-type question is immediately biased towards abel so i rule he should be disqualified tbh

13. Did 7 ever have to hide their relationship for any reason? first of all there are no secrets on a ship full of closely bonded telepaths and second of all no. no. no. blue is the GAYEST fucko i have literally ever seen grace the screen. bitch's hobby is gazing intently into jomy's eyes and flying around with him while one or both are naked. LISTEN,

14. Is 4 still together? yeah and they will be til death do they part

15. Is 10 canon? honestly???? no relationships are ever confirmed except the teacher related ones but if you have eyes and a brain even if it's vestigal then yeah, canon.

16. If all 10 ships were put into a couple’s Hunger Games, which couple would win? going with my earlier ruling to DQ abel "god is my bitch" minegishi related ships, it'd either be inasure or karma/nagisa, the former being extremely adaptable tactically and the latter being literally unmatched in the kind of situation hunger games death gauntlets take place in. counting abel in though, everyone rallies together probably behind johan/judai who have this naruto-like infectiously enthusiastic leadership, bust outta the game and beat up the sponsors.

17. Has anybody ever tried to sabotage 5's ship? OH GOD AND HOW LMFAO, lookin at you yubel. but uhh we got some very gay scenes outta it and also hot bondage not-johan and it resolved nicely so we good o/

18. Which ship would you defend to the death and beyond? listen op i'm looking you directly beady eyes to beady eyes and telling you to put my cat and dog down and back away slowly hhh. all of them. all. of them

19. Do you spend hours a day going through 3's tumblr page? not anymore, there's just not much new content production for them

20. If an evil witch descended from the sky and told you that you had to pick one of the ten ships to break up forever or else she’d break them all forever, which ship would you sink? OP TURN ON YOUR LOCATION I JUST WANNA TALK ! !! ..jokes aside if i HAD to break one of them it would be jomy/blue bc honestly an amicable breakup for them would still be miles kinder than canon (PENSIVE x99)

[thejourneymaninn]

Year of Review - Writing 2017

I was tagged by the lovely and doubly talented (awesome fics and awesome art, and so much of it, how do you do it?) @timesorceror (and it only took me three weeks to finally get to it…sorry)

Total number of completed stories:

20

Total word count:

Also counting wips that haven’t been posted yet, 207482

Fandoms written in:

Dragon Age

Looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?:

I wrote more one shots than I thought I would and less chapters for my wips than planned. All in all, I’d say less than I hoped for but about as much as I expected.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?:

I have several stories that are my favourites for different reasons, and it also changes depending on what mood I’m in. To narrow it down a little, I think Why are you looking at me like that and Dear Justice might be my absolute favourites. Maybe. I feel the urge to name at least five more coming up, so let’s move on to the next one quickly.

Did you take any writing risks this year?:

Not really. I posted several fics without much (or any) editing/proofing/rewriting (which I normally tend to do quite a lot of) because I wanted to meet a deadline; that was a first for me. Dates and cakes was probably the biggest risk for me in that regard. It has several chapters, all of which were outlined, written, edited and posted in less than 24 hours as I wanted to finish it in time for a special occasion, and while I would have loved to add one or two more chapters, I’m very happy with how it turned out.

Do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?:

I have a couple of prompts in my inbox that I still need to finish, as well as a few short gift fics and my Christmas fic (yes, it’s gonna be super late but you will read it anyway…like…pleaaase?). When those are done, I want to finish my wips on ao3 (Truce or date, the Stepping stones series and (W)hole lotta love and then finally get back to working on a few half-finished wips that have been lying around for almost two years now (in particular my mermaid au fenders, a justice-centric drunk sex fenders, a fenhawke longfic, and a one shot detailing what happened in the tent between chapters one and two in Ten times you kissed me). But most importantly, I want to take a few weeks to take a break from writing and finally read all the awesome fics on my ever growing “to read” list. I’ve been so focused on writing this year, I think I need to step back for a while.

Best story of the year?:

I have honestly no idea how to answer this. There are so many different aspect you could judge them on, and you’d probably get different “winners” depending on which you pick. But well, I have to pick one so… given the amount of thought, planning and structuring that went into it and the fact that I feel it brings across the points I was trying to make/the feelings I was trying to evoke, I guess Ten times you kissed me is the most likely candidate.  

Most popular story of the year?:

I wasn’t sure which criteria to base this one, but it turns out Ten times you kissed me is the most popular one regardless of whether you look at kudos, comments, hits or bookmarks. It’s a chaptered story that was posted over the course of several weeks, so it had more time to gather readers than one shots, of which Oh let me how at the moon in your pants is the most popular one by far (also for all of the above). (Technically, Truce or Date is still number one in all categories, but while I did post several chapters this year, I’m pretty sure most of the feedback is from 2016.)

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Fics for pairings I don’t usually write tend to get very little response. Why are you looking at me like that, Until we are free (both Kanders) and Things we lost (Fenhawke) in particular are some of my personal favourites but hardly got any readers at all.

Most fun story to write:

There are several candidates for this one:                                                              Superstition – I just wanted to have fun with Anders talking his way out of trouble, and wrote the whole thing in under an hour. One of the most relaxed and enjoyable times I ever had writing                                                                Mounds of marble – I got to give Anders a statue and then have him (and Hawke and Fenris) fuck said statue…need I say more?                                                 Oh let me howl at the moon in your pants - Again, the goal was to simply have fun. I’d been sick for several days, and just wanted write something silly (and sexy)…So when I saw a fun prompt, I wrote a lot of stuff about mage ass…           What he deserves was a different kind of fun. Less puns and silly jokes, but writing handers with a supportive Hawke after the Chantry Boom was just really satisfying.  

Story with the single sexiest moment:

I think my personal favourite is (W)hole lotta love (which is still ongoing). And the throne room scene in Truce or date was also pretty popular… If we’re talking completed stories, probably Heatwave. 

Most sweet story:

There’s fluff in most of them, but And Pounce makes three probably wins this category as it is nothing but high fructose newlyweds fluff. That said, Dates and cakes is also very sweet (also literally, because…well, cakes. Lots of cakes.)

“Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you!” story:

The statue fucking in Mounds of marble is probably the closest thing to weird stuff I’ve written posted this year, so not much to offer here I’m afraid.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

There are two stories that are more Justice-centric than most of what I’ve written so far, with a more in-depth look at/a slightly different take on Anders’ and Justice’s merger. Dear Justice focuses on the friendship between Fenris and Justice in a pre-fenders setting, which I’d never explored before but really enjoyed. Fading into you has Fenris and Justice interacting physically (yes, they’re banging), which I’d never really given much thought to before either.

Most unintentionally telling story:

I guess all of them are telling in some way or other, but so far, I’ve remained blissfully ignorant as to how (I mean, aside from the obvious stuff). I guess Setting sail would be the most likely candidate, as it’s by far the most personal one.

Hardest story to write:

Both my fenhawke stories Reckoning and Things we lost took disproportionally long to finish considering they are relatively short pieces. The core parts were jotted down pretty quickly, but it took forever to tweak the details and hit the tone I was aiming for. And while coming up with the chapter titles and general outline for I spy…ruffled feathers and unlaced leathers was some of the most fun I ever had, putting the whole thing together afterwards ended up being an extremely slow and exhausting process.

Biggest disappointment:

Not finishing Truce or date. I’d planned to use December to finally finish first drafts of the remaining chapters (all of which are already half-written and have been lying around for months), so I’d be able to get back to a regular weekly editing/posting rhythm in January. But then things happened and I didn’t have time, so now I’m going to have to devote February to this project.

Biggest surprise:

There were a couple of surprises, but I think the biggest one was how well Dear Justice was received. It was posted in early December and after just three weeks, it was already my third most kudosed fic of the year. It also received quite a few lovely comments. It was one of the stories that were written in only a day and didn’t really get any editing/rewriting, and I wasn’t sure anyone would be interested in this approach to Fenders at all, so that was a really lovely surprise.

 Tagging (if they haven’t done it yet/want to do it) @protect-him @dovabunny @hollyand-writes @andrastesknickerweasel @emotionalmorphine 

[cosmosogler]

hi guys.

today i got up reallllllllly late just because i didn’t see a reason to get up earlier. i watched a whole lotta youtube! i made some great mac and cheese for brunch. i looked at clouds out the window and saw that basically all my neighbors have their windows covered. maybe they left town for the holiday. i goofed around with snoopy and dug through my clothes to look for some light jackets and my other jeans. i did find another pair! i could do with one more but i have plenty of other pants i can wear. 

i’m just really into the blue jeans. you know how it is.

blue jeans with a red coat. that’s been My Look for a few years. yes.

i’m not SAYING barry bluejeans is the best, but you can clearly see the evidence.

anyway goofing aside i guess i spent the day being very chill and quiet. i don’t know if it was deliberately “self care” or anything like that but i did feel very lethargic. when oz got home from work we called and i found a nice upload of ferngully to watch. i liked it when i got to say “time for another musical number” every ten minutes. we didn’t realize until 40 minutes into the movie that the image was flipped. we ended up making a couple of nostalgia critic references and that was fun too.

after that we just caught up for a while. it was nice. i feel like i’m forgetting what it’s like to have known someone for years and years and i forget that some people have also known ME for years and years now. oz, some of my followers... classmates on facebook, even though i don’t talk to them regularly. it’s bizarre, almost. that i existed before coming here i guess. 

i know!! like wow, right???

the way i worded it to oz was that i have lost a lot of people that were very important to me this last year. it might just be easier to have kind of hazy distant memories. at least right now. i don’t have time to get upset about it. 

i mean, i am still upset about it, but i also recognize that i do not have time to be upset about it.

although mostly i just think my thinking is muddled right now because i’m sick and stuffy and my brain always finds that unacceptable. it’s like being sick pushes out any room or capability i might normally have for thinking about anything at all.

i’m still not really... feeling the absence of my grandma pearl in my life right now. it took a long time for it to settle in that my grandpa al had died previously. it just comes to me in little bits and pieces. “oh. i’m never going to get a letter from pearl again.” “ah yes, the picture of my grandma and grandpa. i love them. they are good. oh. they were good.”

considering that i lived with my dogs and saw them every day and it took me basically a year for it to register that jake and randi were dead and i could have spent more time with them and i didn’t... this isn’t too surprising i guess.

i mean i knew it before that. i saw randi’s body a few hours after the last time i had scratched her behind the ear. i let them take jake into the back of the vet’s office. it’s not that i didn’t know and it’s not that i wasn’t hurting. but to feel all of it at once it took a year.

it still hurts though haha.

anyway after i hung up with oz i swept the floor and cleaned the toilet one more time. i need to do something about that. maybe later. i’ll see about getting the right kind of cleaner for the pipes while mother is here.

then mom and my brother were here. i let them into my apartment and showed my brother around. 

“i like the single danimals in your fridge,” my brother said.

“yes,” i replied. “he keeps me company. and the skeleton.” i pointed at the wooden skeleton over the keyboard. mom sighed because it’s like the only thing i have hung on the wall. the other thing i have hung up on the wall is a light-up plaque that reads “The Struggle Is Real” in cursive over my kitchen table.

at dinner i got my brother to laugh pretty hard just by giving him a Look when mom placed her peppers on an extra plate. it felt good to have that level of communication. 

the joke is that one time at mexican food we both tried to eat those yellow peppers at the same time and both died on the spot.

mom did a few annoying things. she complained to me about how fat some of the people on the plane were. she also told a story about how unacceptable it was that a guy who was offered as many snacks as he wanted had taken a bunch of them during their extremely long flight across the country. my brother was also a little confused by that one.

i managed to patiently suffer through a short story about how dad is doing after his surgery. i even winced when she talked about how many places his jaw got broken in.

actually that was only partially on purpose. it does genuinely sound unpleasant to have the roof of your mouth cracked open and even the idea of the sensation is grossing me out.

i mostly wanted news on the dogs. genevieve is very upset that the whole family goes upstairs without her. my brother said she goes upstairs sometimes but i remember the few tumbles she took while i was still at home and they did not look like they felt very good at all. rug burn on an open wound is just not a good time. i don’t blame her for being reluctant to keep trying even now that her incision is all healed up. her fur’s probably grown back in by now too.

she likes to tease wiley. she’s allowed to carry around shoes and he isn’t (he chews and has chewed up all her favorite toys) so she’ll rub them in his face. apparently now she also likes to pick up one of wiley’s tennis balls, carry it around until he takes it from her, and then pick up another toy. when wiley realizes she is carrying a new toy he drops the old one to take that from her. so then she grabs the first toy and goes to hide while he’s distracted. you can get him to play fetch that way too, as long as you got two balls to throw.

diogi’s apparently doing ok. she’s still romping around the backyard even though her back half doesn’t work at all.

my and my brother’s conversations move extremely quickly. it’s like trying to keep track of a tennis match between particle accelerators. mom had no idea what we were talking about when we got about two sentences in.

mom dropped me off back at home and then i spent the evening watching more youtube videos. i also sent a message to a person whose meta i’ve been reading for like two years.......... i am very shy and this week i’ve been very muddled but she responded very positively so i might try again when i feel a little better. 

i was going to say “i don’t know when i got so shy” but it feels like i’ve always been like this. when i get thrown into a new school with a completely new community i’m forced to meet people. it’s a necessity. but seeking people out myself is like... what??? why would i EVER do that???????

i can’t even FOLLOW people i really respect in case they see my username and check out my blog. the idea is stressing me out.

anyway it’s 10:52 now, which is about when i started writing my entry yesterday, so i guess i’m making good time. i gotta get up at 7 tomorrow morning because mother wants to leave at 8 am for sea world. i’m not really sure what the day is going to look like- i know that there’s not a whole lot of vegetarian options at theme parks as far as food goes. my stamina is a lot better since i started biking basically every day so hopefully walking for a bunch of hours will be fine. i’ll bring the sudafed to try to keep my air ways clear.

i’m not going to get enough sleep tonight but maybe i can catch a few zs during the car trip.

i saw a thing about treasure planet and now i’m listening to “i’m still here” again and i’m bummed haha. 

something good today was that i, sort of, reconnected with people i guess? i talked to oz for a good long time. i sent a message to the new person. i had a good time with my brother. i sent a facebook message to an old classmate who’s messaged me a few times in the last year and i figured i should probably message him for once.

i do really want to go on a sailing space adventure again now though. and prove myself with nothing but determination to a roguish but ultimately goodhearted swashbuckler who might appreciate me the way none of my parents ever did. yes. good.