#thank uu for sending sara!
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[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders. ( can't have you catching a cold yurikins! )
[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders. ╱ for you i would
It’s an exceptionally boring party, as far as ones that Yuri has attended go. Leering gazes and wicked smiles, every conversation overshadowed by the expectation of more. But they are not here to give, merely listen. When secrets are the name of your trade, one becomes quite used to slinking through the shadows. Though keener eyes will of course spot them splayed out on the sofa in the corner, the wine glass dangling from their hand empty.
Keen eyes like Dorothea’s.
“My, my.” Head tips back against their sofa’s headrest, lilacs finding the ladybird’s gaze. A dry smile creases the mockingbird’s lips. “I must be the envy of men and women across Fódlan to have the Dorothea Arnault looking after my well-being.”
As though there had not been a purpose to the sheer clothing, in what parts of their body had been concealed, and what parts had been laid bare. They know that Dorothea understands that more than most. “I grew up in Faerghus, you know,” they drawl, picking at her shawl with two fingers. Faerghus, where even the mildest winters are unkind. “It will take more than some exposed skin to get me sick.”
“Well, come on then, ladybird.” They drag the shawl across their shoulders until there space for another to fit underneath it. There is no suggestion in the offer, no implication of sharing warmth beyond sitting side-by-side with a drink or two and some conversation. “Can’t have you catching a cold either, can we? Now that would just be tragic.”
#encantresse#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ﹙ i worry that love is violence . —inbox. ﹚#dorothea for me :]#thank uu for sending sara!
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Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 6
[Read on AO3]
Obiyuki Trope Madness 2024, Semifinal #1: Bodyguard Crush
“Yuuta.” Names have never been Shirayuki’s forte; she struggles with Sarah and Sara, crosses her fingers when she comes across a Siobhan or a Ciaran, and now labors to decipher whether this is a ‘u’ sound or an ‘oo’ sound— gosh, it might even be a ‘uu’ situation, which is a whole other disaster entirely—
“Does he have a last name to go with that?” Obi murmurs, just loud enough for her to catch it. Well, so she hopes. “Or maybe you could just ask him for his number. Skip the whole swiping song-and-dance and just get down to—”
“Could you spell that for me?” she asks, a hair louder than necessary, hoping her smile doesn’t flicker under pressure the way old fluorescents do . “The patient’s name, I mean.”
“Oh! The…the patient’s…” Her well-meaning visitor shuffles, pink flaring up right under the spray of small freckles across his cheeks. It really is just like being back at the old B&B again, trying to smother a laugh as the sweet retriever from down the street keeps bringing back the wrong ball. “Right, of course. You need the patient’s…god, sorry, I wasn’t even thinking…”
“Happens all the time.” She bites back a smile as pink blooms into carnelian red. “We don’t tend to see people at their most put-together here.”
“Haah, right, makes sense.” His tanned hand digs into the tousles mass of his hair, sending it wild. It's a charming look, she has to admit. Makes her wish there were Beggin’ Strips for people too— he looks like he could use a treat. “Just feels a little stupid, that’s all. Not like you could look me up. In a patient registry, I mean.”
“You got a Tinder, though?” Obi crosses an knobby ankle over his knee, pant leg riding up enough to show the chili peppers on his socks. “OkCupid? Plenty of Fish?”
"Uh." The man blinks, first at him, then at her, as if she might confirm that this line of questioning is somehow part of the official visitor registration process. It's not. “Y-yes?”
"Ooh?" Obi pitches forward, fingers poised over the app store. “Which—?”
“Obi.”
“What?” Having reached the end of his leash, her wayward hound finally comes to heel. With a tug of his coat, he slouches back, not a hint of contrition lingering in that smirk of his. “I was just wondering.”
She lets her glare do the heavy lifting as she repeats, “What was the name again?”
“Ah, my dad’s? Katsu. Katsu Baudin.” The man coughs, clearing his throat. “And I’m, uh, his son. Yuuta.”
“We know,” Obi chirps helpfully as she puts in her login. It shouldn’t work— IT’s supposed to update the registry at midnight, and she’s been legally off payroll for three days— but the system only takes a long, hard think and rolls over, displaying patient information with the same enthusiasm as a dog wagging its tail. “With two ‘u’s?”
“Uh…”
Her visitor— Yuuta— glances at her, but she’s too busy tallying the number of security and privacy regulations violated to give him much more than, “Katsu Baudin, Room 7760.”
There should be some palpable relief on the air, or at least the barest whiff of gratitude, but instead their wayward visitor shuffles awkwardly behind the counter, not flushed but— strained, maybe. “Um, sorry, I don’t mean to be a pain or anything, but do you think—?”
“Two floors down.” Wistal is hardly as labyrinthine as Wirant— built into a hill, each wing designed to be the magmum opus of architects thirty years apart, resulting in atria so beautiful they graced the covers of Architectural Digests and hallways so nonsensical as to be be hostile to human life, with entrances on every floor between the first and the fourth besides the third— but with each level laid out exactly like the last, it’s easy to get turned around. “If you go straight out from the elevators, take your second right. 7760 should be down that hall on your left.”
“Ahh, right, thanks. That’s…a huge help.” He hesitates, gaze fixed down the hall as if it were a thousand yards instead of five. His fingers fingers drum nervously on the counter top. “I don’t want to— I mean, it’s just—”
He hangs his head, dark eyes huge and pleading as they peer up from under that fluffy flop of hair, as helpless as a dog that’s found a door it can’t nose open. “I suck at directions.”
It takes every last ounce of her self control to keep only the corners of her mouth twitching. “That’s no problem at all. Just let me call down to their desk and give them the heads up that you're coming. Then you can go there and have someone take you right to the room.”
“Oh!” His head snaps up, eyes so wide she can nearly see a waggling tail behind him. “You can do that? Er, I mean…I wouldn’t want to put you out…?”
In Wilant there would have been some grumbling, some pointed questions about just how many times his parents had dropped him on his head as a child if he couldn’t go two floors down and take a turn without getting it all twisted, but here—
Shirayuki glances across the hall, catching a flash of pale hair above a designer button-down, of a profile that has graced more covers of GQ than she’s got fingers on one hand. As exceptional as Izana is, she doubts that’s even the most impressive statistics on the floor. There’s a husband just around the corner she’s pretty sure has a collection of Super Bowl rings. Recent ones, considering all the rubbernecking outside their door.
“They’re used to worse,” Obi offers, so helpful as he scrolls. “A little hand holding isn’t going to break the scale.”
Yuuta blinks down at him. “Er, all right. If you’re sure.”
“Please,” he scoffs, slouching further into the ergonomic plastic. “Unless you’re bringing your mistress to watch your wife go through labor, no one's even going to—”
“Just a minute!” Shirayuki smiles as she picks up the phone, refusing to acknowledge anything over her shoulder. “Let me see what I can do.”
*
There may be no phone trees or music on internal lines, but there’s still plenty of waiting, especially with no voicemail for stale calls to be shunted to. Still, it’s only a few minutes before someone picks up— a nurse fresh from shift change, happy to take of ‘that old charmer’s baby.’ Watching Yuuta’s back disappear into the elevator makes a nice ending to an unplanned long night, and Shirayuki—
“What, you aren’t going to go with him?” Obi leans back in his chair, straining the ergonomic claims of those cushions. “Make sure the prodigal son makes it back home? Maybe hold his hand a little?”
“I think he’ll manage just fine.” She blows out her cheeks as she sits, letting her mouth settle into her sternest frown. “Now, I trust you deleted that thing?”
“Me? No. I’ve swiped right on three real studs already. And let me just say” —he presses a hand to his chest, the silk of his tie rumpling under the pressure— “I chose better for you than you choose for yourself.”
“Obi!” It’s a strangled noise, one she just barely keeps to quiet-hours guidelines. “I told you that I wasn’t interested in—!”
“Trust me, Miss,” he soothes, entirely too smug. “You’ll be interested in these guys. Or at least their traps.”
“I thought we agreed that—”
“We didn’t agree on anything.” His eyebrows may twitch up to angelic heights, but his attempts at innocence are ruined by the downright sly curl his mouth takes. “You said I should, and I declined to take your advice.”
All at once, the fight seeps out of her, leaving only the weariest sigh in its wake. “Obi…”
“Aww, come on, now, Miss. No need to go borrowing trouble yet. It's not like you've matched.” His lips twitch. “Yet. But let’s be real, who could say no to a knock-out like y—?”
“You are going to delete that,” she informs him with all the authority of a limp dish rag. “Right now. While I can watch.”
“Aw, Miss,” he whines, using only the most pitiful pitches. “I’m just helping.”
Shirayuki stares. “You think this is helping?”
“Of course.” His shoulders twitch, halfway between a shrug and a shield. “What better way to recover from a bad break up then having someone blow out your—?”
“Ah, no!” Her hand flies up, the flimsiest barrier between them. “Don’t— don’t finish that thought.”
“But, Miss—”
“I appreciate your…consideration,” she informs him, gracious. “Really, I do. But I think that maybe you and I process this sort of thing differently. Very…very differently.”
“I didn’t say you had to jump right into bed.” Though he sounds dubious on that order of operations. “But you could let someone take you out, treat you right. And then maybe on date three, you—”
“Three?” It’d taken almost six months for her to even kiss Zen, let alone even think about the sort of activities that might require the removal of clothes. And by then, it took them three months of planning to even get them in the same room. “Do people really…?”
“You know how it is, Miss.” Obi’s sprawled across the chair, lounging in a way its ergonomic bullet points were never supposed to accommodate, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes settle on her. “People are busy nowadays. Not much time to take it slow.”
“I have time.”
Shirayuki nearly jolts straight out of her chair. “Ryuu?”
*
(Shirayuki’s not given to believe in the supernatural— not ghosts, not ESP, not sixth senses that seem to only work in hindsight— but she’ll give Yuzuri this: her ability to locate her anywhere in this rabbit warren of hallways is downright occult.
“Have I got the goss for you, girl,” she squeals, stealing a baby carrot out of her lunch box as she slips into the empty seat beside her. It’s all empty seats in the break room right now, but Yuzuri rolls even closer, voice pitched low. “Word on the street is that Ryuu’s got something going on with the new intern.”
“In Imaging?” It’s hard to picture her— she’s a shy thing, always disappearing behind a white coat as a cart turns a corner, just a blonde ponytail above pink scrubs. “I guess they’re around the same age.”
“Same age,” Yuzuri scoffs, gnawing on her ill-gotten gains. “Is that what you think people care about? The same age? No, this girl is like…his type.”
That doesn’t sound quite right, not to her ears. “I don’t really think Ryuu has—”
“Of course he does. Everyone has a type, Shirayuki, even you.” Her voice drops to mutter something that sounds suspiciously like, “Even if you don’t realize it.”
“I just mean that Ryuu hasn’t shown much interest in…anything like that.” Romance, she means. But if she says it, Yuzuri will probably counter with something about sex, and quite honestly, she’s not sure if she can handle Ryuu and... and that idea in the same sentence. “I’m not really sure he wants to, either.”
“Yeah, yeah, normally I’d agree with you,” Yuzuri says with a dismissive wave. “But this girl is like, smart. And super cute. Like freckles everywhere! And her laugh— seriously, you have to hear it. He like, smiled and stuff.”
Well, the smile is a start. “Is that what his type is? Smart and cute? Freckles?”
“I mean, basically right?” Her hand flop open into something between a slouch and a shrug. “That’s what you’re like.”
It’s a good thing there’s no silverware involved in eating hummus, otherwise it would have clattered to the floor. It’s sad enough that she’ll have to toss out this baby carrot casualty. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, you know how it is,” Yuzuri presses on, as if she didn’t just drop a detail more devastating than an atom bomb. “It’s not about you. It’s just that every guy wants to fuck their mom or whatever. Freudian stuff.”
Shirayuki has opinions on Freud— capital ‘O’ Opinions, as Obi likes to call them, along with, the kind that don’t get us asked back to the country’s finest conferences— but all she can manage is, “I think I’m more like a sister than a mother.”
Yuzuri shrugs. “Same difference.”)
*
“Ryuu.” Her hand slaps to her chest, as if that might keep her heart beneath it better than own her ribcage. Which might be true, from how hard its pounding to get out. Shirayuki can hardly blame it. “What are you…? Ah, I mean, were you…?”
It’s still strange to have to look up to meet his eyes, to see the way his face furrows with the beginnings of annoyance. “It’s now or not until after four. Should I come back?”
“Wha— oh, the ultrasound.” Now that she’s on her feet, she can see the cart at his side, loaded up with one of the mobile units he must have requisitioned from Imaging. “Are you doing it?”
“I said I would.”
There’s no humble shrug to go with his words, no inflection to imply emotion, just a simple recitation of the facts. “Well, yes, but I thought you would have one of the techs on shift come up and—”
“I had time.” His shoulders settle into stern angles as his chin lifts, as imperious as any MD. “Is there a problem with that?”
There’s a half dozen, starting and ending with how he’s the Attending today; someone who has a thousand more pressing responsibilities than doing some investigative ultrasound for her patient. But as much as she might try, the words won’t stick together in her mouth, won’t let her make anything but the most unconvincing sputter. “N-no, it’s only—”
“Aw, come on, big guy.” Obi saunters up to the counter, elbow brushing her shoulder as he furls himself up for a lean. It’s nice; steadying. “You know there’s no one else Miss would trust to do this more than you. But don’t big shots like you have busy schedules? I wouldn’t think you’d have the time to come help little old us.”
A stubborn red that clings to the tips of his ears. “As I said, I do. Is it in that room, there?”
His head bobs toward the door. There’s no one behind the window now, just a straight view from hall to window, blinds strung tight across the glass.
“Yes, 9060.” He’s already wheeling the cart towards it when she adds, “Izana should be with her, too.”
The cart squeals to a stop.
“Oh.” His knuckles blanch so white she can see bone where they grip the handle. “Then maybe I should come back. Later. After…”
He doesn’t finish the thought. Shirayuki frowns. “I don’t see why. Is there something wrong with—?”
“Oh, I get it.” Obi’s smirk stretches long into a leer as he leans toward her, voice pitched to be heard as he whispers, “I think he’s afraid of Her Majesty. Intimidated by laying hands on America’s Sweetheart. Little too famous for his blood, I—”
“I didn’t say that,” Ryuu grumbles, sullen. “I’m not laying hands on her anyway. It’s only the probe that will—”
“So it’s His Majesty then,” Obi amends, so considerate. It’s a struggle to keep her mouth from twitching, giggles straining behind her teeth. “Can’t say I blame you for that one, little guy. That guy makes me break out into a cold sweat.”
“I’m not afraid of Izana Wisteria.” The name snaps between his teeth, cold. “I just thought that if she has a visitor, she might not want to be interrupt—”
“You know, Miss.” It’s hard to call something as languid as Obi’s lounging aggressive, but that’s what it is— weaponized slinkiness, the way a cat weaves through legs at dinnertime. “If Ryuu thinks that this is too rich for his blood, you should really just get someone else to—”
“I’m doing it.” The cart squeals as it angles toward the door, wheels grinding with the same single-minded focus as Ryuu’s teeth. “I— I’m already going!”
He doesn’t so much march as storm over, shoulders hiked like pickets by his ears as he knocks at the door. “Excuse me,” he says, swinging it open. “Name and birth date, please.”
It shuts before she can hear Haki’s answer.
*
“Boo.” Obi doesn’t so much sit as he does slump, a puppet with all his strings cut. “He coulda kept that door open a smidge longer. I've heard that America’s Sweetheart fudged the date on her birth certificate to get that role in Mean Girls.”
“I doubt that.” Shirayuki spares him the flattest stare, fingers striking the keys with a pointed power as she logs out from the system. “Her family’s a big deal, aren’t they? Hollywood Royalty, isn’t that what Yuzuri called it?”
“Miss.” His shoulders shake along with his head. “Only you could ask if the Arleons were a big deal.”
Years ago she might have blushed, might have stammered out excuses about the how cable didn’t run out that far until she was in college, and the combination post office/movie theater in town only ran movies two years out of date, but now— now she simply says, “That proves my point, doesn’t it? There were probably newspaper articles about it. An entertainment Weekly birth announcement? Something. It can’t be much of a mystery.”
“There was also some website that counted down to her eighteenth birthday.” He shrugs, casual, as if that isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s ever heard. Then again, knowing Obi, it probably doesn’t even make the top thirty. “But you know, once you get a thing like that in your head…”
He lets his grin do the rest of the talking. Like all of his outrageous behavior, she simply ignores.
“Thank you for that, by the way.” One of his narrow brows hikes up toward his hairline, and she clarifies, “With Ryuu. You’ve always known how to handle him better than I do.”
“You do just fine.” The seat creaks as he tucks his thigh against its arm, elbow lazily hooking over his knee. “He just needs a little heat to get him into the kitchen sometimes. And you’re not someone who’s comfortable with turning it up. Especially when it comes to Ryuu.”
Shirayuki doubts her interns would agree with that particular assessment, but she simply says, “Thank you anyway. If you hadn’t been here, I think we really would have been waiting until four.”
Obi hums. “Oh, I’m not sure about that, Miss. Seems like you handled it just fine the other day.”
She blinks. “The other day?”
“You know.” His shoulders twitch, the laziest suggestion of a shrug. “Ms. Luteal Cyst?”
*
(The cart wheels catch on the threshold, casters making a nasty ka-crack as they struggle over the metal strip. The noise alone has got her grimacing, but when she sees the close-cropped dark hair, so like Obi’s now that all the curls have been left on the barber shop floor, her mouth pulls thinner still.
“Ryuu.” He’s supposed to be on days this week— at least according to the schedule posted up in the break room— but yet he’s here, wincing as the last wheel wails across the floor. Ah, and he’s gotten the squeaky cart. “I didn’t think you’d be…?”
In, she wants to say, but doing the tech’s job keeps trying to elbow its way out at the same time, and instead the question just hangs, awkward.
“Oh, Shirayuki.” He blinks, first at her, then as he leans out the door, as if—
“This is the right room!” she assures him, a laugh startling out of here. “It’s just a slow shift, so I though I might keep my friend here company while she waited.”
“Oh.” The girl sinks further into her pillows as he stares, withering under the stern furrow of his brows. Shirayuki’s half-tempted to tell her that it’s not personal, that without regular reminders, Ryuu’s face defaults to forbidding. “The gel’s going to be cold.”
“I-I don’t care.” She lifts her chin, defiant; a challenge if he means to make it one. “Anything’s fine as along as my baby’s okay.”
Ryuu shoots her a wary glance across the bed— don’t let this girl have emotions on me, it says, loud and clear— before he turns back to the computer, fingers clacking pointedly across the keys. That leaves her to help the girl lift up her johnny, rearranging blankets and drop cloth so her legs and clothes are covered, terrible mesh underwear and all.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” The words might be for Ryuu, but Shirayuki keeps smiling down at her patient, trying to keep her in the conversation. “Usually we don’t have doctors doing untrasound, but Dr Goldregen sometimes helps out when there’s a bit of a scheduling back up—”
“Or when the tech no-shows.”
Her smile stiffens. “O-or that.”)
*
“Ah…” Shirayuki shakes her head. “That didn’t have anything to do with me. Mihaya was late for shift change—”
“Must be nice to have a wing of a hospital named after your family,” Obi muses, head tilted over the back of the chair. “Then you can just waltz into work at any old time, and everyone just says ‘thank you for your time.’”
“I don’t think anyone says that to him,” she snorts. “And he does a passable job when he’s here, so—”
“So no one can fire him.”
Shirayuki struggles against a smile. “So no one can fire him. Ryuu just got here early for shift change and saw there had been a request pending for over an hour. It had more to do with being efficient than helping me.”
Obi hums, unconvinced. “I think you underestimate just how much that kid likes to please you. Maybe he didn’t know it was your patient or whatever, but I bet he showed off once he knew you were there. Probably had good bedside manner and everything.”
*
(The girl yips at the first touch of gel on her stomach, but Ryuu doesn’t even flinch, already pressing the probe down to spread it around. “It’s cold!”
He sends her a sidelong look. “I did warn you.”)
*
“Not…measurably.” It’s effort to keep her tone even. “Ryuu respects my opinion, but he’s really not the sort of person to give special treatment just because—”
“I’m done.”
“Ryuu!” Zen used to joke about putting a bell on Obi— or at least he did, before Obi sent him an Amazon link to a few human-sized collars— but Shirayuki is beginning to wonder if they might need to find one for Ryuu. Last thing they need is for him to startle someone into coding. “A-already?”
He nods. “One sac.”
Shirayuki frowns. That’s hardly what she expected. “Are you sure? Sometimes it’s tricky to see if—”
“I checked for a posterior placenta too.” His shoulders twitch, the barest shrug. “Sometimes hyperemesis gravidium is just hyperemesis gravidium.”
“I guess.” There’s just something unsatisfying about saying it’s hormones; something that feels dismissive rather than diagnostic. “I just could have sworn…”
“What I said before.” Ryuu clears his throat, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than right here, standing in front of the nurse’s desk. “About not doing it again.”
“I know, I know.” She sighs, waving a hand. “It was already kind of you to do it this time— and personally too. I won’t ask again.”
“No, that’s not…” His lips press tight, a white line cutting across his face. “I mean, I’ll do it, if you really need it.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“In a few weeks,” he tells her, stern, as if she might turn around and tell him to go back in there. “There’s things that might not show up now. Rare things. But…things.”
“That’s really kind of you, Ryuu.” For anyone else, she might reach out— pat their shoulder, shake their hand— but for him, she just smiles. But the way he straightens, it’s enough. “But I’d hate to bother you after—”
“It’s not a bother. If you think something’s wrong, I believe you.” It’s been ages since he was the boy genius, a teenager that trembled when he walked onto the floor. But there’s shades of it now in the way he looks at her, gratitude and trust and affection all tangled up into something that makes it hard to look away from his too-blue eyes. “Garrack always told me that you have good intuition. My own experience agrees. It would be foolish to deny that based on something so subjective as statistics.”
It must be a little too earnest even for him, since he shakes himself, quickly adding, “I have other things to do today. Goodbye.”
He rolls off, squeaky cart wheel wailing, and all she can do is stare at his back.
Obi snorts. “No special treatment, huh?”
She’s not sure how to answer, but she’s saved from having to figure it out when Obi’s phone blings obnoxiously. “What’s that?”
He glances down at the screen, mouth unfurling into a terribly devious grin.
“Why look at that, Miss,” he drawls. “Looks like we got a match.”
#obiyukimadness24#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#seven suitors#seven swipes#my fic#bodyguard crush#ans#oh we are drawing ever closer to the end of the original Ch 1#i think in the next two chapters I'll be able to get it wrapped up#and then i'll have to think about what the heck i'm gonna do with Aoi 🤣
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Zombies Run for the fandom meme!
OkAY first please let me apologies for how long it took me to answer this; I didn't realize quite how long the ask meme format was just in general and I've been picking up overtime hours at work so I've been working late OTL.
Thank you for sending this tho! I'm gonna put it under a readmore just so it doesn't get long and also because it will contain spoilers through the end of Season 8! Proceed with Caution!
a character that i used to love/like, but now do not:
the first character i ever fell in love with:
Hm! I def think Sam falls under this category if you consider it in a more smitten way, but Sara is my serious favorite ZR love
I don't think I really have a character for this, tbh! All my favs have stayed my favs.
my ultimate favorite character™: Sara freakin Smith!
a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not:
I'd say Jody/Simon for this one, I think. I don't dislike it, I just don't really ship it too much anymore! The character dynamics have changed a lot
prettiest character: Janine <3<3
my most hated character: Van Ark >:UU
my OTP: 5ara <3
my NOTP: Hm.... HMM... I'm not sure, honestly... there's the obvious ones like any of the lesbians/a male character, etc... anything with Veronica cos that's gross n nasty... Maybe Sigrid/anyone (But even that can be fun for cracky stuff...)
favorite episode: Zombies, Stretch! Also Season 3, Mission 44: Welcome Home (Sanitarium)!
saddest death: Here's the S8 spoilers jsyk! Tom's >:c God, I could write a whole freakin essay about how Tom deserves more and deserves better and how narratively unsatisfying and just wrong his death was, tbh. Like, even as sad as Sara's death makes me (and the mission and her funeral do make me cry every time I replay them) at least Sara's death made sense and felt earned. Tom's did not. I'm still unhappy and angry about it and it's one of the only deaths I actively reject in ZR canon. It shouldn't have happened.
favorite season: Season 3! With Season 2 and season 8 as the runner ups
least favorite season: Mmm.. maybe season 4? But only the second half.
character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: lmao, I think I'd have to put Study In Ichor!Sam here. I really couldn't stand him, and while I will admit I was not the target audience for that New Adventure (and also just didn't like the story much...) I just found him really annoying.
my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: Peter <3
my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: Moonchild/Five, perhaps
my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave:
PAULA. PAULA COHEN. Poor fucking Paula is Going Through It from DAY ONE and she deserves BETTER
my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: This is where I'd probably put 5am, tbh. It's not a ship I'm usually interested in and it can be handled in ways where I find it not to my taste, but some of my friends handle it ways I enjoy! And I like shipping their Fives with Sam.
#zombies run#ask and answer#zr spoilers#also let me apologize in advace for how POORLY FORMATTED this is i lost the fight to tumblr on that one
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A Call for National Mobilization to Oppose NATO, War, and Racism April 4, 2019, will mark the 51st anniversary of the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the internationally revered leader in struggles against racism, poverty and war. And yet, in a grotesque desecration of Rev. King’s lifelong dedication to peace, this is the date that the military leaders of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) have chosen to celebrate NATO’s 70th anniversary by holding its annual summit meeting in Washington, D.C. This is a deliberate insult to Rev. King and a clear message that Black lives and the lives of non-European humanity, and indeed the lives of the vast majority, really do not matter. Since its founding, the U.S.-led NATO has been the world's deadliest military alliance, causing untold suffering and devastation throughout Northern Africa, the Middle East and beyond. Hundreds of thousands have died in U.S./NATO wars in Iraq, Libya, Somalia and Yugoslavia. Millions of refugees are now risking their lives trying to escape the carnage that these wars have brought to their homelands, while workers in the 29 NATO member-countries are told they must abandon hard-won social programs in order to meet U.S. demands for even more military spending. Dr. King's words linking the three evils of American society: Militarism, Racism and Poverty, and his deeply profound remark that every bomb that falls on other countries is a bomb dropped on our inner cities, reveal the deep-rooted relationship between militarism and the social, racial, economic and environmental injustices that now impoverish whole cities and rural communities and have plagued our society and the world for a long time. It was exactly one year before he was murdered that Rev. King gave his famous speech opposing the U.S. war in Vietnam, calling the U.S. government “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world” and declaring that he could not be silent. We cannot be silent either. As Rev. King taught us, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." Every year NATO has held its summits, people around the world have organized massive protests against it: in Chicago (2012), Wales (2014), Warsaw (2016), Brussels (2017 & 2018) — and 2019 will be no exception. We are calling for a peaceful mass mobilization against this year’s NATO Summit in Washington, D.C., on Saturday, March 30. Additional actions will take place at the opening of the NATO meeting on April 4. We ask you to make every effort to join with us in Washington DC, or, if not possible, organize a rally or demonstration in your area. We need to show, in the strongest possible way, our opposition to NATO’s destructive wars and its racist military policies around the world. We also invite you to add your, and/or your organization’s name to the list of supports of the anti-NATO, Anti-War and Anti-Racism mass actions in Washington DC. Please go to the web site at http://no2nato2019.org to add your organizational or individual endorsement of the action or to make a donation to build the action. You can also contact us by email: [email protected]. Thank You. Steering Committee for the March 30th Anti-NATO Mobilization: • Bahman Azad, Coalition Against U.S. Foreign Military Bases • Ajamu Baraka, Black Alliance for Peace • Leah Bolger, World Beyond War • Alison Bodine, Mobilization Against War and Occupation • Gerry Condon, Veterans For Peace • Miguel Figueroa, Canadian Peace Congress • Sara Flounders, International Action Center • Margaret Flowers, Popular Resistance • Rev. Graylan Scott Hagler, Plymouth Congregational United Church of Christ • Larry Hamm, People's Organization for Progress • Madelyn Hoffman, U.S. Peace Council • Tarak Kauff, Coalition Against U.S. Foreign Military Bases, Veterans For Peace • Cassia Laham, People’s Opposition to War, Imperialism, and Racism (POWIR) • Jacqueline Luqman, • Jacqueline Luqman, Virginia Defenders for Freedom, Justice & Equality • Marilyn Levin, UNAC • Joe Lombardo, UNAC • Tamara Lorincz, Canadian Voice of Women for Peace • Jacqueline Luqman • Jeff Mackler, West Coast UNAC • Alfred L. Marder, U.S. Peace Council • Sarah Martin, Women Against Military Madness • Diane Moxley, Green Party of New Jersey • Nancy Price, WILPF-US Section • Paul Pumphrey, Friends of the Congo • Cindy Sheehan, March on the Pentagon • Paki Wieland, CODEPINK • Phil Wilayto, Virginia Defenders • Ann Wright, Veterans For Peace, CODEPINK • Rev. Bruce Wright, Poor People's Economic Human Rights Campaign and Refuge Ministries • Kevin Zeese, Popular Resistance
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"such beautiful weather! it's only fitting that today's as lovely as the one we're celebrating, hm?" dorothea glides forward with a warm smile, making no effort to hide what's cradled in her hands — a small, wooden music box, which she offers with gentle reverence.
"happy birthday, yurikins." something flickers in her eyes, like a whisper of light catching the edge of a distant memory. "i know that for people like us, gifts usually come with strings attached." a shake of the head. "not this time. that's a promise." and then, brushing aside the somber note with a well-timed tease, "sing to your heart's content when no one's watching, yeah? a voice like yours deserves to ring out in every corner of the world."
“Oh? Trying to flatter me, ladybird?” Yet a smile curls upon their lips as they turn, at ease in a way Yuri is rarely comfortable being. If Dorothea thinks them friends, they have never really considered, but they know she understands in a way few others can. There is a silent solidarity in that.
Their hand settles atop the music box she holds out to them, head dipping in gratitude. “Be careful, now. You might inflate my ego,” they continue idly, taking the gift from her hands to examine and wind up gently. Happy birthday, huh? When did Yuri become the kind of person sought out on such a trivial day?
It's quite a change. Not necessarily always a bad one but...different. They release the lever and allow it to play, smiling softly. “Thank you, Dorothea. Though”— Yuri snorts— “every corner of the world is a bit much, even for me.”
(No strings attached, she says. And in the manner she speaks of, they believe her. But Yuri will always see gifts as debts to be repaid anyway. That's how they get by, survive. They wonder if Dorothea would understand that, too.)
They pause a beat here, in quiet consideration, before adding teasingly, “Maybe in yours, though. If I'm feeling generous.”
And you know? Maybe they do mean it. But just the once.
#encantresse#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ﹙ i worry that love is violence . —inbox. ﹚#WAH miss dorothea :pleading: really cute ask...#thank uu for sending sara!!
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