#u should all at least get the option to mute me LOL

[lorephobic]

ada limón “i can’t help it. i love the way men love.” airplane section is literally going to be bucky post-curt do u see what i’m saying. he will memorize the wrecked metal details. the clear cool sky, cut by black scars of smoke. do u hear me.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Since I don't really enjoy character death fics (I'm an absolute crying mess after reading them😂😭) I request a fluffy fic where, a few months after bumi is born, the gaang get together and they all want to carry bumi after not seeing him for so long😂🤷‍♀️

Character death fics chip away my soul I stg (tho I might just make that fic a coming-home fix since I left Aang’s death kindof dubious👀)

This prompt was a lot more fun than I anticipated lol. I’m still a tad loopy from my fever, so grammar may or may not be optional😅. I hope you enjoy my hot mess madness tho!

(Bestuncle!Sokka? Bestuncle!Sokka😤)

Words: 1,023

*******************************************

“Sokka.”

“No.”

“Sokka...”

“No.”

“Sokka—!”

“You just had him! It’s my turn! Besides, I’m his favorite.” Sokka bumped his nose with Bumi’s and tickled his tummy with his fingers. Bumi was hardly as big as a loaf of bread, but his laugh was as loud as Appa’s happy-groan-growl. “Isn’t that right, Boom-erang? Yes, it is. Yes, it is~ Ow!”

Bumi didn’t let go of Sokka’s finger even as Sokka stomped his foot and bit his lip to hold back a curse that would have given Katara more than enough reason to end him. Bumi may not have any teeth, but, Spirits, did the kid have some jaw strength.

“That, Snoozles, is called karma.” Toph simultaneously scooped Bumi from under his arms and bumped her hip to Sokka’s; and though the touch seemed light, the Water Tribe warrior left a dent in the wall as he flew from the blow.

(Zuko winced and probed Sokka’s drooling, almost-broken form. Sokka clung to life...but just barely.)

Maternity suited Toph just as beautifully as Katara, and Bumi smiled a supernova when she cradled him in her arms. His grasping hands reached for her face and patted her cheeks to feel the curve of her smile.

“Awwww, look at you, little warrior,” Suki cooed. She offered her fingers for Bumi to latch onto, and his giggle reached crescendo as she wiggled his little fists. “You are absolutely adorable. You’ve grown so much!”

“He’s heavier, too.” Toph frowned. “And a little cold. Hey, Flames-for-Brains—”

Zuko was a shadow at Suki’s shoulder and already curling his hands under Bumi’s bum and back. It had taken him a while to learn how to hold Bumi just right, but now Zuko accepted the transfer with ease.

Bumi froze, looked shocked, and then turned to bury his face in the little sun holding him.

Suki cooed some more. “Looks like you’ve got some best-uncle competition, Sokka.”

Sokka was on his feet in the next second. He looked at Suki like she just grew a third head. “What?!” he cried, his voice cracking like when they were kids. 

They all laughed, Sokka sulked, and none of them thought anything of Sokka’s (or their own) volume until Bumi flinched and sniffled.

Then he started to cry.

And Sokka looked ready to throw himself on a pyre to save his nephew from even one more tear.

“Sokka!” Suki hissed. Zuko looked as ticked as she sounded.

“Oh, nononono, it’s okay Boom-erang. It’s okay. I’m sorry.” Sokka tripped over himself to offer his hands to the babe in a small sign of apology. “It’s okay. Uncle Sokka was just being silly.”

Bumi’s tears thinned to small streams...

...but not before the Avatar tore through the temple to save his crying little world. 

Aang turned the corner at such a high speed and at such a sharp angle that he slid, parallel to the ground, into the adjacent wall. He was shirtless, shoeless, and so flushed with panic that he rearranged his facial anatomy with how wide he made his eyes.

“Bumi?” He fell twice before standing. “Guys, where—What’s Bumi—?”

“Calm down, Twinkletoes. Bumi is fine. Sokka is just a moron.”

“It was an accident!” Sokka pleaded in a whisper.

Aang teleported to Zuko’s side. Bumi turned to his father like a sunflower did to the sun—knowing where he was and grasping for him even though his eyes were closed. 

Once Aang had little Bumi safe in his arms, his world stopped tilting all crooked. His baby boy’s cry was broken by a comforted sound—content—that muted his next whine into a dull whimper. Smacking his lips, Bumi cuddled into the warm safety that held him, but he squirmed when he found no robe to hold onto.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh...It’s okay, Boom-Boom. Daddy’s here. Shhh…” Aang held Bumi high enough so one of his hands could anchor onto his prayer beads. Bumi’s other hand flailed until it found the fingers of Aang’s free hand, and Bumi finally—finally, bless the Spirits—calmed. He almost looked on the verge of sleep. He curled into his father’s chest, bodily hugged Aang’s hand, and gently gnawed his fingers.

Then it was quiet.

Then Toph smacked the back of Sokka’s head.

Then Suki did, too.

“Ow! What was that for?”

They said nothing, but their glares said everything. Zuko walked up, pinched the bridge of his nose, and flicked between Sokka’s eyes.

“Seriously?!”

“Hehe!”

They all looked over at father and son. Bumi giggled again and held Aang’s finger a little bit tighter.

“There’s that smile,” Aang said. He kissed Bumi’s head and blew a small raspberry that made his son giggle even louder and squirm even more.

Then Aang stopped. 

And Bumi looked at Sokka expectantly.

Then Bumi started to cry.

Suki turned on Sokka. “What did you do?!” she demanded in a whisper that shook the room like a shout.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Sokka!”

“I swear, Zuko! I swear!”

Toph smacked the back of Sokka’s head again.

And Bumi…Bumi giggled.

Toph smiled something evil. “I think Bumi thought that was funny.”

Zuko pinched between his eyes and mumbled a dozen different prayers to a dozen different deities. Sokka backed up like he wanted to do the same, especially when Bumi cried again.

“Now, now, come on, guys, let’s not—Come on, Suki, I know at least you can’t…u-um…”

Katara rounded the corner so fast that a wind like a bite-sized hurricane chased in her wake. The way she slid into her brother should have sent Sokka through the wall, but the Spirits Zuko had prayed to cushioned Sokka’s travel through the air by catapulting him among the sacks of flour and grain.

Bumi laughed like he was born to do nothing else but smile. Katara melted, weighed down by a relieved grin, as she vanished and reappeared at Aang’s side.

She kissed her husband and son, gave Bumi one extra just because, and turned to the others like she was a spirit that demanded a blood sacrifice if she were to remain benevolent.

Katara looked to Suki for an answer. Suki shrugged and pointed to Sokka.

...Toph grinned something even more evil than evil.

...Zuko sighed again but with passion and sulked into a corner to alert the mortal coil that everything was about to go to shit.

Sokka paused his struggle of getting free of the grain bags, shivered from the sudden cold rippling through the weave of the universe, and pulled himself out with a plea at the ready.

“Katara, listen, I don’t know what they said, but it’s not—”

The universe was merciful and Katara was all-knowing, but Sokka didn’t know what to think when his sister dragged him by his scruff to an awaiting Aang and a fitful Bumi. 

Then Bumi looked at Sokka expectantly.

And Aang put his baby boy into Sokka’s arms.

Sokka still didn’t know what to do even as Bumi smiled and squirmed, his hands reaching for something.

“I’m sorry, Boom-erang. Uncle Sokka didn’t mean to scare you. He promises not to—Ow!”

Bumi smiled around Sokka’s finger. Spirits, the kid had some jaw strength. 

The world got a little lighter as Sokka’s once impending doom retreated back into the form of his sister. Katara was shoulder-to-shoulder with him and making Bumi smile even wider when she brushed the fine hairs on his head.

“...You’re lucky you’re his favorite,” she whispered. 

Now it was Sokka’s turn to smile, and he couldn’t care less when Bumi gnawed a little harder.

“That’s my little Boom-erang~” he cooed. “I knew you would come back around.”

*******************************************

.

.

I’m still trying to get a knack for writing Sokka. He’s the member of the Gaang I struggle the most with idk why. I would have thought he’d be the easiest for me, but nope

(And, yes, that was a shameless Ice Age reference in there lol)

(Also! I’m trying to do these prompts in order (IM NOT IGNORING ANY OF THEM I SWEAR I LOVE AND APPRECIATE THEM ALL DEARLY), so up next: kataang pilot AU!)

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft. 

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

[lacklusterswirl]

Thatcher and... ?

Let’s be honest, my title abilities are poor at best lol. 

So this is a continuation of a short fic I posted a while back about Thatcher and possible death. This is kind of an aftermath of that fic. (and I know I haven’t posted any fanfic in a while, forgive me, I got reabsorbed in my original stuff.) It’s kinda sad and reminisces a lot but has a happy ending (imo) (1.8k words)

It’s based off of and includes the lyrics of You by Keaton Henson. It’s a really moving (?) song so prepare yourself if you haven’t listened to it already :)

Warnings: (Mentions/implied for all at least) death (of friends/family), dementia, injury, fighting, gun fights, canon typical violence, and mass violence (bartlett u)

.

 If you must wait…

A quick mission. That was all. After a training accident, he was taken off the roster and sent back home to recover. So, Thatcher sat on the couch with his mother’s arms around him as he awaited news. His best friend, brother in arms, was on that squad. They were unbeatable together.

Unbeatable is a strange word, no? It was supposed to mean victorious, impossible to defeat. The image of his friend at the end of the mission with a new medal and a new smile that just said that it went alright. That’s who they were… together. And Thatcher saw what the issue was now. He wasn’t there to prevent his friend from getting shot in the leg, leaving him stranded in enemy territory as his squad was massacred.

Unbeatable.

Yet that very man was still in that casket, arms on his chest, and eyes closed, draped in a flag.

… wait for them here in my arms as I shake.

.

If you must weep…

The ocean was known for many things. Thatcher sipped on his beer as he rocked with the waves. After the mission, he wasn’t the same. His mother passed, his father didn’t recognize him, and more recently, his wife had left him, saying that she couldn’t take it anymore.

Take what? Surely it must’ve been the money issue. Maybe a personality clash. But it couldn’t have been because of… what did she call it? It couldn’t have been because he was “obsessed.” It was a job – one he took seriously. That was all. He wasn’t obsessed with it, but he couldn’t stop certain flashbacks, certain triggers, certain emotions that refused to leave him alone when he slept at night.

That was all… But that couldn’t be helped.

Right? There was no other option – no other choice for him in his life. He took the chance to leave his home, he took his opportunities; he took what was in front of him like any other human was. And he was human.

… do it right here in my bed as I sleep.

.

If you must mourn, my love…

He still remembers that day, to this day. He remembers the smoke, the screams, the gunshots, the blood. All of it. It will never leave him, being on par in horror levels with the wars he’s been a part of except those fights were between those who knew why they were there. It was a battle. Not a massacre.

And even though he knows that it went well, that they did all that they could, that only Rainbow could’ve helped, he can’t help but feel a pit in his stomach, one that threatens to – no, does swallow up his thoughts and starts asking what if’s.

What if they cleared faster?

What if they could evacuate earlier?

What if the terrorists were caught before they even entered the US?

What if they could’ve gone into one of the labs and crushed the project before it began?

What if?

And that’s where Sledge found him. Pacing on the roof, and glaring at the stars as though they could’ve prevented it all.

… mourn with the moon and the stars up above.

.

If you must mourn…

Sledge was a good leader. One that takes his time with all his teammates – not just the weakest – and makes sure that they’re all alright. He is one that understand unity and team cohesion like it was as easy as reciting the alphabet. He knows how to talk and hold a meaningful, helpful conversation like it was as natural as eating or breathing to him.

And know best he does. It’s as clear as the scowl on Thatcher’s face while he’s being dragged to an empty office.

“What’s on yer mind?”

“Nothin’”

“Mike.”

A sigh. “Just a little worried that we’ve seen this before. That’s all.”

…Don’t do it alone.

.

If you must leave…

The conversation from the night before was not repeated as Thatcher was getting strapped and ready for their next mission. It was not repeated again as he gave his briefing and walked out of the room. And it was definitely not repeated right before the initial attack.

The next thing he remembers is walking into a dark building. Twenty-two kilos of cocaine, ready for sale, and one of those kilos contains a very special message. One crime hidden in another. It was here, in the shadows, where Thatcher could finally forget about his past.

It’s hard to reminisce on the past when your future was in danger.

He has a purpose in life. The same one he’s had since eighteen.

Two shots to the right, and a foot disappeared behind a shelf, though the shadow was still there. That was easy, two steps forward and turn to the right. One shot to end a life.

That was simple. One for one.

Except that the one shot could also mean something else.

There was a spray of gunfire underneath him, and he heard a thud.

“Mute!” Smoke’s voice called out over comms. “He’s down! Under heavy fire, sir!”

From somewhere below, he could hear the sound of one of Smoke’s grenades going off. “In cover! Repeat, Mute is down, and we’re in cover! Requesting immediate back-up… please.”

Without another thought, Thatcher used a breaching charge to jump down a floor and rush in the direction of the fight.

… leave as though fire burns under your feet.

.

If you must speak…

Rat-tat-tat. Thatcher took down terrorist after terrorist. They weren’t expecting a flank, and he was cutting them down like a razor to hair.

“I’m here, Mute.”

The boy didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes were glazed and his mouth slightly open, though no sounds came out.

“His gut, we need an evac.” Smoke tossed his last grenade and set it off to buy them some time.

There are four of them in this one building. Sledge’s shadow was coming up form behind them, the hammer giving him away. Evacuating Mute would be a two-person job. If he were any less confident, there would be no chance, but he actually believes. There’s a chance he can clear the floor and cover their evac on his own.

Take out the last two to the right, and one to the left. EMP the soft wall and breach through. Finish the floor. His was empty above anyways, and Sledge should have finished done down below.

“Go…”

“Mike, that’s also not a…” Sledge finally caught on to what he was suggesting.

“Nah, I’m proud of my team. Cliché and all, but I’ve had plenty of good years in my life, but he’s barely started his. Now get him help, and leave the rest to me.”

… Speak every word as though it were unique.

.

If you must die, sweetheart…

It’s a long fight. One that sapped all strength from his muscles, that softened his bones, that makes his hands tremble, but it’s a fight he takes. It’s down to Thatcher and one other man now. They see each other, know where the other is, and stare at each other with their hands tightening around their respective weapons.

Two gunshots: one pinging off a box, and the other tasting air, muscle, bone, muscle, air and then the wall behind.

One of them falls.

“Mike? MIKE!”

That voice… was it Smoke? Maybe Mute? No, he was unconscious. Probably Sledge, given that he had issues understanding what came next. Or maybe that was just the darkness calling his name.

What was it that Mark kept quoting at him? You die a hero or live long enough to become the villain? Or something like that?

Legends are always remembered. He just hopes he died fast enough.

… die knowing that your life was my life’s best part.

If you must die… remember your life.

There was a soft murmuring that slowly faded into silence. All things pass – even the complete and utter emptiness. Instead of going anywhere, he sits in that dark shell of what he can only assume is his own mind. It’s a welcome rest, and in his mind’s mind, he relives everything. The good, the bad, the really bad, and the atrocities.

There was no sun to tell him how many hours he’s been lying there. Yet in the distance, he swears he could hear his mother’s voice.

You are… You are… All you are… all.

And with that, he’s had it with this place. Wherever he is.

.

If you must fight…

When he comes to, he’s still on the floor, significantly weaker from before, but still alive. There’s a bullet in his vest, maybe a cracked rib or two, but he’s alive. His pistol was still there. That’s nice. He struggled to get to this hands and knees and crawl to cover. There were voices that definitely did not belong to his teammates. Had they gotten out? Or was he fighting a losing battle just to die as a martyr?

With a shaky hand, he measures everything, considers his strength. He might only have one shot. But that’s all he needs.

One shot, and the last body hits the floor. Then, he returns to that dark shell inside of him. There were worse fates.

… fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night.

.

If you must work…

Medal of honor, yadda yadda yadda. He couldn’t care less.

What mattered more was that he was hooked up to a machine that was listing out a very important number. That, and a friendly face was staring back at him.

“Do you want me to show you this new game I started? It’s super simple, but it’s very fun and simple to play. You’d love it.”

There was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. And from Sledge and Smoke, who stood a little farther behind the kid, they all had the same look. They admired him, and looked up to him. They’ll tell his stories to the legions of new recruits long after he himself has said goodbye to Hereford.

Isn’t this what you work for? For those who will pass on your morals and give you that piece of mind that you left the world slightly better than when you entered it.

… work to leave some part of you on this Earth.

.

If you must live, darling one…

“Hey, Mike?”

He jerked his head up and towards the sound of the voice. He must’ve been asleep, seeing as Sledge and Smoke had left, leaving Mute behind.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know… I know you know.”

With that, they shared a chuckle, and Mute gave one last nod before leaving him to fall asleep again.

… just live.

[horrible-monstrosity]

Those last three episodes of Steven Universe: a mini-essay

JUST FUCK ME UP

kevin party, donner party, what's the differenfe

hey guys, remember when lion disappeared? i legitimatedly don't. he ran off with connie or something and even though lars is probably in mortal peril and lion's the only way to get to him... naw don't need him. even though now steven's all worried bout lion he didn't give a shit enough earlier to search for him just for lion's own sake. nothing matters.

the party sadie and co fucked off to in the last episode and the tit-ular kevin party are not one and the same. why not? because none of this matters. nothing fucking matters. just... some stuff happens and none of it ever fucking lines up or amounts to fucking anything. why is this show still airing?

Kevin thinking Steven's name is Clarence is the best if not only joke this show has produced in the last like twenty episodes. Or thirty. How long has this season been going for? How many episodes does this show have?...

kevin is allergic to dog but lion is still here ok. the joke is he think lion it dog but the fact he hasn't like broke out in hives should maybe tell him something?.......

So the crux of this episode is, Kevin gives Steven this patriarchal man male romantic advice which basically amounts to "have a good time and don't be a sniveling soyball" and is entirely reasonable. But since this is Steven fucking Universe, it's clearly absolutely fucking terrible. I mean, maybe it's not the perfect solution for *this* particular situation, but why the fuck would he know that? Is he supposed to read Steven and Connie's fucking minds? Why does the feminist solution to problems so commonly require the male reading peoples' fucking minds? It's a perfectly fucking reasonable piece of general advice, and Kevin even seems to be at least the littlest bit actually concerned about Steven's love life issues beyond getting the cool quantum-tranny Stevonnie at his party... but no, he's gotta be wrong, because he's the designated small-time patriarchal oppressor and 84opposition to the gender revolution.

connie assumes that steven doesn't want to talk to her not because she's been bitching at him and been doing shit like accusing him of being friends with kevin leaving him to wonder what he's done wrong... but because he's friends with kevin, obviously. female accountability and logic at 0%

kevin doesn't know how to friends. are we supposed to hate him or feel sorry for him? ... never mind, both of those options are equally depressing with the way the show treats him.

connie likes steven's maximum soy pink polo shirt, because the way to get grils is to treat yourself like a defective woman who needs re-estrogenizing and soy yourself up. just fucking go cry at her and wear the soy clothes she bought you and drip snot upon her. bitches love snot and then even though steven said kevin had his heart broken and it looks like they have some sympathy for him connie goes "lol ofc he did" and he falls in the pool and they shit on him. fuck this gay earth the rebellion was a mistake homeworld did nothing wrong

So... what the fuck was the conflict here again? Seems like the only thing keeping Steven and Connie from making up was bad timing and mutual awkwardness. Did anyone learn anything from this, aside from Steven discovering he needs to get even more soyful if he wants to inject his gem cummies into a strong big-nosed short-haired minority female someday? Did any of this fucking matter?

Also, I've no idea if this is just fan conjecture or what, but apparently the "Sabina" (because yeah that's a name normal people hsve) who fucked Kevin up is actually the le mysterious pink-haired person mute lesbo who hit it off with Pearl forever ago and probably showed up again at some point in the last X episodes but I don't fucking remember it. You... you... how did you manage to make this even worse? So not only is Kevin terrible and wrong and evil for existing, and for hitting on hot five-gendered quasi-minority manchicks at parties, and for giving reasonable advice... he hit on a thicc pink turbo-lesbo and we're supposed to hate him for that, too. Just... how the fuck do I put this? It's like... stupid fucking cis straight normal fucking a white male, thinking this world is full of other normal people like yourself- the real Earth's population is 99% minority queer demigender faggosexuals, how dare you think you can get into a normal heterosexual relationship with a female of the species? He tried some normal human courtship instead of feminist-approved all-gendered-yet-female-oriented interactions fit only for mentally-deficient degenerate aliens, so he deserved to have his heart trampled on. She's a stryng fymyle fat womyn person, you fucking piece of shit, not some thing for you to treat like (an object/your property/an animal/whatever) by treating her like a normal human being. You're shit, normies are shit, and treating a transcendant gender-goddyss as equal to yourself is oppressive. Or... some fucking shit like that. fuck i don't know whatever

-

c'mon plot it's time to go the fuck back into space already!!! It occurs to me that Connie (probably, I don't fucking know) knew all this time Lars was trapped in spacedanger and Lion was the only thing Steven or anyone else on Earth could use to rescue him, but she decided to fuck off with him anyway. Because why? Because her selfish little emotional snit over Steven valuing her life is more important than Lars' own fucking life? Remind me, why are we supposed to like Connie again? Also why did Lion stay with her this entire time anyway? Usually he just fucks off and does whatever he wants. He never wandered back to Steven?

Connie immediately shows her ignorance and downplays the situation as a fun and funny adventure, steven and connie in space o ho ho! an attitude which hey you know might be conducive to PEOPLE THINKING YOU'RE NOT FUCKING FIT TO HANDLE YOURSELF IN SPACE AND THEY SHOULD LEAVE WITHOUT YOU TO PROTECT YOU... Pretty fucking retarded thing to say after all that bitching about... no, wait a minute, Connie never said anything about being treated like Steven's equal or being coddled, did she? I mean, she barely said anything about anything because this was an underdeveloped aborted fetus of an arc, but the entire crux of this disagreement really was just... #

god fluorite still creeps me the fuck out. She's basically some magna-tranny that's gone through eight different transitions of like three genders each and gained a new fat roll for each one. Is this supposed to make me like "diverse" people? Because it's not working. Every single second of her vocal drone grating across my eardrums makes me want ever more to perpetuate a holocaust against the legbutt people. Eugh. two children are all we need to save lars, don't bother bringing garnet or any of those other fucking main characters we have lying around or anything naw fuckit

On some level I almost enjoy how few fucks Lars has come to give, even doing shit like spouting the aesop he was just given as a kewl one-liner as he (kind of) trounces the bad guy... but still, it's all off-screen development that raises a lot of questions. Maybe it's just the change in environment and the lack of anyone to try and impress (the shitgems sure as hell aren't the cool kids) that's brought this out of him- that almost makes sense, but there's nothing indicating that's the case... or anything's the case, really. Maybe it's just some kind of tangential stockholm syndrome where I'm happy to see something actually fucking happening, I don't fucking know.

also how did they steal the ship? they """explain""" but... they really don't. They're just that good because take our word for it lars is really happy for those clean pants. how much did he shit himself over the past couple weeks

And then shit gets terrible again. Lars is more triggered over sadie than his own parents... because of fucking course he is. No, she wasn't worried sick, she was faffing around whining about having to do your work for you or having to work at all and then fucking quitting her job to go become a marxist rock guitarist. Hey, remember the purple cake incident? Lars was legitimately fucked up over his social anxiety and his inability to hang with the cool kids despite wanting so badly to do so, so Sadie just fucking around with them like it's nothing because she really is barely worried about his wellbeing... yeah, I think that shit's gonna fuck him up a little bit.

But no, Steven basically just... tells him to get the fuck over it. Because, like, he's not there so she can do whatever the fuck she wants, immediately. Fuck is this shit? Like all of five minutes into the episode Steven just starts fucking explaining this shitty twisted aesop to both Lars and the audience. Yeah man, you go die in space, your gf can immediately go do everything you ever angsted over with ease and I'll come rub it in your face and you should just fucking get over it because u totes love her that much, lol. *You* aren't entitled to your own emotions.

Oh and then Steven compares Sadie's faffing to Lars's fucking comandeering a space ship in order to keep himself alive. Because the woman's feelsies are equivalent to the man's fucking life. Guys, what the fuck am I watching?...

I think this is one of those... things... this show does, where it at first vaguely approaches something that would pass for a normal human cognitive outputting, but then turns, farts in your face like that sexy alien from Star Wars and flits off like Tinkerbell leaving you confused and asmellied. Where in an attempt to create an unthought new aesop never before cognizized by mankind it ends up with a bizarre twisted mess.

At the very least Steven maybe shoulda thought twice before bringing some of those photos. "Oh, look how well your abusive not-gf has been doing without you! Befriending everyone you ever wanted to befriend but couldn't because you need a fucking therapist! Yeah that'll make him feel better". Hey, remember when Steven was empathic, you guise? I mean that being thrown the fuck out was part of what defines this arc, but come on...

It also severely hurts the thing that it's played out so fast. Lars is #triggered by the photos, okay, but then Steven immediately gets on his case and REEEEEs at him for... trying to destroy Sadie's something or other, because I don;t fucking know feminism is the radical idea that a man's emotional freedom is so disgusting it'll destroy a pure beautiful deserving woman from a distance of a thousand light-years in a fucking instant- Calm your fucking tits, Steven Sugar, we're in the middle of fucking space, Lars has no way of destroying Sadie's whatever the fuck it was he was supposed to be destroying. Let him have his knee-jerk reaction. Also, all of a week or a month away from your best friend slash romantic interest is enough you should expect she's moved on from you completely. Okay.

... Hey, wait a minute, I thought Kevin Praty taught us that sniveling was the way to get all the pretty wymyn? What might have changed between then and now, a difference of one entire episode? ... No, really, I have no fucking clue. This time, the contradiction is so fucking incoherent I can't even turn it into "because Sugar and feminists like her place female emotions above all else". The only way I can see it is if shitting on certain types of males is equal to or higher than muh womans, as the Kevin Party incident was twisted specifically to work at Kevin's expense. ... It's funny how this runs completely opposite what I'd think most people would find healthy. If the person you're hurt over is nowhere fucking near you then get it out of your system, but don't go dumping all your emotional baggage on them at a fucking party. This show wants us to bottle up our emotions when there's no fucking reason to at all but mainline emotional diarrhea in the most inappropriate of situations. what is this shit?

lol the crew are made so fucking useless just by a single fucking photo phone just take it from him One of the shitgems calls Stevvie "friends"... plural. they aren't a singular "they". SOC JUS FAUX PAS

man i can;t believe stevonnie;s fucking dead to bad the show ended here guys i guess homeworld can just go take over the world now. it's better this way

-

This was apparently some sort of special event called "Stranded", but the stranding only lasts one episode. Oooooookay.

This one is entirely just a nitpick, but I find it so strangely interesting from a writing perspective that I just can't leave it out... The "everything is broken" joke is like three lines long and two lines two long. Stevonnie is like, man what's broken and we're shown the readout from the ship showing everything flashing red, okay... and then she's like, ohhh man wow look almost everything it broken?? who expect that ha ha. And then she says, at least the screen works... and that immediately gets broken. Ha haaaaa. I dunno bout you, but I woulda laughed more if they'd just cut it short- have Stevonnie see the screen and go "oh, everything" or even just "oh", in that high-pitched, slightly breathy tone of voice that says "well, shit". Then crash. Boom, short sweet and to the point and gives you like ten more seconds this episode to spend on the plot of the epi- oh wait

Stevonnie is stranded on spaceplanet because no communications, but... xei have magic. Just... shoot some magic fireworks or start a magic fire for smoke signals. Or a normal fire, even. If the problem is that random new green gem will also find you if you do this... actually mention that. Steven and Connie don't even seem to consider sending a physical signal of any kind, even though it should be an obvious idea.

And then Stevenconnie just... finds a random alien species? And casually eats it? This... this just raises so many questions... Throughout the entire run of this show up until this date, the only alien species we've seen has been the gems. The center of the entire show, something that's been continually developed (if not consistently, coherently or well)- there's a decent amount of thought put into how these lifeforms that're completely unlike anything on Earth function, both in biology and society, with some degree of interplay between the two. The show was kept focused on the effects of Rose's rebellion and events related to it, and we avoided all the extra thought, logic and possible scientific plot holes that would be brought into existence by trying to create and balance multiple forms if alien life from multiple different origins. But now they just... dumped this stuff on in there? Because why

This is at once the first new alien species we've seen since the very beginning of the show, the first organic species, the first animalistic/non-sentient species, and the first found in it's alien habitat... and not only are a fucking bunch of them all introduced at once, they're thrown in casually and Stevonnie fucking eats most of them. What the fuck? There's no thought put into these things either, they're just a bunch of wacky squacky animals mainly comprised of random Earth animal parts. There's no logic to how they work, why they exist, how they evolved like this, they're just... wacky funny animals for no reason. Fuck you. After the series up until this point has focused on developing one species with an entirely different biology, history and culture from humans, with all of those things to at least some degree influencing or connected to each other, seeing these critters introduced just at random with no logic or context is incredibly jarring. This was such a fucking bad idea...

Also Stevonne eats the fucking fruits and animals and drinks the water because all planets just have human-compatible food species and good old motherfucking H2O I guess

stevonnie has more stubble than steven ever did because i hate life and i hate everything. this is disgusting. It's even distributed weirdly; instead of being on ziouir's chin it spreads up either side of zoidrgh's face and actually on to the cheeks. And we just have to see it's fugly little cheekstubble for the entire fucking rest of the episode. gagh

And then we get to this... really weird dream sequence where some really weird writing decisions are made. It starts off in Connie's house with Connie's mom... uh, rising up out of the carpeting, but Stevonnie identifies them as "my house" and "my mom". Stevonnie is both Steven and Connie, but given we're used to Steven being the main character and usual viewpoint throughout the entire series this comes off as though it's Steven saying this is "his house/mom". But, you know, they're not. And for any fan who's not devoted enough to commit to memory which character's household interior this is, it's misleading until Connie's mom shows up and then confusing after that. Why the fuck did the writers decide to write the scene like this? Why not have Stevonnie go "my, uh, your, uh, Connie's house" or some shit? Or just remove this part entirely because it gets really weird when the mom starts talking about EXTERMINATING ORGANIC LIFE and setvonnie notices nothing. Then the mom turns into this... weird brownwashed minority fusion version of YD with a big ol' jellyglob of Conmom's hair slapped onto the back of her head. What is this shit? if you're going to make it a meaningful dream you can't just do random shit like that. stop mixing messages. Just... stop. why did they choose to do this, and with Conmom specifically? If it's supposed to imply PD and YD's relationship is like Connie and her mom's... well first of all, that doesn;t fucking work because PD is nothing like Connie at all. But ignoring that, if it's supposed to imply YD is some sort of a parental figure to PD... why Connie's mom? She's not particularly important, and we don;t know her all that well. If it's not a comparison to her specifically and it's just that she parent... why Connie;s mom? Of all the parental figures in the show, because... I don't know, this is dumb fuck this

Though once that shit stops I actually almost like this dream sequence. Having our main character taking the place of PD in the dream, reliving her memories, it not being clear we "are" PD and that Stevonnie is acting out this memory rather than acting under xfer own will until we get to the mirror scene, where Stevonnie punches the reflection of PD while their own appearance remains the same... that's pretty fucking nice. This might also be a manifestation of that Stockholm syndrome I mentioned earlier, though. PD wants things and is frustrated with her current situation. She tries to get what she wants by bitching at someone else to give it to her, sure, but the way she storms off on her own and punches the mirror implies she wants to change things, there's just something holding her back. She has a trajectory. Apparently the fnadom hates her for being a brat, but I almost like her. ..... bets are open on how long it takes for the writers to completely fuck this up.

and then steven and connie just go home and who fucking cares nothing mattersfuck this show

... It seems the fandom has latched on to PD being an off-color because she's small (because height is a color what the fuck is that term why is it that). Like the rich family that hides their embarrassing retarded offspring in the basement, I guess. (i still crackship lars with kevin by the way)

[remeny-writes]

Roses are red, Violets are Adored (Viadore/Katlaska/group fic)

As promised! Sorry I've been so neglectful of the story lately but now that my hallowe'en and Christmas fics are out of my system, I can get back to hopefully finish up Roses soon. I am working on an optional epilogue as well and sometimes even though I haven't finished writing the story, I know what's gonna happen so I write the epilogue for a bit.

If you are happening across my tumblr for the first time because of the fic exchange or just because then WELCOME! If you enjoy massively HUGE (192k+ words and still going) fics with angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, love and a lil sprinkle of paranormal phenomenon that is written with a lot of details, YOU HAVE FOUND THE RIGHT PLACE. The easiest way to read Roses is to go here to my AO3!

Happy Christmas/Chanukkah/Yule/Kwanza/Holiday Monday to you and yours! Stay safe and remember, if you don't have supportive family, we get to make our own. You are valid. Your pronouns are important. Your sexuality is not up for debate. You are loved.

Love n Glitter,

Remény

Phi Phi’s POV

I love the post-show euphoria, fresh off a meet and greet with the best Phans anywhere. The feeling of contentment that you are living your dream. The adrenaline rush was unlike anything else, I hummed to myself as I quickly changed into some more comfortable clothes. I noticed my phone lit up as I pulled my makeup wipes out of my bag. I frowned as I read Pearl’s angry and mis-spelt text.

Pearl - U told Katya? Do yuo WANT me t kill you? She’s gona tell Alaska who can’t keep anythng from her bestie Sharon! And after I’m done killing you, FAME IS GOIN TO KLIL YOU!

I angrily typed in:

Me- Pearl! I didn’t tell ANYONE! I promised I wouldn’t!! I PROMISED! I wouldn’t do that to her! I have no idea what you are talking about!

Pearl - BULLSHIT! Katya texted me that she knew what happened and that Fame didn’t fall!

I jabbed in a response as I stood up and stalked around the room, looking for the skinny Russian queen and her even skinnier Alien boyfriend, getting more livid by the moment.

Me- Did Katya SAY I told her?! Because she hasn’t even SPOKEN 2 words to me tonight!!

And then the three dancing dots appeared, knowing Pearl was formulating a much larger response to ream my ass out for something I didn’t do, I stalked out the side door to see if Katya was out smoking.

Sure enough, Katya was there with her head back mid-laugh while Alaska gazed at her annoyingly adoringly. They stopped when they saw me steaming from the ears in the doorway.

“Oh heeeyy Pheephs!” Alaska greeted me in an unnaturally high voice as she feigned innocence. “How ya doing?”

“Well...you see...I just got my ass handed to me by Pearl for something I didn’t do.” I spat out, punctuating my words by jabbing the cell phone clenched in my hand in their direction.

“Listen, Jeremi…” Katya started, putting her hands out.

“Oh DON’T ‘listen Jeremi’ me! I promised I wouldn’t say anything and now Pearl is PISSED at me! Even if I didn’t say anything, you KNOW how Pearl is. She’s gonna fucking close up again and it’s going to be YOUR FUCKING FAULT!!”

“JER STOP!!” I heard Alaska plead and felt a hand on my shoulder. Alaska’s hand. My hand was clenched around a fistful of a scared looking Katya’s Tshirt. How did I get to this? I let it go and stumbled backwards, landing on my ass and putting my face in my hands and bursting into loud, messy tears. My phone clattering to the ground. I stiffened momentarily when Alaska wrapped her arm around me, sitting beside me. I felt Katya sit on the other side of me, placing my phone on my leg.

“I...I’m sorry Kat.”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok! You’re ok. We are all going to be ok! Fame too.” Katya murmured, “I’m going to text Pearl now, I’ll get this all straightened out, I promise.” Katya frantically started tapping away with her thumbs.

I nodded mutely. I can’t believe I lost my temper like that. All this stuff with Fame and Pearl was digging up the rage that bubbled barely under the surface some days. Usually, aside from bitchy comments, I was able to keep my shit in check but I was so damn tired, which totally didn't help with my shoddy impulse control. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, keeping my eyes closed but letting my hands fall into my lap.

“Phi Phi come here.” Alaska said, trying to pull me towards her chest. “I said come here you. You’re shaking!” Alaska fretted, pulling her sweater off and draping it over my shoulders, she wiggled closer to me and pulled my stiff body in. I finally relented, putting my head on her shoulder and leaning into her. I started crying again, I wasn't even sure what I was crying about. Kat was going to sort it out. Pearl has to forgive me. I didn’t DO anything!

Katya reached over and linked her arm with mine. Her phone dinged and it made me jump. Then my phone dinged making all three of us huddled together jump.

Pearl - It seems I’ve been fucking misinformed. Sorry Pheefs! I really am. Can you please swear the Russian and the Alien to secrecy? Tell them to keep it quiet if they don’t wish to die a slow and painful death from evisceration with a rusty spoon wielded by one pissed off drag queen.

I burst out with a little giggle and typed in

Me - Gee thanks so much for that mental image lol I’ll tell them. How’s Fame? Are you ok?

Pearl - You’re welcome! Police came, were absolutely no help, I’ll explain it all later. Fame’s conked out, they gave her some pain meds and had to give her anti-anxiety meds because the police got her all riled up. I’m tired but fine. Just remembering shit I don’t really want to.

Me - I will get a ride over there after I ditch the Russian and Alien and then you can go back to the hotel and have a rest. Did they say if she’d be released or admitted tonight yet?

Pearl - They haven’t said anything!! It’s driving me fucking bonkers! You don’t have to come over, you worked tonight, I just sat here. I’ll be fine although I may sneak out to have a smoke but with my luck, if I did, that would be when the Dr would fucking come in so I better stay here. It can’t be that bad because the MRI was done HOURS ago, if it was bad, they’d be in here.

Me - too bad, I’ll be there in 15, you’re stuck with me. Muah hah hah ha! Maybe the Dr will come in while I’m on my way?!

Pearl - LOL you are something Pheefs, ever the optimist! If you insist on coming (and you REALLY don’t have to) can you bring me a phone charger if you have one in your drag bag please? And I’m sorry again, I feel like they tricked me. I will take care of Katya, just tell them NOT to tell anyone, be VERY clear you mean ANYONE and specifically say that includes Sharon!

Me - I will. I’ll see you soon. It’s ok, I would be mad too, I understand. I’m just glad your wrath will be directed at them not me anymore! Lol!

I put my phone face down on my knee and looked from one queen to the other. “Ok, I have been told to tell you,” I said calmly and slowly, “that if you tell ANYONE what you know, that Pearl will disembowel you with a rusty spoon.” They both made squidgy faces as I turned to point my finger into Alaska’s chest, “and she said to specifically say that ANYONE includes Sharon fucking Needles! But tell abso-fucking-lutely no one if you wish to keep Pearl from going all homicidal homo on your asses.”

Katya let out a wheezy bark of laughter. “Sorry! Ha homicidal homo...that’s a good one Pheefs!” Alaska started laughing too and I joined in.

After a few minutes of us cackling, Alaska gave me a little squeeze and let go. “Are you coming back with us? I’m going to order an uber or something.”

“No, I’ll get one on my own, I’m gonna go relieve Pearl for a little bit so she can have a cigarette, maybe convince her to go back to the hotel. She sounds like she’s climbing the walls over there.”

“We could come with you and keep you guys company? How’s Fame doing?” Katya offered.

I shook my head, shrugging off Alaska’s sweater and trying to give it to her, she wouldn’t let me though and draped it over my shoulders again. “No, I’ll go by myself, I’m sure they are just in a little tiny room. Pearl said Fame was sleeping anyway so I don’t think we should wake her, especially if she has the good drugs in her system and isn’t in as much pain.” I said with a little chuckle.

“At least I’m glad she’s resting now.” Katya said, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm so sorry that Pearl got mad at you, I should have used my brain."

"It's ok, it's just...Pearl has grown so much, I'd hate to see her close in on herself again. She's gonna need to be able to talk with people, especially if something...uh...happens with Violet." A pang of pain went through my heart, I know that Vi's tests came back that they were beating this beast but I couldn't help worrying. Cancer is so damn unpredictable.

"Hey, hey, Vi's gonna be ok." Katya reassured me, rubbing my back. I just nodded.

Alaska ordered us both ubers, I grabbed my wallet and charger from my drag bag and sent the rest back with them. There was no reason to lug 15 pounds of makeup and pads to the hospital and back.

The hospital was pretty big but the uber driver dropped me off at the emergency entrance, I hesitated outside the nurses window. What was Fame's last name again? I couldn't very well walk up and say I was here to see a patient named Kurtis. I was just about to text Pearl when I remembered.

I pulled the curtain back slowly, peeking in but not stepping in yet. Pearl was dozing in the armchair. I sucked in a small gasp of air at the sight of Fame. Something about seeing her in a hospital bed, in a gown with an IV, her head lolled to the side. A giant oxygen mask obscured half of her face, large purple circles under her eyes. She was pale which made the purple and blue bruises on her face stand out in stark contrast. It somehow made what happened to her more real and I felt a surge of anger at the assholes that did that to her.

I paused in the doorway, I didn't want to make any noise. Pearl grimaced and ground her teeth in her sleep, I winced at the grating noise. At least she was getting a few minutes of sleep in. I could hear a gurney rolling down the hall and took a few tiny steps into the room. Pearl's head snapped up, eyes wide as she took in her surroundings until she saw me, she quickly pasted on a smile but it didn't reach her haunted looking eyes.

I quickly walked over as she stood up, I pulled her into a hug and couldn't help but notice the tremble running through her body and into mine. "Hey there you." I said softly.

"Hey," she whispered and cleared her throat.

"Y'ok?" It was a stupid question and I immediately kicked myself for it, "sorry dumb question."

She sank back down in the chair, lacing her fingers together and staring down at them like they were the most interesting thing in the world. I crouched down, she momentarily flinched when I put my hand on her knee but quickly recovered. "I'm not ok Pheefs, I'm far from ok. I'm so tired." She whispered brokenly, bowing her head down. I knew she didn't mean that she was physically tired, although I'm sure she was, I knew in my gut that she meant that bone crushing emotional weariness that comes from the energy it takes to keep going, to keep the walls up to protect your heart at all costs, even from yourself at times.

"I know you are babe, I'm so proud you can admit that you aren't ok, that you feel safe enough and trust me enough to admit that means the world to me." My voice cracked with emotion.

She looked up at me, tears were in her eyes but they didn't fall as she said seriously, "I will always trust you Jer. You are one of my very best friends and I don't know what I would have done without you these past few weeks with everything that has happened."

"What happened with the police?" If I thought I was mad before, it was nothing to the rage I felt after she told me, my hands balled into fists. I couldn't blame Fame for not wanting to bother reliving it but it made me furious that the fuckheads who did this to her wouldn't pay! I didn't get much of a chance to respond since Fame stirred and let out a little whimper.

Pearl hopped up and dashed around me and pulled Fame's hand into hers. "It's ok Kurtis, I'm here. You're safe. I got you Kurt. No leave that on please." Pearl replaced the mask back on Fame's face and captured both of Fame's hands in hers to prevent her from doing it again. It took Fame a few moments to wake up enough to stop struggling to pull her hands from Pearl's as Pearl continued to reassure her that she was safe. Fame seemed to calm, closing her eyes again.

"I'm going to go see if I can get an update." I couldn't just sit there doing nothing. I went out to the nurses desk, drumming my fingers on the countertop as I waited for someone to come by.

"Can I help you?" The nurse looked up from her stack of papers and then did a double take, she smiled, "hey, aren't you Phi Phi O'Hara?"

"Guilty as charged." I joked with a little grin back.

"Are you ok? I just got here and I'm playing catch up," she waved a hand at the stack of clipboards and paper-laden file folders, she frowned, "are you sick? What can I do?"

"I'm fine, Fame is here and she's not so fine. Pearl and I were wondering when we would get to talk to the Dr and if we could take her back to the hotel tonight."

"Oh Fame and Pearl are here too? I'm sorry Fame isn't well, I know the doctor just got here too, let me go check with her. I'll be right back." She rifled through the files for a minute til she found one that had Kurtis Dam-Mikelson on the front and took off to the back. She was gone for maybe 5 minutes, she came out with a troubled look on her face and I knew she had read what happened to Fame, I hoped she wouldn't tell anyone. "So Dr Fisher will be in in about 5 minutes, it's a safe bet you'll be able to take her home with you...well back to the hotel."

I smiled, "when you travel as much as we do, our home is each other instead of a place."

"Aww that's lovely. Ok well tell Fame I hope she feels better. I'm so sorry about what happened to her! Now, you might want to prepare her that a counsellor will probably want to talk to her before she goes, it's policy in cases of violent crimes. Oh I feel so bad!" She had tears in her eyes, "sorry, I'm not usually all emotional like this, I just feel like you guys are like...like friends...like I know you."

I echoed my statement from earlier that I had said to Pearly, "hey, it's ok to not be ok!" I gave her a lame little pat on the back and walked away. It wasn't that her words or display of emotion bothered me, I just wanted to get back to Fame and Pearly. I didn't know if they had eaten since the pizza this afternoon, I mean Fame was asleep but Pearl hadn't had more than half a piece of pizza all day that I had noticed. I doubted that she had left Fame's side to seek out food or water.

Well I thought Fame was asleep until I heard her raised voice, I wondered if the police had made their way back into the room. I pulled the curtain aside and ducked, narrowly avoiding my head coliding with the mug Fame had just thrown at a startled looking young woman with a hospital ID that said Deena Dale and then Psychologist Resident in smaller letters. She ducked and the mug shattered against the wall behind us.