#Actually I never did read the third Wings of Fire series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heybaetae · 1 year

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hello kelli! such a big fan of your instagram gfx through the eras, i tried really hard not to screech too hard in my tags haha i did want to ask, since i am mostly on tumblr via mobile app, for whatever reason i am not able to read your detailed explanation :( is there another way to access it? i would love to read it during my work break tomorrow! ♡

thank you so much! so i made the post private and accessible via the link, which i recommend opening in a web browser on either your phone or a desktop, but i know some people might still run into problems, so i will copy and paste it under the cut on this post as well. 💜

Hello and thank you for clicking through to this post! I decided that if I was going to make a gif series this intricate and time consuming, I’d break it down for anyone who was interested in all the fine details. Please see further comments at the end!

School era

Icon: Dark & Wild (studio album cover) Posts: 45 unique tracks across era Followers: 51k - “It went on to sell 51,655 copies by the end of that month” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Dark & Wild concept photos

First row:

1. No More Dream MV 2. 2 Cool 4 School (single album cover) ↳ Mouse hover effect: 612k likes - June 12th, 2013 760 comments - “2 Cool 4 Skool sold 760 copies in its release week” 3. We Are Bulletproof Pt. 2 MV

Second row:

4. O!RUL8,2? (mini album cover) / Swipe effect: N.O. MV 5. Boy in Luv MV 6. Skool Luv Affair (mini album cover) / Swipe effect: Skool Luv Affair special addition (repackage album cover)

Third row:

7. Just One Day MV 8. Danger MV 9. War of Hormone MV

Youth era

Icon: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever (compilation album cover) Posts: 21 unique tracks across era (excluding remixes) Followers: 164k - “164,868 copies were sold within the first week” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever concept photos

First row:

1. The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Part One (mini album cover) ↳ Mouse hover effect: 429k likes - April 29th, 2015 274k comments - “The EP ended 2015 as the sixth best-selling album of the year in South Korea, with 274,135 copies sold” 2. I Need U MV 3. Dope MV

Second row:

4. The Most Beautiful Moment in Life On Stage: Prologue short film 5. Run MV 6. Swipe effect: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Part Two mini album cover & concept photos

Third row:

7. Fire MV 8. Save Me MV 9. Epilogue: Young Forever MV

Wings era

Icon: Wings (studio album cover) Posts: 18 unique tracks across era Followers: 1.8m - “They [Wings/You Never Walk Alone] sold a combined 1.8 million physical copies worldwide” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Wings concept photos

First row:

1. BEGIN short film 2. LIE short film 3. STIGMA short film / Swipe effect: FIRST LOVE short film

Second row:

4. REFLECTION short film / Swipe effect: MAMA short film 5. AWAKE short film 6. Intro: Boy Meets Evil comeback trailer Third row:

7. Blood Sweat & Tears MV 8. You Never Walk Alone (repackage album cover) / Swipe effect: Spring Day MV 9. Not Today MV

Love Yourself era

Icon: Love Yourself: Answer (compilation album cover) Posts: 30 unique tracks across era (excluding remixes) Followers: 1.51m - “the first six days of the pre-order period for Love Yourself: Answer, iriver Inc reported that the album had sold more than 1.51 million copies” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Love Yourself: Answer concept photos

First row:

1. Serendipity comeback trailer 2. Love Yourself: Her (mini album cover) / Swipe effect: DNA MV 3. MIC Drop MV

Second row:

4. Euphoria short film 5. Singularity comeback trailer 6. Love Yourself: Tear (studio album cover) ↳ Mouse hover effect: 518k likes - May 18th, 2018 1.5m comments - “news media revealed updated numbers showing that pre-orders had actually crossed 1.5 million copies” Third row:

7. Fake Love MV 8. Epiphany comeback trailer 9. IDOL MV

Map of the Soul era

Icon: Map of the Soul: 7 (studio album cover) Posts: 21 unique tracks across era Followers: 4m - "On February 6, Forbes reported that the album had surpassed 4 million pre-orders worldwide.” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Map of the Soul: 7 concept photos

First row:

1. Persona comeback trailer 2. Boy With Luv MV 3. Map of the Soul: PERSONA (mini album cover) ↳ Mouse hover effect: 412k likes - April 12th, 2019 3.07m comments - “According to iriver Inc, the distributor for the Map of the Soul: Persona, stock preorders for the EP surpassed 2.68 million copies over the first five days of the preorder period. The number was later updated to 3.07 million on April 11, the day before the EP's release.”

Second row:

4. Make It Right MV 5. Interlude: Shadow comeback trailer 6. Outro: Ego comeback trailer Third row:

7. ON Kinetic Manifesto Film 8. ON MV 9. Black Swan MV

BE era

Icon: BE (mini album cover) Posts: 8 unique tracks across era + 7 members = 15 (to max out the grid) Followers: 2.2m - “Be debuted at number one on South Korea's Gaon Album Chart with over 2.2 million copies sold in its first week.” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: BE concept photos

First row:

1. Dynamite (digital single cover) / Swipe effect: Dynamite MV 2. BE Jacket Shoot Sketch 3. BE Comeback Countdown

Second row:

4. Life Goes On MV 5. Grammy Nomination Night Bangtan Bomb 6. MTV Unplugged Presents BTS ad / Swipe effect: Telepathy MTV Unplugged performance Third row:

7. Blue & Grey MTV Unplugged performance 8. BE-hind ‘Full’ Story 9. Dynamite Grammy performance

Butter era

Icon: Butter (digital single cover) Posts: 2 unique tracks across era (excluding remixes/instrumentals) + 7 members = 9 (to max out the grid) Followers: 2.5m - “The single album version of the song, sold nearly 2.5 million physical copies in South Korea in July” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Butter single album concept photos

First row:

1. Butter MV 2. Butter (Hotter Remix) MV 3. Butter (Cooler Remix) MV

Second row:

4. Permission to Dance (digital single cover) ↳ Mouse hover effect: 709k likes - July 9th, 2021 140k comments - “Permission to Dance" debuted at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 in the United States, on the issue dated July 24, 2021, earning 15.9 million streams, 1.1 million radio airplay impressions, and selling 140,000 copies in its first week of release.” 5. Permission to Dance MV 6. Butter single album Jacket Shoot Sketch Third row:

7. Butter feat. Megan Thee Stallion (digital single cover) / Swipe effect: Special Performance Video 8. Permission to Dance: On Stage poster / Swipe effect: Permission to Dance: On Stage opening VCR 9. Butter Grammy performance

Proof era

Icon: Proof (anthology album cover) Posts: 48 unique tracks across era Followers: 2.7m - “On its release day alone, Proof sold over two million copies worldwide. By the end of its first week, it sold a total of 2,752,496 copies.” Following: 7 members

Story Highlights: Proof concept photos

First row:

1. Swipe effect: Proof concept photos 2. Yet To Come MV 3. Proof LIVE

Second row:

4. 2022 BTS Festa Dinner 5. Proof Music Show Promotions Sketch 6. For Youth Inkigayo performance Third row:

7. BTS @ The Fact Music Awards Episode 8. Run BTS @ BTS ‘Yet to Come’ in BUSAN performance 9. Run BTS Dance Practice

Credits/Disclaimers:

BTS Chronicle - You may have noticed I took some creative liberties regarding what is listed as the “Dynamite Trilogy” on this website. Though I acknowledge that the three English singles served a purpose across the pandemic in 2020-2021—for the sake of this set and per my own understanding of these releases—I personally chose not to lump them all together as its own era/trilogy considering Dynamite was, in fact, an introduction to the BE era (and included on said album) while Butter and Permission to Dance were sold together on its own separate physical mini album the following year. I hope you’ll understand my thought process behind this and my decision to include Dynamite with the BE era, in addition to considering Butter/PTD its own era in and of itself.

BTS Discography - for all album imagery

BTS Wikipedia - for album sale statistics

Hybe Labels - for music videos

BANGTANTV - for Episodes, Bangtan Bombs, and live performances

namuspromised - for Permission to Dance: On Stage opening VCR

Instagram Template

From School era—MOTS era, I hope the way I’ve curated each panel makes sense in that the profile photo and story highlights of each “account” correlates to the final studio/compilation album within its era. Instead of having its own “post”, the top of the page represents the last release and overall profile. Eras with more than one mini/studio album are mentioned as a bullet point list in the “description”, while eras with one studio album have a lyric from one of its title tracks. Although real Instagram posts are shown in reverse order from newest to oldest as you scroll down, each release here is shown in chronological order from top to bottom to make it easier to understand and with the intention of the eye circling back up to the profile photo for the final release.

From BE—Proof, with fewer music videos and mini albums to include, some improvisation was necessary to encapsulate those eras during the pandemic. For example, BE and Butter each have less than nine songs, so their “post count” being 8 and 2 respectively wouldn’t have made sense with a visibly nine post grid. So I simply added seven to those numbers to max it out. The “posts” themselves consist of the corresponding music videos of each album, big career moments, behind the scenes footage, promotional TV appearances, or concerts.

Furthermore, I made the extremely difficult decision to exclude BTS’ Japanese releases from this set due to lack of room and not wanting to gloss over their incredible Japanese music by trying to shove them all into one panel or awkwardly squeeze them into their respective eras. I thought about making individual panels for their Japanese compilation albums, but I wanted the concept of this set to stick to era-per-panel as opposed to specific albums. I mean no disrespect to that body of work as some of my favorite songs by BTS are from their Japanese discography. For this reason, please look forward to a separate set entirely dedicated to BTS’ Japanese work in the future!

Comments:

Thank you if you’ve read this far! This project gave me an even better understanding of BTS’ work during Chapter 1 of their career and I hope this Instagram inspired layout helps put it into perspective for anyone else who might be new to their music. However you categorize their eras is completely up to your own interpretation and this set is simply a reflection of how I see it in my head, not a definitive way of looking at it. You are not obligated to agree with the way I arranged this set, that’s okay! Any mistakes are entirely my own. I have plans to continue this series as Chapter 2 proceeds to roll out with the members’ respective collabs and solo albums, so stay tuned!

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out. <3

Please do not steal or repost my work. I did not watermark this set because I felt it would be distracting.

Lastly, and at the risk of sounding desperate, please support your fandom content creators! Projects like this are quite taxing, so if you’d like to help motivate gifmakers to keep creating, please utilize the reblog button. If you feel so inclined, you can also buy me a coffee. Your support is appreciated!

#ask

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burningblake · 21 days

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I finally finished reading the penryn and the end of days book series by susan ee. I have many mixed feelings, so let's start with what I liked:

the ending battle! whoah! that was brilliant and awesome! I loved how all the elements came to work together in the end. Like the Consumed taking host on the sixers? - poetic justice! And the beauty of humans celebrating art as their last stance against the evil that took the world! and they way it was all planned out! the image of metal music blasting from the speakers! raffe and penryn fighting back to back, switching the sword between them! perfect just so absolutely perfect!

raffe sacrificing his wings to save penryn, the way it brings his character arc full circle and poetically signals his choice of putting penryn over everything else - delicious!

penryn's mom!! pure chaotic energy! I loved her so much! And it was hilarious how everyone feared her lol!

finally, raffe and penryn's dynamic. their relationship was built up so beautifully and I could truly feel their longing for each other. It was beautiful how their love was the forbidden kind from so many aspects.

Now on to the things I didn't like (which are the majority unfortunately):

I understood the logic of artificial monsters to create a fake apocalypse, but the whole bit with the lab scorpions was so SO horrendous and out of place. I would expect to read this kind of thing in a book about a nuclear-war apocalypse, and not a biblical one. The whole second book was so hard to get through because of this.

speaking of, the only reason I got through the second book was because of the beautiful promise of raffe and penryn's reunion, but that also disappointed me as there was not even a single kiss. it felt like it was done on purpose to increase the hype for the third book, because when someone thinks the love of their life died and suddenly they get them back unexpectedly, rules and reason and self-control cease to matter.

and in general, throughout reading raffryn's story, their longing for each other was so intense that I couldn't wait to finally see them be wholly together... But that never happened. The few times it almost happened, the fire quickly blazed out. The intimate moments only lasted for a few paragraphs and always left you wanting for more. And that more never came. And I'm not talking about sex. But them both actually giving in to one goddamned passionate kiss without holding back, letting their thoughts and emotions out without restraint. That never happens and it's just so disappointing.

Finally, and this is what angers me the most. The fucking creepy scorpions got redeemed into being friendly cute pets when they should have all been wiped out of existence! But Beliel?!? No. He spends eternity in hell and the only rightful end for him is to have a lonely and painful death. That was SO FUCKING UNFAIR! Like of course I hated his crimes and everything he did. But the writer chose to write a backstory like THAT for him, and thought it was ok to still kill him off? But yeah, the flesh-sucking scorpions are just cute giant bees in the end. Thanks, I hate it.

#text post #pateod #raffryn #penryn and the end of days

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filmflowersbangtan · 3 years

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Dead of Night (preview)

pairing: gang member!jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: swearing | drug mention | gangs | in the full story, there will be violence, blood, fighting, threatening

preview word count: 4k

you meet jungkook in a diner in the early morning where it’s just the two of you in the entire place. An interesting relationship ensues, and you find out he’s not who you thought he was. He’s a prominent member of the city’s most powerful gang, surrounded by danger and trouble. But you still want him.

author’s note: I sincerely apologize for being gone for so long and for not updating any of my fics. To everyone waiting on IMSWY pt. ii: I am so sorry for taking so long with it. It’s still in my WIPs, and I haven’t given up on it yet, but it is on the back burner right now since I have many other ideas bubbling up that I absolutely have to write or else they will probably internally set me aflame (lol).

I will be deleting many of my fics soon. I will be keeping “Unbound,” “I Must Still Want You,” “Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold,” and “Lonely Planets.” Everything else I will be deleting because I have no desire to finish working on them or I simply do not like them anymore and can’t see them going anywhere.

I also will probably not be writing anymore series. Everything will most likely be one shot because every time I start a series, I get too overwhelmed with the idea of updating parts and finishing them that I just end up postponing them for too long and leaving too many people who have been looking forward to them disappointed. I do want to say that I have been going through So Much since I last posted Lonely Planets pt. ii and IMSWY, but I am in a so so so much better place now. That’s why I’m even writing this story now.

This will be a oneshot. It will not be a series. It will be very long. I am almost finished with it, but I am posting this preview just to see if you all would like to continue reading it.

Thank you all. I appreciate all the feedback and the follows and the reblogs so, so much. The feedback and the reblogs of Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold is what really motivated me to write this one. I hope you all enjoy it. 😊

Being alone was like an addiction. It was fulfilling and appealing and…well, lonely.

Two in the morning diner stops during the weekdays had become routine. The place was completely empty save for a waitress and a cook and maybe a tired trucker. You tucked yourself in a booth in the back. The vinyl seats were cracked and uncomfortable, the lighting was stark and washed everything raw. But it was comforting. Sleep was evasive and your apartment was barely unpacked, boxes stacked haphazardly in the dining area and the mattress on the living room floor. It was your idea to move to this vast city far away from home. This city swallowed everything in its incessant noise. Nocturnal and teeming with cars and neon lights. It never rested and the two of you had that in common. You took solace in that.

The air was thick with bacon grease and bitter black coffee. Every morning you had waffles and orange juice. The refills were free and the waffles were the exact same circumference as the plate underneath it. Time was stagnant here. The city pressed against the plate glass windows, but the reflections from inside barred its entry. If you looked out, you simply stared directly at yourself. Maybe there was some kind of metaphor in that.

The night shift waitress, Bethany, set your plate of steaming waffles on the table as well as a glass syrup dispenser. She knew you by name and you thanked her for the food. She smiled sweetly and left you be.

The door chimed, denoting the entry of another patron. You didn’t look up. Bethany greeted the person in her cheerful customer service voice. You knew she didn’t actually sound like that. Once, you glimpsed her smoking a cigarette by the dumpster at the back of the diner arguing with her boyfriend on her cell phone. She had a tired voice. You wondered if she was lonely, too.

As you ate, Bethany took the patron’s order. From where you sat, his voice was a mumble. “You got it!” Bethany said before breezing away.

You glanced up from your food at the patron. Hair dyed blond, dark brown at the roots. He had a gentle face and a mouth made for smiling or furtively suppressing them. Tattoos were stippled on his arm all the way down to his knuckles. He was staring down at his phone, his fingers were slender and embellished with many silver rings. He was impossibly handsome. A paragon of beauty.

And he looked up. Right at you. Why was it at that moment you happened to notice him, he decided to notice you, too?

Your scalp prickled with hot embarrassment. You immediately averted your eyes back to your waffles. There was only a bite remaining. Good. You could finish, get your check, pay, and leave.

Boldly, you chanced another glimpse. He did, too. This time, a smile, broad and lovely, stretched across his face. It was endearing and intimate and you had never felt so seen. It was exhilarating. A small smile crept onto your mouth. You couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious.

This was how the following hour went. Weighted glances and secret smiles from across the room. He received his food, and he picked up his plate and mug of coffee and…was he coming this way?

You watched him, eyes wide, as he sauntered over to your booth and set his items on your table. “May I sit?” he said. His voice was the perfect match to his face. Smooth, sonorous, soft. Crushed velvet.

Jerkily, like you had never done it before, you nodded. He sat. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you replied.

“I’m Jungkook.”

You told him your name. He repeated it once, twice, thrice. Like he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth, rolling it around like a piece of hard candy he didn’t want to dissolve on his tongue just yet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached his hand over the table. You smiled and shook it.

His plate was piled with pancakes and sausages and scrambled eggs. He dug in. In between bites, he asked, “So what brings you here at this time of night?” “I have trouble sleeping. And you?” Your chest was tight with the awkwardness of it all, but he appeared to be perfectly at ease.

“I’m just a night owl. Or I’m a vampire.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued eating.

Surprisingly, laughter bubbled from you until you couldn’t help the giggles that shook you. How long had it been since you had a conversation with anyone? Your store had been a drought for the past month, only a couple of people coming in a day. You didn’t call home because your parents would ask how you’ve been, and that topic lit a fire in your skull. Bethany was just a waitress doing her job. And Nora was always busy. It was refreshing to have someone sit with you. Talk with you. Want to be near you.

His eyes danced at the sound of your laughter. It was an innocuous expression, boyish in how pure it was.

You covered your mouth with your hands to mask the laughter. And he gently grabbed your wrist and removed them. “I like your laugh.”

Butterflies unfurled their wings in your stomach and fluttered in a frantic cluster. He resumed his meal as if nothing happened. “So what do you do?”

You cleared your throat. “I own a used book and record store downtown. It’s small and kind of hidden from the street, but it’s there.” You chuckled nervously. You were proud of that store, but you might have to close it down soon and return to your hometown with your tail tucked in between your legs if the revenue continued as it did.

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s super cool. I like records. Books, not so much. Where is it located?”

You told him the address. “By that bodega on the corner.”

“The one that sells the really good blue raspberry shaved ice?”

You snapped your fingers. “That’s the one.”

“I’ll definitely have to stop by.”

This was how the next few hours went. Talking about everything and nothing. He had lived in the city his entire life, worked as a freelance artist, had an apartment not too far away. Plates had been swept away by Bethany long ago. Refills poured, drained, and poured again.

And then, “Do you maybe want to get out of here? Kick it at my place?” Jungkook asked. His expression was open and genuine.

You didn’t know if that was a good idea. But talking to him was stimulating and you didn’t want it to end.

He noticed your hesitation. “Turn you location on your phone, I’ll even give you my address so you can send it to your friends. Anything to make you feel comfortable.”

He was right. He didn’t live that far. It was barely past five o’ clock in the morning, the city was still awake, billboards alight. The buildings towered, dark against the predawn blue of the sky. The apartment building was modest and typical of the city. Clean and affordable but just expensive enough to be appealing to a specific demographic of college students and those with decent enough jobs. His apartment was on the third floor and was charming with brick walls and high ceilings. There was a bookshelf packed with vinyl records, even more in milk crates. A record player in pristine condition sat on an end table beside an armchair.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Jungkook said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the front door.

“You said you liked records,” you replied, browsing his collection.

“I did.”

“This isn’t liking records. This is a goddamn treasure trove.” You pushed your hair behind your ear, eager to move it from your face. “Bowie, Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan, Prince. You even have a rare version of Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland. With the naked women! This is incredible.”

He laughed. “I see you are a woman of taste.”

“If only my dad could see this. I’m afraid to touch anything.”

“I’m sure you don’t have clumsy hands with records. Since you have a record store and all.”

You laughed. “I appreciate the trust.”

“So what would you like to listen to?”

You mulled it over, taking your time examining the sleeves of the records. Then you found one.

He smiled when you showed him the cover art. “Perfect.”

Frank Ocean’s Blond. A modern classic. Perfect for the liminal hour of five AM.

Jungkook slipped it from its sleeve, fingers on the slim rounded edges of the record. He carefully settled it on the turntable, placed the needle on the disc, and played the album. There was the classic crackle of vinyl, and then the first track emanated. It was a phantasm of sound, rich and ethereal. Light but weighted. The song was the deep blue of the sky before the sun decided to pull itself above the horizon and emblazon the sky with its myriad of colors. It was the perfect song for this liquid moment that felt like a dream. This beautiful stranger standing before you with his incredible collection.

And then you were in Jungkook’s arms, slowly swaying to the music. You smiled up at him and him down at you.

The album continued on in the living room, serenading to no one. You and Jungkook had moved to the bedroom, lounging on the bed. The horizon blushed peach, casting the room in half-light. You both lay on your backs, him with an arm slung casually behind his head, you with your hands folded delicately on your stomach.

“Thank you for paying for my meal today,” you said to him meekly.

He smiled. “Thank you for the great conversation. And having an amazing taste in music.”

You laughed. “What made you come sit with me anyway?”

That was when he looked at you, his mouth still slung in a smile, but his eyes sincere. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks went hot and you giggled nervously, covering it with your hands. He rolled over and carefully removed them, his eyes on yours. For a brief moment, time was still. Your breath caught in your throat. He was so close. His lips were so close. Your noses were just barely brushing. His voice was husky when he said, “I like your laugh.”

And then he kissed you.

In the living room, Frank Ocean sang about nights and new beginnings.

In the bedroom, you and Jungkook were breathless. Hands on thighs. Hands in hair. Teeth on collarbones. It was a innocent hunger, one that never got too peckish. He was careful with you, didn’t dare to remove your clothes. “I like you,” he breathed into your neck. You gasped at the sensation.

You kissed until you both eventually succumbed to sleep, the morning sun pouring drowsy golden light across the room.

It was well into the afternoon when you woke to the sound of a shower running. The room was unfamiliar. Definitely not your barren apartment with the boxes strewn about the place. And you definitely weren’t on your living room mattress tangled amongst its waves of sheets. The bed you were in was the most comfortable you’ve ever experienced. Brick walls, plants, beautiful abstract canvas paintings leaning against the wall. Then you remembered.

The diner. The vinyl collection. The sunrise. The kiss.

Jungkook.

He was in the shower and you were fully dressed and the night had to have been a dream. But it wasn’t. Reality settled back onto your shoulders in agonizing waves. You were hours late opening the store. But oh, you wanted to burrow into these soft, sweet-smelling sheets and dissolve into nothing. Eventually you got up.

The door to the bathroom was open. You thought about telling him you were leaving, but instead, you drew your name and number into the mirror steam and went home to shower and change yourself.

An entire week went by and he never called. He didn’t return to the diner, either. It hurt. Every time you lay on your side, willing yourself to sleep, the phantom feeling of his hands and lips barreled you at such an unwelcome rush you would gasp. None of it was real. You had to keep telling yourself that. None of it was real.

Life went back to normal. Jungkook was a fleeting daydream that sifted in and out of your thoughts. The store still barely got any customers, except for the same two or three crate diggers who visited like ghosts. And then Nora, your best friend, breezed through the door. She was a city girl through and through. Large sunglasses, the omnipresent iced coffee, the expensive wardrobe curated specifically for being in front of a camera. She was partly why you moved here. The two of you were from the same hometown, and she had escaped first to chase the tail of a fashion designer career.

“Move here!” she had said during a phone call. “You’ll love it. You’re super hipster and this city eats that shit up! And you can open up that record and book store you always dreamed of.”

She wasn’t wrong. You loved this city but this city seemed to not love you back. Now, she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and set her iced coffee on the counter top before you. You were sitting behind the register, feet up and reading a book when she had come in. You looked up from the paperback in your hands. “And what have I done to deserve your presence, Your Highness?”

“Good morning, dork! We’re going to a party.”

You kicked your feet down. Slipped a bookmark in the book and closed it. And you simply said, “No.”

She blinked, her smile stiff. “Why not?”

“You know I have to open this place every single morning. I can’t go to a party and get drunk and miss another opening.”

“Stop making this store your entire life.”

“It is my entire life.”

“Well, live another one. Just for one night.” She clasped her hands together and actually pouted. “Please.”

You sighed. “You don’t have anyone else to go with?”

She perked up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I do. I just want you to go with me. I want you to have fun for once. All you’ve done since you been here was work.”

Every single dollar and penny from your savings went to this store. It was your lifelong dream. And Nora—lovely, naïve Nora—had never needed to work for anything a day in her life. She meant well. She was never intentionally ignorant. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

She also didn’t know of your time with Jungkook. It was embarrassing that he never called. It angered you that he called you beautiful and said he liked you only for it all to be false. Thank goodness you didn’t have sex with him.

“I’ll have fun once I’m a millionaire or something,” you said to Nora.

She huffed. “I can find you someone to cover the shop for the night. You won’t even have to pay them. Please just come with me.”

“No. What if they steal something.”

She stared at you flatly. “Do you really think any of my friends—my friends—would steal? Let alone steal any of this stuff? No offense.”

“Why do you want me to go so badly?”

“I already said. Fun. You know, music, drinks, guys.” She sang the last word and accompanied it with a little shimmy.

“I have plenty of music and I can buy my own drinks.”

She slammed her hand against the counter top, startling you. “Stop being fucking difficult and come have some fun with me.”

So, grudgingly, you went. Albeit late because you didn’t trust anyone else to close the shop for you, but you went nonetheless. Nora did your makeup. Just glitter eyeshadow and a little eyeliner because you insisted you didn’t want much. And she picked out your outfit—a black lace bra, a crop top cardigan, and a pair of white shorts.

“Because I can’t dress myself?” you grumbled, sliding on the clothes.

“Exactly that. You dress too…hipster-y. You need to be hot for tonight.”

You hadn’t worn that bra since you dated Namjoon. He was pretentious and arrogant and such a city boy it made you lightheaded. You met when he waltzed into the store shortly after you moved here. He smiled at you and you practically melted. The books were what he came for. He bought a Russian classic novel and at checkout, he discussed with you the allegory of sharing fruit in literature. He was eloquent and intelligent and so damn gorgeous you fell for him in that same moment. He scribbled his number on the receipt and told you to keep it.

The relationship lasted for four months. He suggested you move into his high rise apartment downtown with him. It was a modern edifice, all glass and steel and money. He was the wealthiest person you had ever met in your life. And, stupidly, you were in love.

And then you saw his text messages with some unfairly beautiful girl he followed on social media about how good she looked in his bed . He said he was lonely, that you worked too much, what else was he supposed to do? Needless to say, you left him. And you hadn’t seen him since.

Now, Nora said to you, “And don’t think about wearing those fucking platform boots.”

“Why not?” you said, frowning. “They’re cute.”

“They look ridiculous. Like those boots that one goth girl from that cartoon you like wore.”

You grinned, mischievous. “That’s exactly why I bought them.”

To Nora’s dismay, you wore the fucking platform boots.

The party was in an underground venue. It wasn’t all red wine and an elaborate excuse to brag about money, like the gatherings Namjoon liked, it was edgy. A live band played pop punk on a stage, the lights in the place were dim save for the spotlights and the white Christmas lights behind the bar. Greasy pizza and liquor and neon lights. You brushed elbows with someone smoking a joint, and you were pretty sure someone was doing coke in the bathroom.

Nora pulled you to the bar where she ordered herself a cocktail and you a craft beer. She knew you so well.

There were so many people here. You mentally kicked yourself for not bringing flyers for your store.

And then you saw him. Nora was talking your ear off about how hot the frontman for the band was and you almost choked on your beer.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you spat.

Nora blinked rapidly. “What? What happened?”

“This is why you brought me here. You cunt.” You didn’t mean to call her that. It wasn’t a word worn with frequent use in your vocabulary. In fact, you hated the word. But it was deserved in this situation.

Namjoon. He was standing near the stage with a craft beer of his own in his hand, bobbing his head to the music. He didn’t like places like this. They were tacky to him. He didn’t even listen to this genre of music. What the hell was he doing here?

The girl standing next to him turned to him and smiled. She was wearing lipstick as red as murder and her bob was so black it reflected the lights with an envious luster. She had a septum piercing, the two silver balls glittering in the low light like two tiny stars. That’s when it clicked. He was here because of her. She was that unfairly beautiful girl in his text messages. Your skin felt incandescent.

“He had to see how hot you are. I thought you would enjoy shoving that in his face.” Lovely, naïve Nora. You wanted to slap her.

You stood from the bar stool and set your craft beer on the bar. “I’m leaving now.”

Her face was slack with regret. Before she could form an apology, you turned and walked away.

You were a few moments from the door when you heard your name. It wasn’t Nora. You stopped and your breath hitched. Your turned slowly, preparing to see Namjoon with that girl by his side but instead—

“Jungkook?”

His hair was black now and almost as shiny as that girl’s bob. It hung past his ears in gentle waves. He stood there in a baggy black shirt and jeans, his thumbs tucked into the front pockets. Silver bracelets draped from both wrists. In this lighting, he looked ethereal. Infernal. This couldn’t be the same man you shared a chimerical morning with. He looked like he had been created by the darkness of the city’s nights.

Maybe it was just the hair.

“Hi,” he said in the same way he did when he sat your table at the diner. It could’ve been mistaken as sheepishness, but his eyes were not meek. Besides the hair, you couldn’t figure out what was so different about him.

Breathlessly, you said, “Hi.”

“You look nice.”

Over his shoulder, you noticed Namjoon go to the bar. Nora scowled at him. He smiled amicably at her and his mouth moved, saying something. She froze, and her eyes immediately darted to you. Namjoon turned and saw you. And he started your way.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.

You should’ve ran out of the venue. There were a million other things you should’ve done, but instead you grabbed Jungkook and kissed him.

Initially, he went rigid with shock, but he melted into the kiss. You felt him smile against your mouth. “Miss me that much?”

You pulled away. “I did not.” A glance over his shoulder and Namjoon was gone. You audibly exhaled.

“What happened?”

You ran a hand over your face. “Ex.”

“Ah,” he said. “Is that why you were leaving?”

“Yes. And now I’m going. Goodbye.” You whirled around, shoulders tense with embarrassment and headed for the stairs.

“Wait.” He caught up to you on the stairs. “Can I go with?” There were small white string lights strung in the stairwell and the glow reflected in his eyes. They were so brown.

“Don’t you have friends to be with?” Your phone buzzed in your back pocket with an incoming text message. Most likely your own friend dying to know who the guy you just kissed was. You ignored it.

“They’ll be fine.” He grinned.

“Okay,” you said, feeling yourself smile as well.

There was no destination, but you ended up at a park, sitting beside each other on a swing set. Your feet dragged in the wood chips as you pushed yourself back and forth slowly. He looked up at the night sky and sighed. “Do you want to know why I hadn’t called?”

You just looked at him.

“This may sound like a corny excuse, but… I was afraid of what you would think of me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated before saying, “If we continued seeing each other, you would eventually find out that I’m not a freelance artist. I do paint, but that’s not what I do.”

You could feel your heartbeat gradually speeding its pace. “What do you do?” His eyes fell down to his hands. He turned them over, studying the lines in his palms. His hair slipped over his eyes. He was a portrait of affliction. “I’m a Lost Boy.”

You didn’t understand. He noticed your silence and looked up at you. “The Lost Boys. This city is practically run by them.” He corrected himself, “Ran by us.” He stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I’m in a gang.”

Your voice was a whisper. “What?”

He quickly added, “If you no longer want to associate with me, I understand. They’re—we’re—dangerous. I mean, even if you haven’t heard of us, you know us. The leather jackets, the vandalism, the fights. That venue is owned by us. The drugs at that event were supplied by us. That band playing is in our pockets. My apartment is paid by dirty money.” He laughed quietly to himself then, almost pityingly.

The night air around you was thick with your own dread. “Is being around you dangerous?” You hadn’t meant for your voice to sound so small.

“I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could hear the unsaid “but” in his tone.

“But what?” you prompted.

He chewed on his lip. A dimple in his left cheek appeared. “I won’t hurt you, but I can’t promise your safety. If you do decide to be around me.”

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #kpop #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts jeon jungkook

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bleachbleachbleach · 3 years

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Fic: Away, Away

This was written for Day 13 of @hitsuhina-week! If you prefer, you can also read this on AO3. Which is my preference, because Tumblr keeps eating my spacing whether I use Rich Text or HTML so it looks absurd on here. >.>

Aftermath / Going on a Trip Together Hinamori Momo + Hitsugaya Toushirou Pre-Series

This will be the last time.

(Whisper it, so he won't hear.)

Every spring, Junrinan finds its way to the western mountains. (The souls of Rukongai wander.) There is no grand procession: They disperse across the vast range, often alone and sometimes in twos. They are always careful not to cause disruption, because while one soul in a forest full of spirits generally isn't worth the effort, seven is a meal.

They are three.

Soon, they will be two. Hinamori can't stop whispering her new name, hi na mo ri. It's early to be out here, but the snows were mild this year and new growth is already peeking from beneath the thick, rich leaf rot. She feels an affinity with this year's tender saplings, a feeling that grows hotter with every whispered repetition of her name. Her grandmother had given it to her, showed her how to write it. She'd studied her name harder than she had the exam.

Hinamori has an acceptance letter. In April, she is leaving.

Hinamori nearly walks straight into a nettle spirit--the hair-eating kind--draped across the game path plain as day.

"Do you wanna be bald?" Toushirou grouses as he yanks her back just in time. "I guess it fits. You're acting like a blind old man."

Hinamori blinks, brushes imagined hair from her face. It's the fifth time she's tried to walk straight through a spirit in as many days.

"Studying is bad for your eyes," says Toushirou. He doesn't care for moony Hinamori. Momo had paid a lot more attention to what was in front of her. But she's Hinamori now. At least, that's the only name she'll write, dragging her thin stick through the dirt outside the house. So that's what he calls her.

Toushirou squeezes through a bumble of pot-bellied mushroom spirits and Hinamori follows him, stepping carefully into his tracks.

"You'll need to keep reading even when I'm not around. It'll go if you don't practice," she says.

Toushirou makes a noncommittal sound.

"I'll send you letters full of kanji and quiz you on them when I visit." I'll learn how to write them pretty, she promises, just like Baachan does.

"Will you write me back?" she asks.

"Probably not."

This hurts her. But Toushirou plans to go the rest of his life without writing a single thing. It's not personal.

"Why would I need to tell you what happens in Junrinan?" he says. "You already know."

And if I forget?

Life in Junrinan doesn't change. That's what Toushirou was promised. The winters are quiet and slow, and in spring they go to the mountains. Summers are for farming, and autumns for harvest. Then winters are quiet and slow again.

Spring passes with bracken and angelica in hand. It is counted in the spirals of ferns as their number grows in the baskets. Some are dried; some are steeped. Mostly, they are sold. Many of the men in Junrinan spend springtime waking before dawn to sprint to the mountain, forage the lowlands, and return to the village for evening revelries, but Toushirou and Hinamori and their grandmother have always spent the whole of the season between the trees. The mountains prefer it when you stay.

This will be true no matter how long Hinamori is gone.

April 12th through July 20th, then our first break, she says, scratching numbers in the dirt. But Junrinan doesn't have dates the way the Academy does. She draws the way the trees will change. The change happens in a long straight line, and beyond July 20th there is an emptiness rather than a repetition. How do you draw an unwritten future?

Hinamori writes her name again.

In the spring, everything is full: Toushirou enjoys the wet green of it, the late snows and vernal flooding. The water flows down from the mountains ice cold and the forests are loud and thick with spirits.

The spirits have no names that are written and no faces that have ever stayed the same, unremembered but immemorial. They are loud. Most of them respect the borders of his body. They brush against his legs with thick wet fur or scrape his cheek with leathery wings. They coil around his throat, treating him like a tree or rock. Some of them are trees and rocks. They are the mountains and forest, just like the wandering souls of Junrinan. They all belong here, more or less.

Toushirou can see most of them. When the blurry ones pass through you, it's feverishly unpleasant for the split-second it happens and then is nothing at all. The blurry ones, Toushirou figures, aren't actually in this forest. They are like shadows at sunset, cast long and far from their bodies. Their true bodies roam a different world entirely.

That's what Hinamori wants to do.

Hinamori used to clamor for shinigami stories any time one of them passed through town. She'd been told one time that all travelers carried stories and now expected it.

The shinigami never expected her. Unless commerce was involved they didn't tend to acknowledge souls, or even look at them. So they always seemed surprised by Hinamori, like it hadn't occurred to them that they'd meet a real, full person out here. Which is fair enough, Toushirou grudgingly allows--there are plenty of souls in Junrinan so old and staid they cannot move, nor speak. (Don't touch them. It's unlucky.)

We don't talk about those.

The shinigami talk story: The story of black dye. The story of a tall bathhouse. The story of grilled meat on sticks. The story of the time they saw a noble. The story of a big fish. The story of a bigger fish. The story of the bullet train. The story of my sister, who isn't very interesting but is the only thing that comes to mind right now sorry. The story of 19th seats should be paid more. The story of the soul who wanted a story.

Almost none of the stories are about death.

"Little girls shouldn't go into those mountains," one shinigami once said, which is as close as a story ever came to it. "Nasty stuff in there. They're called Hollows, you know. Real bad guys."

The shinigami patted the sword at his hip. He'd just told Hinamori a story about the third son of a lesser noble whom everyone loved and thought deserved better than the shadows of his elder brothers. And how preposterous is it, really, that he should have to prove himself when his brothers never did? Pushed out here into the boonies, seeking honor and fame. He really feels for the guy. Don't you? Don't you?

"You seem to know a lot about 'this guy,'" Toushirou offered.

"I'm a master storyteller," said the shinigami.

I've killed a Hollow before, you know, boasted the master storyteller. He'd led a unit of twelve men into those mountains out there, which were so quiet you could hear your own heart beating. When you can hear your terror--that's when you're on the cusp of valor. His eyes lit up. I was the one who cut the mask, he said.

Twelve is obviously far too many (seven is a meal), and those mountains have never been quiet. Toushirou didn't think he'd really been.

In the spring, though, there's a dark scar where once there'd been a copse of trees. Shattered branches and burned ground. His grandmother says it smells like Hollow.

"They see things differently," his grandmother half-explains, of the shinigami and their Hollows and the silence of their mountains. Of course this would seem a different place to them.

"They're idiots," says Toushirou, though suddenly he's not sure. The scar is hair-raising, and his stomach roils. Maybe they really shouldn't be out in the woods.

"The shinigami know more than you," says Hinamori, taking his hand in hers. She grips it tightly, reassuring, or maybe annoyed. Both. She has a lot of school spirit for someone who hasn't even been yet.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even after they've returned to the cover of the live trees, kitsune fire nestled in the brambles at their feet.

Toushirou makes the mistake of noticing a spirit that tends to linger just out of sight. It feeds on your instinct to look, and it grows higher and higher the more you crane your neck, so sure you'll be able to sneak a glimpse of it. By the time you realize the trick, you've always been had. It's very annoying.

This will be the last time.

(Scream it.)

"It's so dark out here," says Hinamori, in spite of the kitsune and all the rest. Lots of spirits glow. She is still holding his hand.

Toushirou thinks of the small lamp Hinamori had bought to study by, the wild shadows it cast on the interior walls and the way it had made all hours bright. He thinks of all the hours she hadn't slept. All because some shinigami had told her a story about a school.

Anything would seem dark by comparison. He can't remember the last time she hadn't had her lamp on when he went to bed.

Hinamori is going to snap the bones in his hand. He yelps. Tears prick in his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't let go, and then she doesn't let go.

"It's so quiet," she says faintly. Her free hand wavers over her heart protectively.

It's so dark. It's so quiet. Quiet enough to hear your terror.

Except it's not. It's not dark.

It's not quiet.

The forest is full, air thick with chirrups and buzzing, screeching, hooting, chittering. Bodies clack and bones shudder. Reeds whistle and something large makes a whomping, resonating tone. Foxfire hisses as it makes sparks, throws phosphorous motes that dance high above. A heartbeat glow marches up the ridged spine of a lizard spirit. The forest is as it has always been.

Toushirou's eyes widen.

"You can't hear them anymore."

To Hinamori, it is all darkness and silence.

She sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees as though to hide from the quiet. From the black. She drops his hand.

"Momo--"

She shakes her head. She opens her hands to the sky like she's waiting for a bird to land. For a split second, a small warm flame billows from her palms.

Then the entire forest catches.

The thought had been innocent enough--to be her own light in the darkness, conquer her fear. But the forest only hears the conquering. It's the kitsune who don't take kindly to Hinamori's light. Their fire screeches up and outward and then all the spirits are in frenzy. A meal! scream some; and others, a threat! A danger to be expunged. A strange thing not of this forest, these mountains.

Outsider! the world around them hisses. Away.

away, away

Hinamori screams as the flames leap forward--the claws, the vines, the terrors and all in between. She throws herself in front of Toushirou.

Toushirou can't find his voice at all. The wide whites of his eyes feel the propulsive gust of the forest coming down on them. On Hinamori. No! he can't shout, cold fear coiling over his frozen legs and pricking at his shoulder blades. Something serpentine rushes past him and he's on the ground. His head smacks hard against a writhing tree root and he tastes bile, feels nothing.

Hears everything.

away

When he wakes, snow is falling, wet and sloppy. Kitsune are nibbling at the singed edges of a hanafuda. Hinamori is in her grandmother's arms. She's crying.

Before Hinamori started studying, with her bright lamp and her long nights and her feverish poetry scratched into the ground, before the hunger came, she'd woken one morning to a futon streaked with her blood. Her grandmother said that this was womanhood.

"The tea will stop the bleeding," she assured a tearful Hinamori as they scrubbed at her futon, pinking the waters. Toushirou beat at the stain with his feet, splashing everywhere.

"You don't have to touch it," Hinamori had said quietly, her eyes fixed on the water. "It's my mess."

"Baachan said I have to help," Toushirou objected. "Besides, am I supposed to just sit here and watch you bleed?"

Just one last time.

Hinamori isn't hurt, but she is in pain. The forest doesn't want her anymore. (She is leaving.)

"The forest sees them differently," his grandmother says, the other half of her earlier explanation. "Them," meaning shinigami. "Them," meaning Hinamori, now.

Shinigami see and are seen differently. They belong differently. Toushirou had only ever distinguished them by their black clothes, and sometimes their attitude. But his grandmother talks about reiryoku, about reiatsu, about the realms the shinigami travel through and the spirits they are blind to. The spirits that belong to different worlds than theirs, even when they're side by side. Some worlds are bound to one another, tied by fate and duty; others are repelled.

As Hinamori's reiatsu blossomed with her womanhood, slowly folding outward past her skin, beyond her body, her worlds were chosen for her. Like the bleeding, there's a tea to help this, too, but it's not the same.

There is no going back.

"What're you looking at," Toushirou scowls at her. He's not sure what to do with her pain. There's nothing he can do for her pain. But she's looking at him differently, a little less like Hinamori and a little more like the rest of Junrinan does, and that scares him.

She asks him if he'd felt anything. Something cold.

She's asked him before. Every day since the incident, she's asked him.

His answer is always the same. No. Just fear.

He should be helping his grandmother. They're here in the forest for a reason, and that hasn't changed; they have foraging to do. But he doesn't want to leave Hinamori alone.

"Don't be afraid of it, Shiro-chan," says Hinamori. Hinamori, who's now afraid of the dark.

Hinamori, who is leaving.

She doesn't have a choice. When her power comes into her she knows there is only one place she can go. It's a place she has always wanted to go. (She has always wanted to go places.) But now she has to.

She smiles.

If she is going to go, she's going to fly. She will love, and yearn, and cry. She will give all of herself to the future before her, even when it means that precious things can be only memory. If there is something Hinamori leaves in him when she goes, it's flight.

Someday, Toushirou will remember to remember that.

"Will you write me?" she asks.

(You will be written.)

She returns for the summer, then is gone again. Winter, then gone again. But she doesn't come home for the spring. They'll be going to the realm of the living. They will fight Hollows, just like the Gotei 13. She explains the meaning and stroke order of the characters, go tei, though she doesn't explain what the Gotei 13 actually is. That part must already seem obvious to her. Shinigami stuff. That's all Toushirou will ever need to know. Seems pretentious.

When Junrinan returns to the mountains this year, Toushirou and his grandmother stay behind. "It's dangerous," she says. She squeezes his shoulders.

It's dangerous now.

There is no going back.

Junrinan may not change, but life does, and by the second summer, Hinamori has mostly forgotten the shapes of the forest spirits. Toushirou is forgetting them, too.

The difference is, Hinamori has found replacements. She talks about incantations and sword stances, friendships and histories. She has been to the realm of the living. It's only been a year, and already they have nothing in common but their memories, ever-receding.

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. She doesn't say why.

Toushirou dreams of a chill ripping through him. He dreams of a place where there are no mountains as far as the eye can see.

He wakes to Hinamori.

#hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushirou #hitsuhina week #bleach fic #IT'S FOR THE CULTURE #I wanted to play with the idea of the districts of Rukongai having their own cultures and practices apart from what we know of the Seireitei #I thought it would be interesting to imagine that it's because these things are not legible/perceivable to our shinigami narrators #because their existence is tied more closely to other worlds and realms #So just like there are things that humans can't see wandering their world there are things that shinigami can't see either #👻👻👻👻👻👻#yes this is the angery fic that hates me but its deadline is today so now it is done!

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artxyra · 4 years

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The Secret Life of MDC | Part 6

Part 6: Just let them fall

Part 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

Note: If you had read the original version on my website, I totally did not rewrite this entire part just to avoid a fight scene.

The mission was simple: save the two idiot exchange students that don’t have any common sense. It was a frustrating task to even track them down. Base on the footage from security cameras and likely villains who are crazy enough to start drama, it is very likely that the dumb and dumber are safe but being hold over a pot of acid, fire, or water will killer animals. Who knows?

“You know, they just have given us an excuse to bring the Gotham miraculous crew back into action,” Andrena says as her bee-like wings flutter to life. Her eyes narrowly focus on anything strange.

To Gotham, Andrena is equivalent to Paris’ Melitta Bee (Chloe’s new alias once she was inducted back onto the team). Every member of Paris’ MT has a Gotham counterpart. For Ladybug it was Ladybird, for Chat Noir it was Lykoi. Then for the two missing members Viperion and Ryoku, there was Python and Naga. The only difference two their styles are more realistic and less magical.

“There is no time for play, Bee.” Ladybird walks out from the shadows, the current boy wonder walking behind her. She crosses her arms and lets out a heavy sigh. “As long as we are active in the fight any damage the two may endure could be undone. You know how I hate to bring out the team.” Everyone could see the tiredness behind the red and black mask that lies in her bluebell eyes.

“Tt. They deserve whatever comes their way.” Robin scoffs. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his siblings joining them on the roof. “What did you find?” This question wasn’t pointed to anyone directly, but they all knew there was one person with the answers.

“Red Robin—” Lykoi lowkey hums ‘Yum’ much to everyone dismay “—has appointed Oracle as our eyes, and together that have determined that the two missing students are located in one of five potential areas.”

“That does not help our case, Wing.” Nightwing would never admit it but a glaring Ladybird is a dangerous Ladybird.

Silence followed as everyone thinks of something.

“Do we have to save them? They just made this worse on everybody.” It was Lykoi’s voice that surprisingly states this. Everyone turns to the cat theme hero with wide eyes. “What?”

“Normally under typical Paris standards, I would say no, but do to the fact that we are in Gotham and my job is on the line, I am legally obligated to say yes.” Ladybird pulls out her communicator and turns it on. “Everyone’s logged on.” A series of nods, groans, and yeses. “Good RR, what’s the plan?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it,” Red Robin could hear the impending groaning coming his way and he is not wide awake enough for this.

Which lead the Miraculous Team and the Bats to be split across Gotham searching for the two exchange students.

Ladybird and Robin’s location was empty. Nothing unusual about the location it was just an unused warehouse.

“I hate them.”

“Them being everyone or the two the idiots.”

“What do you think?”

Robin shakes his head and lets out a hefty sigh.

Lykoi and Nightwing’s location proved to be difficult to find. At first, that thought this was the place, but both heroes vigilantes were proven wrong.

“We both agree not to tell Ladybird.”

“Agree, she would kill us.”

“I heard that.” It wasn’t Ladybird’s voice that came through the comms. It was Oracle’s. “Don’t worry I won’t tell Birdie.”

Lykoi and Nightwing share a glance. It was better to be blackmailed by Oracle than be grilled by Ladybird—well that what they think anyway.

For Andrena and Red Robin, it was more of a battle of wits and smarts between the two. Actually, more on Red Robin than with Andrena (she didn’t want to be a partner with Red Hood).

“You better hope that one of the others found this fucking warehouse or I will kill you myself. These boots were expensive.” Andrena shrieks pointing to the mud that now lays pack on her boots.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll make it up to you.”

Andrena rolls her eyes and opens her communicator, Red Robin does the same. However, the outcome was different for the two. On Red Robin’s feed, it was static, he quickly goes into work to scramble the information given. Andrena sees a message from Red Hood. It reads, “Found it, suckers!”

“Hood found the warehouse.” Andrena places her communicator back on her person and looks to Red Robin. She could see the invisible sweat and sleep on his face through the cowl. “Let’s go.”

RR lets out a frustrating sigh, but as he types a last-minute code into his device the static slowly turns into quality footage. Not high quality but enough pinpoint what is happening. The room is dark but there is an ominous green glow at the lower half of the screen.

“Shit,” RR murmurs through it was loud enough to catch Andrena’s attention as an electric blue glow begins to grow behind her.

“What?” It was breathless yet concerning. Behind her, the portal fully develops causing her to let out a low growl and pushing RR in the direction of their “ride”. “Just explain it to the others.”

The portal closes and the first person they are meet by is a somewhat disappointing Ladybird.

“Hey Buggy,” Andrena sheepishly smiles, better throw RR under the bus, “RR found something interesting. Check it out.”

Ladybird makes her way over to the bee and the third Robin, she eyes RR practically asking him the question, “what he found”. Everyone waits with bated breaths as he shows her the footage. This time unlike the awkward murky background, it shows Lila and Alya tied together on a mini platform that is slowly lowering to the ominous glow below them.

“Is it sad that I want to see them fall.” The ladybug theme hero sighs into her glove-cover hands. “Alright, we need a game plan. Hood, what did you find?”

“There is a tunnel beneath the building. There’s no exterior access.”

“Oracle is sending us a blueprint.” Red Robin adds to which Nightwing nods and checks in his own portable monitor. Robin tsks and crouches down on the ground.

The planning process to a good minute to formulate.

“Is everyone in position?” The question ran through everyone’s coms as their trained bodies wait patiently for the cue. The Questioner (most likely Ladybird or Nightwing) took their silence as an answer. “Let’s go.”

The vigilantes are immediately greeted by darkness.

“Argh, my hair!” All movement ceased to exist. The Miraculous Team automatically knew that screech. It was Lila’s. “Please, I promise Bruce Wayne will make your life worthwhile. I’m very good friends with him.” Everyone, aside from Robin, felt a shiver go down their spines. Robin had gagged at the thought of Lila, his girlfriend’s tormentor, being friends with his father.

“Are you sure we can’t kill her?” Red Hood asks, well more like stated but everyone knows what he meant. He didn’t receive an answer.

“Better yet, who’s the person that decided to capture the two. There are only two heat signatures in the building.” Tim fiercely types against his device.

Nightwing kicks down the door. The large thud grabs the two teens' attention.

“We’re saved.” Lila cries out in delight. Her face literally brightens much to everyone (aside from Alya’s) dismay.

“Yes, I can finally get that interview just like you said, gurl.” Alya squeals her body wiggling on the platform.

Robin staggers in his footsteps. Interview? Like you said? Something isn’t adding up.

“Are you girls okay?” Nightwing typically heroic voice shines through as Red Robin rushes to what he believes to be the controls for the platform.

“No! We’re tied together, slowly moving to our deaths.” Alya shouts, “Ladybug?”

“Uh... no, I’m Ladybird. Now hold still.” Balancing herself on the platform in front of the two, she pulls out a knife and quickly goes cuts to the first layers of rope. “We’re the villain?”

“He was getting something to surprise us.” Lila’s voice squeaks a little. Everyone pulls back to face Lila, not including Alya.

“What do you mean?” Robin fakes a cough and glares at the Italian girl.

“No, no,” Lila begins to sweat. Her mind running multiple scenarios to get out of this. “We have no idea where he went. It was pitch black for us.” Tears forms in her eyes. Alya tries to comfort her bestie but couldn’t due to their bindings.

“Red Hood, stay on high alert, Lykoi, Andrena, follow his lead.” Ladybird cuts through the final rope. Alya shuffles her feet to get away…

“Ah!” The reporter’s foot slips.

“Merde,” Ladybird deadpans and lets herself fall.

Her right arm wrap around Alya’s waist as her left grabs for the yo-yo. It was a split second; her feet did touch the unknown substance in the large pool. She was expecting a burning sensation, but nothing happens.

“What the hell, RR, get off the control and test out the substance.” Ladybird safely places Alya down on the concrete flooring. Nightwing and Robin run over to the two for different reasons. Robin pulls Ladybird into his arms and checks for any injury while Nightwing does the same for Alya. The ombre haired girl is visibly shaking.

Lila remains on the platform above the pool screeching her head off. Andrena could already sense a headache forming and flies up to the platform. “Venom!”

Lila freezes, her screaming ceases to exist.

Rather than pushing Lila off the platform (the temptation was very luring), Andrena wraps an arm around the liar and flies to the ground floor. Suppressing a shiver, she pushes the girl out of her arms and into Lykoi’s much to his dismay.

“Seriously?” Lykoi’s glare said it all.

“I have informed Oracle that we found the missing students. She informed me that the GPD eta is ten minutes.”

“Good, that will give us time to search the premises for anything odd.” Nightwing states.

“Way ahead of you,” Red Hood shouts from afar. Eyes rolls but they all shrug in the end.

“What do you mean there weren’t any prints or such leading to the student’s kidnapper?” Commissioner Gordon asks, well he yelled but his face isn’t red yet, as the faces the Bats (aside from the large bat himself) and the Miraculous Team.

“What he meant to say, was that nothing in this warehouse suggested that there was third person let alone a typical Gotham’s villain.”

“So, you're saying this was an act?”

“No, I don’t think all of it was an act?”

“Hmm… This isn’t going to go well with explaining this to GA’s headmistress.”

Ladybird might as well say goodbye to her life and curl next to Robin in her final moments. If this was just a fake, Lila and anyone who was involved with this plan of hers are in for a treat and she’ll have front row access to it.

“Just make sure that girls are returned to GA safely, Gordon,” Nightwing instructs, they knew what he was going for. It was to them out of her and on patrol—well some of them at the very least.

~*~

Marinette curls into Damian’s chest, looking at the screen in front of them. After a night like that she didn’t want to think about the consequences that the liar had unleashed.

“You okay?” Damian presses his lips against her forehead, their hands intertwine fighting for dominance.

Marinette doesn’t say anything. How could she? There was so much floating around her mind that she couldn’t place what she was feeling at the moment.

They stay in silence until a loud thud disrupts the environment.

“Bad news,” Dick and the rest of the family file in. “Rossi confessed to the kidnapping being a ploy.”

“Goddammit, there went my morning and quite possibly my entire week.” Marinette groans collapsing next to Damian and covering her face with her hand.

“Well it’s not liked your exchange program can get any worse. You have like three weeks left of it anyway.” Jason shrugs trying to make the mood lighter… it didn’t help.

“Not now, Jaybird,” Marinette growls, causing the hairs on the back of everyone’s neck to raise high. It was rare to see Marinette angry and Lila has done the impossible. Kwami may help in the morning, especially when Marinette doesn’t get her coffee.

~*~

Mari Needs Coffee @MarinetteMemes Is it too late to push someone off the roof of WE? 🤔 #shemesswiththewrongsgirl #ineedcoffee

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kellyvela · 3 years

Note

Has GRRM ever said in any interview or on his blog that he hates Sansa's complete storyline after 4th season? I dont really follow all of his fan/media interactions but from what I can recall he has spoken abt how LF in books wont give sansa to ramsay or how noone had issue when Jeyne was given the Ramsay storyline in books etc. Asking this question to you bcs you rightly point out how ppl misunderstood his interviews/posts ( sansans/targ stans etc) & I cant recall him ever saying he 'hates' sansa's story in the later seasons of the show ( not s5 in particular but even s6 to s8).

Capclave 2013:

A change that has repercussions for season 4 is Marillion’s tongue removal from the first season. Martin said that the change was made (from an anonymous singer being the victim of a de-tonguing) because they wanted Joffrey to maim someone the audience would recognize. He believes this is an issue because of the part the singer plays in Sansa’s storyline, how he affects her interactions with others in the book, and he doesn’t believe another character will be fulfilling that role on Game of Thrones.

—GRRM talks season 4 & beyond - Winter is Coming - October 13, 2013

2014 Fan Reports about Capclave 2013 (*):

In a convention panel this year, George said on the record that he had no idea what they were doing with Sansa or where they’re taking her storyline, which now makes sense perhaps. He was not pleased when he was talking about it, so who knows what’s going to happen with her! Knowing GRRM, that could mean they’re going off the canon reservation, and/or that they’re going to be making a lot of shit up

I have notes I’ll be responding to (thanks!) but enough people commented about Sansa that I thought I’d share that tidbit, since it happened back in September iirc (was the same panel where he criticized the exclusion of Tyrell brothers)

—starkalypse - June 3, 2014

GRRM’s comments at capclave about Sansa (which I was in the third row for, for those asking about legitimacy) were among others during the panel that had a general theme of dissatisfaction with show changes. He was not in good spirits for that con and didn’t really have anything positive to say regarding the show. So take it with a grain of salt; there are deviations away from the books in the episodes he gets writers credit for, so maybe they’re doing something stupid or they really don’t have a gameplan!

—starkalypse - June 4, 2014

(*) These reports were posted in June 2014, during the airing of Game of Thrones Season 4, about Capclave 2013 that happened in October 2013.

Just after the rape episode:

How many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Three, in the novel. One, in the movie. None, in real life: she was a fictional character, she never existed. The show is the show, the books are the books; two different tellings of the same story.

There have been differences between the novels and the television show since the first episode of season one. And for just as long, I have been talking about the butterfly effect. Small changes lead to larger changes lead to huge changes. HBO is more than forty hours into the impossible and demanding task of adapting my lengthy (extremely) and complex (exceedingly) novels, with their layers of plots and subplots, their twists and contradictions and unreliable narrators, viewpoint shifts and ambiguities, and a cast of characters in the hundreds.

There has seldom been any TV series as faithful to its source material, by and large (if you doubt that, talk to the Harry Dresden fans, or readers of the Sookie Stackhouse novels, or the fans of the original WALKING DEAD comic books)… but the longer the show goes on, the bigger the butterflies become. And now we have reached the point where the beat of butterfly wings is stirring up storms, like the one presently engulfing my email.

Prose and television have different strengths, different weaknesses, different requirements.

David and Dan and Bryan and HBO are trying to make the best television series that they can.

And over here I am trying to write the best novels that I can.

And yes, more and more, they differ. Two roads diverging in the dark of the woods, I suppose… but all of us are still intending that at the end we will arrive at the same place.

In the meantime, we hope that the readers and viewers both enjoy the journey. Or journeys, as the case may be. Sometimes butterflies grow into dragons.

—The Show, the Books - Not A Blog - May 18, 2015

Report about the last Game of Thrones Script that GRRM wrote:

No Wedding for Sansa and Ramsay: Without question, one of the most controversial changes the show made in trying to streamline the books was by slotting Sansa into the role of Ramsay’s wife and rape victim in Season 5. In the books, Ramsay marries and assaults Sansa’s best childhood friend, Jeyne Poole—who is being forced to impersonate Arya—instead. (You can actually see Jeyne briefly sitting next to Sansa in the show’s pilot.)

At the time Martin wrote this script, though, substituting Sansa for Jeyne was not yet the plan. Martin has Roose Bolton tell his bastard son: “We have a much better match in mind for you. A match to help House Bolton hold the north. Arya Stark.” It should be noted, however, that in Martin’s script, Sansa isn’t free from menace either. At his own wedding-day breakfast, Joffrey still threatens to rape the older Stark sister—once he’s “gotten Margaery with child.”)

—Game of Thrones: The Secrets of George R.R. Martin’s Final Script - Vanity Fair - December 7, 2018

A month before the Game of Throne S8 Finale:

Sansa’s story, in particular, has really deviated from the books. Ramsay Bolton — that marriage obviously was with a different character. When they start deviating like that, did you initially have any emotional reaction, even though you worked in Hollywood for many years yourself?

GRRM: Well, yeah — of course you have an emotional reaction. I mean, would I prefer they do it exactly the way I did it? Sure. But I’ve been on the other side of it, too. I’ve adapted work by other people, and I didn’t do it exactly the way they did it, so ….

Some of the deviation, of course, is because I’ve been so slow with these books. I really should’ve finished this thing four years ago — and if I had, maybe it would be telling a different story here. It’s two variations of the same story, or a similar story, and you get that whenever anything is adapted. The analogy I’ve often used is, to ask how many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Do you know the answer to that?

I know it’s different in the book and the movie …

GRRM: Three children in the book, one by each husband. She had one child in the movie. And in real life, of course, Scarlett O’Hara had no children, because she never existed. Margaret Mitchell made her up. The book is there. You can pick it up and read Mitchell’s version of it, or you can see the movie and see David Selznick’s version of it. I think they’re both true to the spirit of the work, and hopefully that’s also true of Game of Thrones on one hand, and A Song of Ice and Fire on the other hand.

—George R.R. Martin on the Stark Sisters and Ending ‘Game of Thrones’ - RollingStone - April 22, 2019

James Hibberd’s Book:

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: Jeyne Poole was included in the pilot—she’s shown giggling next to Sansa—but she’s never seen or referred to again. I actually wrote Jeyne into “The Pointy End,” my first script, when Arya killed the stableboy. I had some stuff with Jeyne running to Sansa being all hysterical and dialogue in the council chamber with Littlefinger saying, “Give her to me, I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” That was dropped.

DAVID BENIOFF: Sansa is a character we care about almost more than any other. We really wanted Sansa to play a major part in that season. If we were going to stay absolutely faithful to the book, it was going to be very hard to do that. There was a subplot we loved from the books, but it was a character not involved in the show.

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya. The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead. But this girl has been in Littlefinger’s control for years, and he’s been training her. She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like? When you’re a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around? So she can pull off the impersonation. Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that. Is that better or worse? You can make your decision there. Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much. They care about Sansa.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

I hope it helps you.

Thanks for your message.

#sansa stark #grrm

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zukoscomet · 3 years

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I realised recently that I never actually collated all the ideas I had about my Zutara kids so here, have some steambabies! Idk I just really like the idea of Katara and Zuko having a big family after all they’ve lost when they were young, and as an only child, I guess I kind of romanticise the idea of having siblings.

TW: I hc that Katara would have had a miscarriage, so if that is a trigger for you then maybe don’t read on.

Shameless plug but if you wanna read more about this, my series on AO3 is roots and wings.

Their firstborn is a boy who they name Kai after Kya. His full name is Kaito but nobody who knows him ever calls him that, not even when he’s in trouble. I’m not going to go into too much context about like the pregnancy bc you can already find that stuff here. He turns out very much like Zuko physically - tall, golden irises, straight black hair, narrow angular face - but he has mixed tawny skin and his eyes are shaped round and wide like Katara. He’s born on the last day of summer in 109 AG, so because of superstition that firebenders are born in peak summer, there’s some uncertainty about what he’ll bend - if at all - but then when he’s three and a half, he makes a flame. Iroh trains him to firebend until he’s about 16, then he goes off to the Sun Warriors for a year to finish off, and he ends up a very spiritual firebender. Kai is like the dream first child - the softest boy ever to live - and when Katara and Zuko go on to have more children, he’s a really great big brother, like wholeheartedly adores his little sibs even if they drive him completely nuts about 95% of the time. He’s quite a conflicted and confused kid growing up. He’s never quite sure of what he wants in life but finally, when he’s 17, he decides that he realises that he doesn’t want to be Fire Lord and passes along the heir status to his sister. After that he joins the Sun Warriors and eventually marries the chief’s daughter, Himari, and they have two firebender girls, Aiko and Sol.

Izumi arrives not long after her brother in 110 AG. Katara and Zuko planned to wait but it ends up that there’s barely a year between Kai and Izumi and it comes as an extra shock as Katara didn’t figure out she was pregnant again till like 18 weeks in. Katara goes into labour early at 35 weeks and Izumi is born really small - she never completely catches up either and it’s hilarious because after successive generations of tall male Fire Lords, they get Izumi who’s barely 5 feet - but she’s otherwise fine. She’s physically a mish-mash so overall she resembles nobody especially - Katara’s hair, complexion and big round eyes, Zuko’s irises, Azula’s heart-shaped face and highly arched brow line, Hakoda’s facial features. The superstition about summer births for firebenders peters out real quick when Izumi, born in the autumn, bends blue fire at two and a half and, taught by Jeong Jeong, she grows into a prodigal master. When she’s young, Izumi is the polar opposite of her brother - feisty, stubborn, determined and whip smart - and she’s a heathen teenager but by about 15 she mellows and matures, and part of Kai’s reasoning for abdicating is that Izumi seems a better fit for Fire Lord. Izumi was always kinda apathetic to kids but at 19, she accidentally gets pregnant and has her son, Kazuo, then her daughter, Kira, eleven years later. Izumi becomes Fire Lord at 37 but she only rules for about 14 years before retiring. Since she had Kaz so young, if she stayed on the throne much longer, Kaz would also be an older man when it came time for him to inherit, so she decides to step aside and Kaz is coronated just after his 33rd birthday.

(Kazuo takes after his Gran Gran in more ways than just his blue eyes; he’s a waterbender so Kaz is the first waterbender Fire Lord)

After a break, Katara and Zuko decide to try for a third addition and Katara gives birth - in the Southern Water Tribe, for the first time - to Bashira, four years after Izumi. Shira looks probably the most like Zuko out of all the children, even more than her elder brother does. They share the same tall and lean physique, the same long black hair, Shira is mixed but still the palest of all the steambabies and their faces are practically identical. They’re characteristically very similar, too - serious, intense and reserved. The only differences is that her hair is curly, her eyes are blue and finally, Katara gets her waterbending child. Both of them suspected that Shira was going to be a waterbender even at the early stages of the pregnancy, but it’s still super exciting when Shira tosses a wave at her elder siblings when she’s two. Katara is teaching her as soon as she possibly can but over time some tension develops between them when Shira turns out to be quite different from her mom in terms of natural bending style. Shira is very fight-oriented, she learns dao swords from Zuko and never shows as much of an interest in the healing arts, but when things blow up and eventually Shira is able to explain that she wants to be able fight like her mom did during the war, things straighten out and Katara guides Shira all the way through to mastery. She eventually moves to the South in her late teens to lead the tribe’s warriors. There, she has three children - waterbender twins Kenzo and Kenji, then a daughter named Kanna who’s a firebender like Grandpa - but the marriage to their father doesn’t last and in her 50s, she ends up in a relationship with Aang and Toph’s daughter, Lin.

Katara gets pregnant for a fourth time - planned - just after Shira turns two, but this time she has a miscarriage. Zuko was overseas when it happened so she went through it alone. Katara is devastated and resents Zuko for not being there. She knows it’s not his fault but she can’t help her emotions and that makes her feel even worse so she just shuts down - stops doing her Fire Lady work, stops spending any more time with Zuko and their children than necessary, won’t let the rest of the family visit them and spends most of the day lying in bed. Zuko doesn’t know how to help her so initially he decides to give her space to grieve however she feels she needs to, but it just deteriorates until one day Zuko suggests that maybe they should both go to therapy or marriage counselling or something because it can’t go on like this. Katara just completely loses it at that and ends up yelling at him all the things that she’d been bottling up over the last couple of months. Katara says some awful things and she’s expecting Zuko to take it poorly, hence why she kept it all inside up till now, but Zuko just accepts every bit of it and after that, she’s finally able to grieve properly and mend.

About six months after they come back together, they decide to try again and Katara eventually falls pregnant. The pregnancy itself goes smoothly but both of them are so stressed about something going wrong like last time and the effect that might have on both of them, then Gran Gran passes away when Katara is in her thirtieth week, so the full ten months were incredibly hard-going.

It’s a big relief when the baby is finally born on Ember Island, three years after Shira in 117 AG. They name her Lili in honour of their recent losses, since lilies can ease scars and Iroh once referred to them as lights in darkness. From the beginning, Lili is the image of Katara in every way physically and characteristically - kind, patient, gentle, but does have quite a temper if she’s pushed too far. She’s also a waterbender, though it takes her a little longer to manifest her abilities than any of her siblings, first gaining control of the water at the age of six. Lili is incredibly endearing, as both a child and an adult, and she becomes so particularly popular with the Fire Nation public that the firebending qualification to be considered an heir to the throne is reversed, so Shira and Lili are inducted into the succession. Born in the same year, Lili had a long-term relationship with Tenzin, Aang and Toph’s thirdborn, but as they grew older, Tenzin was concerned that if he married her, their children would have heritage of all four elements and degrade the chances of Tenzin producing airbenders and continuing the Air Nation. That concern resulted in a kind of on-again-off-again thing but eventually Lili sent him off with an "I don’t want to be with someone that isn’t even sure he wants me" and went travelling the world for a few years. When they’re both in their thirties though, Lili and Tenzin reconnect and get back together, eventually marrying and producing five children - Jinora, Aya, Hiro, Rohan and Kano, the elder four airbenders and the youngest a waterbender.

A few months after Lili is born, Sokka and Suki have a baby girl and when Katara and Zuko go to visit their new niece, they agree that night on a spur-of-the-moment that they want one more child. The morning after, they talk about it properly and decide it’d be better to wait till Lili was a bit older, but Katara found out six weeks later that that one time had been successful. About halfway through, they find out that they’re expecting a boy and Katara is especially excited since their son had always been more closely attached to her whereas their girls were very firmly Daddy’s girls. Sure enough, when Kallik arrives in 118 AG, he’s a big Mama’s boy and remains so his entire life. Apart from his curly black hair, Kallik is the spitting image of his uncle, to the point that Hakoda says that seeing Lili and Kallik together is like seeing young Katara and Sokka. Kallik is the hardest to handle out of their children - loud, playful, mischievous and an exhausting troublemaker. All of the siblings fight like cat and dog but Kallik and Izumi are by far the worst, on the level of one walks into a room and the other is like “And I took that personally” and they never seem to grow out of it even when they’re both old and grey. Kallik is the only nonbender in the family and initially he struggles with this a bit but he spends a lot of time hanging out with Uncle Sokka, learns dao swords with Shira and Zuko, and by the time he hits his teens, he comes to view it more as something that sets him apart from his siblings. When he’s 18, he goes to join the United Forces and he stays in service till his late thirties, when he meets Ren, another serviceman from the Northern Water Tribe. After beginning a relationship with him, the pair settle in Republic City and end up adopting two daughters, Kirima and Alasie.

About a decade after Kallik is born, it seems like things are kind of slowly drawing to a close as the kids are getting older - Kai is 19 and has left home, Izumi is 18 and living away in Republic City while she studies at university, Shira is 14 and already talking about moving South the first chance she gets, Lili is 11 and wanting to go Northern Water Tribe to train with the healers there, and Kallik is 10 and dreaming of being a great military commander like Grandpa Koda and Uncle Sokka - when suddenly Katara starts to get really, really sick. Zuko is absolutely terrified, thinking that there’s something seriously wrong with his wife, but after some deduction, it turns out that Katara is actually pregnant again. The relief at realising she’s not dying is short-lived and the reaction from both of them is basically holy shit holy fuck we are too old for this our other kids are practically all grown up now we are done with babies we can't seriously have six children what are we going to do. There’s a lot of discussion, especially since Katara is 43 by then and the risks for her to be carrying another child are higher, but they ultimately decide to go through with it. Ironically, it’s the easiest of all her pregnancies and when Katara delivers a baby girl in Republic City in 128 AG, there hadn’t been a single complication to speak of. Iroh had passed away two years earlier, devastating the whole family but Zuko in particular, but the baby is born with his irises - a darker gold - so they name her Ilah. Her eyes are big and round like Katara’s but other than that, Ilah resembles her Grandma Ursa most strongly, with her thick chestnut-coloured hair and slight, delicate facial features. Naturally, Katara and Zuko think all their babies were the cutest baby but Ilah is probably objectively the cutest, with her big honey-coloured eyes, chubby cheeks and soft little curls.

Inevitably, since Kai, Shira, Lili and Kallik had all either left home before she was born or did so when she was still a little girl, Ilah gets a lot more concentrated attention from Katara and Zuko. She’s completely spoiled and doted upon by the whole family, including her elder brothers and sisters who visit her as often as they can manage. Since Izumi still lives in the palace permanently as the Crown Princess, she and Ilah are close, but Ilah ultimately ends up being closest with Izumi’s son, Kaz, who is only a year younger than his aunt. Ilah was even in the room when Kaz was born, though it wasn't an intentional move. Zuko was supposed to be watching Ilah when things got intense with Izumi’s labour but things escalated from 0-100 real fast and Katara didn't have time to hand Ilah off, so she stayed tucked in a sling on her mother’s back as Katara helped her eldest daughter to deliver her own baby, somehow sleeping through all the noise and commotion. Ilah and Kaz end up more like a brother and sister or best friends than an aunt and nephew, though Kaz always calls her Auntie Ilah when he’s teasing her. Ilah is perhaps the shyest around strangers of her siblings, uninterested in celebrity and attention, but she’s the most adventurous, determined and creative, interested in science and invention from an early age. Growing up, Ilah felt a little pressured by the renown of her family, especially when her firebending turned out to be just about average in power, but when she’s 12, Ilah figures out that she can combustionbend. From there, she applies her bending abilities to science and when she leaves home for university, she invents the combustion engine at age 20. The rest of her adult life is spent travelling virtually non-stop, working on innovation projects for the different nations. She never has children, on the account that it would be unfair to expect a kid to move around as much as she does and she’s happy enough with her numerous nieces and nephews, but she eventually marries her long-time girlfriend Li-Mei, an Air Nomad tasked with searching the world for new airbenders.

#zutara #katara #zuko #katara x zuko #avatar: the last airbender #steambabies #momtara and dadko

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notveryglittery · 4 years

Text

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another ace Good Omens fic written for @bingokisses - this time, the prompts “Smiling Too Hard Kisses/Pam Massage or Tracing.” Also managed to squeeze in a bit of nose-kissing, since I actually filled that prompt with a drawing.

Full fic available on AO3.

Part 2: The Next Fifty Days

On the fifty-first night, Aziraphale followed Crowley upstairs again.

As before, they held hands up the stairs, a loose clasp of palm against palm. As before, Crowley miracled up a pair of pyjamas, kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, and climbed into bed with a sleepy, “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale fussed with the duvet a little longer, smoothing it over Crowley’s shoulder, then stooped, pushing back a fringe of bright red hair. He was right; the hair was thick with sweat after a day of working in the sun, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He leaned a little closer to smell the sweat and earth on Crowley’s brow and, before he could talk himself out of it, pressed a kiss just under Crowley’s hairline.

“G…good night,” Aziraphale managed in a rushed breath, turning to go.

On the fifty-second night, Aziraphale lingered for a few minutes, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. It was tangled, and he worried the knots would hurt Crowley, but the demon simply sighed and relaxed a little more heavily against the pillow.

On the fifty-third night, Crowley wriggled a bit as he climbed into bed, moving just a little towards the center. He didn’t say anything, or gesture, or call attention to the movement in any way.

Still, it took until the fifty-fifth night for Aziraphale to work up the courage to settle himself on the edge of the mattress, stroking Crowley’s hair until he fell asleep.

He marveled, for a little while, at how his demon looked, so still, so quiet, face relaxed, burrowed so deep under the blanket that very little remained to be seen. It was strange, all those long limbs, stilled and compacted and hidden under a thick down duvet. He imagined his own wing covering Crowley instead, and Aziraphale’s face suddenly burned with a pulsing heat, and he rushed from the room.

Crowley didn’t even stir.

Beginning on the fifty-sixth night, Aziraphale sat on the sofa. At the far end, with as much space between them as possible, but nevertheless on the sofa. Crowley smiled, shifted his feet so they took up less space, a more compact sprawl.

Starting on the fifty-seventh night, Crowley sat upright in the other corner of the sofa. He scrolled through his mobile as they chatted, right hand resting lightly on the cushions between them. Aziraphale thought about putting his own hand down as well. He thought about it quite a lot.

On the sixty-fourth night, Aziraphale began organising his music collection while Crowley slept, humming softly to himself. On the sixty-eighth, he started bringing in selected books.

Now and again, he’d pause in his work, to make sure Crowley was still asleep. Adjust his blanket. Push the hair away from his eyes.

More than once he caught himself simply standing there, staring.

But whenever he finished his task for the night, Aziraphale retreated back downstairs and waited with a cup of tea until Crowley rose again in the morning.

On the seventieth night, he took Crowley’s hand as they sat on the sofa, no longer at opposite ends, but not quite close enough for their shoulders to brush. He glanced out from under his eyelashes – is this alright? – and without looking up from his mobile phone, Crowley gave his fingers a warm squeeze.

After an hour or so, he lifted Crowley’s hand to rest on his book, nudging his fingers apart. Tracing his own fingertips up and down the lines of Crowley’s palm, memorising them, mesmerised by them.

Crowley didn’t say a word, except to point out a series of pictures he’d discovered on his mobile. He grinned expectantly.

“It appears to be a cartoon. No, two cartoons cut and glued together. Look, they altered the caption, terrible job.”

“It’s a meme, Angel. It’s a joke.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale squinted at the fancy telephone. “Is the joke that the cartoon no longer makes sense? Some sort of Dadaist nonsense?”

“Nnnnh, you aren’t wrong,” Crowley conceded, returning to whatever he’d been doing.

His hand hadn’t moved. Uncertainly, Aziraphale pressed his own palm to Crowley’s, and the long fingers curled up to interlock with his.

Aziraphale smiled and let their hands rest on the sofa between them.

He followed Crowley upstairs, fingers still twined, palms pressed tightly together so that surely Crowley could feel his heart racing.

This time, when Crowley climbed under the covers, Aziraphale selected a book from his now-filled bookcase, and tried to approach the bed, the right side of the bed, the one with tartan pillow still lying where he’d dropped it. Every step was slower than the one before, until trepidation froze him, half a meter shy of his goal.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley watched him, golden eyes as unreadable as the glasses he usually wore.

“I thought…I thought…this might be…more comfortable. I can…sit on this side. As you – as you fall asleep.” There. Words spoken. It was out in the world.

“It’s an awful lot for one day,” Crowley commented, still not stirring. “Don’t rush yourself.”

He commanded his feet to take another step forward. “I’ve put it off rather a long time already, haven’t I?” Another step, knees now just shy of the mattress. “I’ve…forced you to wait…”

“You haven’t forced me to do anything. You never have.” Aziraphale stared at the crooked pillow, the slightly rumpled line of the duvet. “Angel. Look at me.” He glanced up, and now Crowley’s eyes weren’t blank at all, and that made this even harder. “I’m not…not waiting for anything. There isn’t some, I don’t know, some destination we have to race towards. There isn’t any endgame here. There’s just you, and me. What we have…this life…it’s enough. Whatever you want, whatever you’re comfortable with, it’s enough. Don’t ever feel like you have to – to be anything other than what you are.”

“I just…” Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the bed, and he stared at it so long he wondered why it didn’t catch fire. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am. Aziraphale, I am already as happy as I know how to be.”

Blinking tears from his eyes, Aziraphale reached out. Took the pillow that he had dropped seventy days before. Shook it out and placed it neatly against the headboard.

Then he placed the book on the bed in front of it.

“There, that…that should keep…another day or two.” He bit his lip. “That’s…that’s quite enough for one night.”

He circled around the bed and felt a strange rush of relief to arrive on the left side again. To perch on the edge of the mattress, as he already had so many times. Crowley sat up to kiss his cheek, as always, but this time let his lips rest a moment longer, his nose brush the side of Aziraphale’s. “Good night,” he whispered, and for once it sounded almost like a promise, a blessing, inasmuch as a demon could bless. “Angel.”

Then he flopped back onto his pillow, as dramatic as ever.

“Good night, dear.” Aziraphale tugged the blankets smooth and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Mmmh,” Crowley purred, leaning into his fingers, eyes drifting shut. “Hey, Aziraphale?”

“Y-yes?” They almost never spoke after saying good night.

“You want to tell me about your book?”

“What?” He glanced furtively at the other side of the bed. “The one I…”

But Crowley’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. “You read about twenty this week. Whichever you like.”

“Oh.” His fingers scratched a little deeper into the sweat-thick mane of hair. Aziraphale had decided he liked the way Crowley’s hair felt at the end of a day in the gardens. The texture. The smell. “Well. Er. I suppose. There is one you might like. Ah. It starts in the French Revolution—”

“Hang on.” The tiniest line of gold appeared in one eye. “Is someone gonna rescue someone else from the guillotine? Dramatically?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale tried to hide a smile. “Quite definitely.”

“Good. Proceed.”

“Where was I? Ah, yes. Paris. The teeming masses of humanity…”

On the seventy-third night, Aziraphale finally worked up the courage to slide onto the right side of the bed. Still fully dressed, still over the covers. Still a little awkward, as if he might change his mind and run.

He nearly did, when Crowley rose to kiss the side of his head. It seemed so much more alarming when done…well…in bed. But then he dropped down, red hair spilling across a black pillow, and wriggled under the blankets.

“Night, Angel,” he yawned, sounding even more tired than usual. They’d spent most of the afternoon exploring the paths through the woods and Aziraphale had – twice – briefly taken his hand.

“Good night, dear.” The words tumbled out without a thought. “Er. Crowley. Don’t you…usually sleep facing the door?”

Crowley blinked, which was rare enough, and glanced over his shoulder in confusion. When he turned back, his brow was furrowed. “Don’t be daft. I sleep facing you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of that. “Oh.” Crowley had rolled over a few times, in previous weeks, as Aziraphale moved around the bedroom setting things up. He’d never thought anything of it, but, yes, Crowley had always turned to face the side of the room Aziraphale stood on, like a daisy tracking the sun. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Crowley mocked, but not cruelly. He closed his eyes and settled down. “What are you reading?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced at the book he’d taken off the shelf several nights before. “Kinder- und Hausemärchen.”

“Uh…”

“The, ah, the Brothers Grimm.” He turned the pages idly. “Would you like me to…read it to you?”

A wide, toothy grin spread across his narrow face. “Only if you promise to do the voices.”

Smiling back, Aziraphale reached across and tucked some hair behind Crowley’s ear. “The first is the Frog Prince…”

That first night in bed, the seventy-third in the cottage, Aziraphale read a few stories, then quietly left once Crowley was asleep. He paused in the doorway and, sure enough, the demon turned over to face him without waking.

On the seventy-fifth night, he kept reading long after Crowley had fallen asleep.

On the seventy-ninth night, he stayed until after midnight.

On the eighty-third night (or very early on the eighty-fourth morning, but it was dark until well after breakfast this time of year), he put aside the book, and just watched Crowley sleep, without shyness, without fear.

On the eighty-seventh night, he noticed Crowley’s hand emerging from the blankets, and idly reached across to trace its lines once more. He tugged it towards him, thinking perhaps to hold it as he continued reading, but Crowley immediately moved, wriggling across the bed to press against Aziraphale’s hip.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called in alarm. “What are you…”

“Nrrgh,” Crowley muttered, and let out a noise almost like a snore.

This was most unusual. But it wasn’t bad.

That night, Aziraphale let Crowley press against him for almost an hour before gently disentangling himself and leaving.

On the eighty-eighth night, he let it go on a little longer.

On the ninety-fourth night, he lost all track of time, and barely slipped out of the room before Crowley woke up. It occurred to him, as he went down the stairs, that perhaps…perhaps he didn’t need to leave?

The ninety-fifth night in Aziraphale and Crowley’s cottage, winter arrived; perhaps not according to the calendar, but certainly by the weather. Warm jumpers emerged from nowhere, and Crowley grumbled that all his had tartan trim, then blushed to see Aziraphale’s embroidered with a tiny snake coiled into a heart.

Cold seeped in through the walls, but not in an unpleasant way. Aziraphale tried out a new soup recipe, and Crowley spent over an hour insisting he could light the fire the human way, before finally giving up and agreeing to a miracle.

That night, when Aziraphale tugged at his sleeping demon’s hand, Crowley looped an arm over his legs, pulling closer, seeking warmth.

When the angel finally convinced himself to slip away, he tucked his pillow under Crowley’s arm. He paused in the doorway to watch as Crowley rolled over to face towards him, chin still resting on the tartan pillow.

On the ninety-ninth night, the snow arrived. It was early; Crowley had complained all evening that he’d barely managed to get the garden settled for the winter; the greenhouse would have to wait until next year, and he seemed at a bit of a loss what to do with himself until the ground thawed. He shivered a bit – despite the warm fire – and Aziraphale squeezed his hand as they sat.

By the time they climbed into bed, the wind was roaring, whistling around the eaves and rattling the windowpanes. Aziraphale smoothed the blankets, settled atop them, then held out his arm indicating, somewhat indirectly, the space beside him.

“You, uh…you sure?”

“You’re cold, aren’t you?”

Crowley shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly. “Yes, dear. I’m sure.”

It was…not the same as when his demon pressed against him in the night. Crowley seemed to coil, twisting arms and legs, trying a hundred positions in a matter of seconds. Finally settled for having his head on Aziraphale’s lap, limbs twined all around him in an inextricable Gordian knot.

“S’good?”

It was almost perfect, except that somehow one of Aziraphale’s hands had become entwined with Crowley’s and the other was already burying itself in his hair. How was he ever supposed to hold a book like this?

But, it occurred to him, he didn’t actually want his book right now, not when the sight before him was so captivating.

“This is…yes. Jolly good. Ehem. Good night, Crowley dear.”

“G’night, Angel.” He wriggled even closer. Not wriggled. There was a word for this. Cuddled. It made Aziraphale’s heart flutter in his chest. “Nh. Aziraphale?” He sounded a little embarrassed.

“What is it?”

“Last couple mornings I’ve, uh…I woke up holding your pillow.”

“I…I know, dear.” Even if the actions were coming more easily, it was still so hard to put it into words. “The last, um, the last few nights you’ve been…reaching. For me. Moving closer. I felt, well, like you should…have something…when I left?”

“Mmrrrrrgh,” Crowley groaned, burying his face into Aziraphale’s thighs. “M’sorry.”

“What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“Didn’t ask.” He shrugged, a rather complicated gesture from this position. “’Nd. I told you I didn’t want anything more. Thought it was true. But I guess. Sometimes, it’s not?”

For the first time in ninety-nine nights, Aziraphale realised this might be as difficult for Crowley as it was for him. Of course he’d failed to notice. After all, he was a foolish, self-centred angel, hardly a thought for anyone but himself.

Instead of feeling guilty, though, Aziraphale felt…strangely relieved.

He leaned down to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. It was a bit of a stretch – he felt it in his back – but completely worth it. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Just sleep.”

On the hundredth morning, Aziraphale stood framed in the bedroom door, looking at the way Crowley held the tartan pillow, limbs in a complicated death grip that still managed to be extraordinarily gentle.

When the demon’s eyes fluttered open, Aziraphale lifted the mug he held, miracled to exactly the right temperature. “Coffee, dear?” he asked, heart throbbing in anticipation of the smile.

The snow had fallen more than knee-deep, and Crowley spent an hour clearing snow off the delicate branches of the saplings, shoveling the garden walkway, breath steaming in the wind, until Aziraphale emerged from the cottage and wrapped a black-and-red scarf around his neck, engulfing him from the bottom of his glasses to the top of his jacket.

“Let’s go for a walk, dear.”

“Can’t,” Crowley grunted. “Gotta make a path first.”

“No, you don’t.” Aziraphale stepped onto piled-up snow, and walked across the top of it, light as a cat.

“Well, not all of us are angels.” But Aziraphale could guess from the tone of his voice that the scarf hid a smile.

“You know, Crowley, if you hold my hand, you won’t sink either.”

This time, not even scarf and glasses could hide the way Crowley’s face lit up. His hand slipped into Aziraphale’s as naturally as if it had always belonged there, and together they walked out of the garden and into a forest altered into an exotic, white-puffed land.

“I think I was wrong,” Aziraphale said, looking at the branches of a towering oak, laden with snow and dripping with ice.

“Haven’t sunk yet.”

“No, ages ago. When you talked about getting trees, and I wasn’t sure if it was worth waiting ten years for the fruit. But I think…you don’t get a tree for the fruit.”

Crowley considered this, brow furrowed. “You do if you’re growing an orchard.”

“Are you? Growing an orchard?”

“No…” He tossed his head, hand flying up to catch his knitted hat before it fell off. “Gotta say, no idea where you’re going with this.”

“I mean, you don’t plant a tree because it might produce something you want, years down the road. You plant it because you want a tree. You want to see it bud in the spring, and sit in its shade in the summer, and watch the leaves change in the fall. You want to care for it, tend it as it grows, and then maybe – maybe – years later, you’ll also have apples to enjoy.”

“Hmmm.” Crowley swung their clasped hands with the next few steps. “Glad I didn’t wait for you to come around. It’s far too late to plant trees now.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I’m sure you knew that all along. That’s why you’re the gardener.”

“Better remember that if we ever need to infiltrate a mansion again.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said airily. “Next time, you can be the gardener, and I’ll be the driver.”

Crowley gasped, Aziraphale giggled, and they walked in silence a few more minutes.

“And you know,” the angel finally said, watching their feet pad across the snow without a trace. “It isn’t...wrong to, I don’t know, to want a bit more from a young tree. To imagine how the blossoms will look, to wish you could sit under the branches and read. I think, you know, part of caring for something is...is anticipating how it will grow and...helping it along.”

“It wouldn’t be...hurrying things?”

“No, I don’t think so. You can enjoy the moment without ignoring the past and...the future.”

The path turned towards what should be a little hollow between the trees, now filled to the brim like a bowl of snow.

“Speaking of...you know...the future.” Crowley said, glancing at the branches interlaced over them. “Future of trees. I mean. If you want something that just looks nice, you get flowers. Tulips. Really pretty, last about five minutes. But a tree, that’s...a commitment. Something you want to share your garden with for centuries.” He stopped walking, turning slowly towards Aziraphale, face still hidden between glasses and scarf. Aziraphale looked up at him, heart pounding. “You know. Never had a tree before. Didn’t work with my lifestyle. But now…here…”

Aziraphale reached with both hands to lower Crowley’s scarf.

Unfortunately, the instant he let go of Crowley’s hand, the demon collapsed, legs buckling at the sudden lack of support, until he lay on his back, buried up to his neck in snow.

“Oh, dear!” Aziraphale fought down a smile. “Oh, Crowley I—” No, it was no good. Watching the now snow-covered demon struggle to sit up doubled Aziraphale over with laughter.

“Funny, am I?”

Aziraphale scrubbed at the tears in his eyes. “Yes. No. It’s just—”

The snowball hit him square in the face before he ever saw it coming. Aziraphale toppled like a tree, sinking deep into the snowdrift.

“Angel!” The sound of Crowley scrambling to his feet. “Blast, I thought you’d—"

“Ah, I see how it is.” Aziraphale sat more slowly, scraping the snow from his cheeks. “You have declared war, Crowley.” He lifted his hands and piles of snow began to rise all around him, forming themselves into balls. “But I don’t think you’re truly prepared to face the wrath of the Guardian of Eden.”

That evening, they sat together on the sofa, Aziraphale’s head resting on Crowley’s shoulder. No books, no mobile phones, just a roaring fire, a thick blanket, and two cups of steaming hot chocolate.

Crowley had taken a hot shower after getting back inside, and Aziraphale was fascinated to see how his hair curled as it dried. Aziraphale had dithered a bit before miracling himself up a set of dry clothes – pyjamas, in fact, styled after Crowley’s, since the last time the angel had slept, loose nightgowns and caps had still been in fashion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” Crowley whispered, turning his head slightly so his lips brushed across Aziraphale’s hair. “The way you did in the woods, I mean.”

“Nor I you.” He closed his eyes and tried to identify all the smells in Crowley’s bath soaps.

When the time came, Aziraphale was the first to stand.

He took his demon’s hand, led him up the stairs and to their bed. Walked around to his own side and lifted the blankets.

“Aziraphale…?”

“Yes, dear.” Everything inside him was bubbling, fluttering, rising up in his throat – but this was good. This was how Aziraphale wanted to feel.

He slid beneath the blankets and rested his head on the pillow.

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked, lying on his side, their faces little more than a breath apart. His hand lay in the gap between them.

“I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

“Angel, I told you—”

Aziraphale surged forward, pressing his mouth to Crowley’s.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. They’d kissed like this, once, long ago, a few days after the world had failed to end. Aziraphale couldn’t remember much, except that he’d been almost sick with nerves, and had pulled away almost immediately. This time was different.

Crowley’s lips were...softer like this than they were against his head or his cheek. And his mouth tingled so much more. In a good way. A very good way. Aziraphale was already starting on a second kiss, tipping his head slightly, when he realised Crowley still hadn’t moved.

Scrambling back - face burning - Aziraphale tugged at the duvet. “I...I’m sorry...did I...get it wrong? I thought…”

Before he could say another word, Crowley’s mouth covered his, warm and welcoming, Crowley’s hand slid up his arm, Crowley’s leg hooked over his knee. Aziraphale leaned into it, hands clutching the black pyjamas, until he was completely and utterly surrounded by Crowley.

This was it. This was home. This was the bliss, the acceptance, he’d never felt in Heaven, that had always been held just out of his reach, pulled away when he came close to grasping it, until he learned not to desire it at all…

Here, freely, openly given. Not just now, but over and over, every minute for a hundred days, for hundreds of years, and a promise of more, on and on, into a future he couldn’t even imagine…

Crowley’s thumb brushed his cheek and suddenly the kiss vanished.

“Nrfgk.” Crowley pulled away, struggling to untangle himself. “S-sorry!”

“Ah…” Aziraphale tried to catch his breath. “What do...sorry?”

“Should have asked.” He pulled back to his own pillow, tugging it forward as if to make a barrier. “Look, I’m just - do you need me to go? I can wait downstairs until…”

Aziraphale pressed fingers to his cheek, where it still burned from Crowley’s touch, and found it was wet. His blinked through tear-filled eyes at the narrow, panicked face across from him and laughed. The long, loud laughter of a being that only breathed for the joy of it.

“Erf. Aziraphale?”

“You...you silly...ridiculous demon!” He scrubbed at his face, still laughing. “You absurd creature!” Aziraphale reached across the bed until he found Crowley’s hands and drew him closer, as he had so often at night, each time he brought Crowley to nestle against him. He slid across now, wide-eyed and wondering, to lay nose-to-nose once more. “I’m crying because I’m happy. Because I’m not afraid, I’m not...holding myself back, and it feels...wonderful.”

“Oh.” Crowley fidgeted. “Ah. So. Um.” His eyes flicked up to meet Aziraphale’s. “So you liked it? The kiss?”

He felt himself turning pink again as a smile spread across his lips. “Yes, I rather think I did. Er. Did you?”

“Yeah.” The grin stretched straight across Crowley’s face. “I did, I really, really did. You, um,” he waggled his eyebrows in what was probably supposed to be a charming way. “You want to go again?”

“Oh, yes please.”

Aziraphale smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, which unfortunately made kissing quite difficult. They couldn’t push out their lips properly, or quite line up their mouths, their teeth managed to collide more than once. More laughter followed, and Aziraphale felt the strange, heady rush of Crowley’s laugh echoing in his own mouth, against his chest, filling him completely.

In the end they gave up on the kissing, and held each other, Aziraphale’s face buried in Crowley’s neck and shoulder, Crowley’s too-wide smile still pressing into curling silver hair.

The angel still felt embarrassed, but not ashamed, and the difference was marvelous. He didn’t regret his actions, he didn’t fear some unforeseen consequence. Here, in his demon’s embrace, he felt safe, confident. Very nearly sure of himself.

“So what, um…” Crowley’s mouth hovered by his ear. “What brought this on?”

“I don’t really know. It’s been coming on a long time. But…” Aziraphale wriggled back, just far enough to see Crowley’s face without leaving the circle of his arms. Somehow they’d managed to fit both their heads on the tartan pillow, though there was very little room to spare. Best to stay close. “Well. Partly it’s because of what you said last night.”

“Last night?” His brow furrowed in worry.

“About wanting more without knowing it. I...I rather think I’ve felt that way for centuries.” He tipped his head forward, until his brow rested against Crowley’s chin, and felt those lips press against his hairline. “And I realised...It’s not about you being patient with me, or me being brave for you, or anything of the kind. We’re...whatever we are, we’re learning it together. We’re here together, and that’s...that’s what I want. That’s everything I want.”

“That’s…�� Crowley swallowed, cleared his throat. “Yeah. Me too.” Cleared his throat again. “So, ah...now what?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale tilted his head back to give a sheepish grin. “I hadn’t really thought past, you know. The kissing.”

“Hmmmm.” Crowley lowered his head until their noses brushed. “I’m…actually not sure either.”

“You aren’t?” One more wriggle moved Aziraphale under Crowley’s chin, head resting against his heart. This felt right. Aziraphale tugged one of Crowley’s hands between them, running his fingers across the now-familiar lines and mounds. “Can we just…stay here for a bit?”

“Yeah. Sounds perfect, Angel.”

“And…in case it wasn’t clear…ah…I love you, Crowley.”

“Nk.” It was odd, to feel that tension – so familiar to Aziraphale – run through Crowley, to know exactly the way he must be panicking, stomach tight, heart shuddering. “I…glk…that’s…I…”

Aziraphale lifted their clasped hands and pressed his lips to Crowley’s fingers. “It’s alright, darling. Take as long as you need.”

Thank you again to everyone who read!

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fluff #asexual ineffable husbands #ace omens #good omens prime #south downs cottage #emotional h/c #anxious aziraphale #soft crowley #bed cuddles #hand holding #laughter #kisses #walks in the snow #all the good stuff #prompt fic #kisses bingo #ao3 link #my writing

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blarrghe · 3 years

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Hi! I'm going to go for a dramatic one for the cliché prompts: "You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up" for Fenders (or whoever you prefer) if that works for you <3

I’m on a bit of a Dorianders kick and can’t seem to stop, so thank you very much for the prompt but I went a bit off book with it... hope that’s alright w you.

I altered this a little to “Dorian’s father is asleep on his deathbed and he confesses all his pent up feelings only for Anders to walk in”

So that’s um, how modern au Resident!Anders and Politician!Dorian met. It got a bit long and is very very angsty.

Summary: Anders is a resident working rough hours at a hospital (in Tevinter?? look this is just going to be a series of ficlets I have not worked out the details yet), struggling with his medical debts and work-related sleep deprivation. Dorian is an idealistic politician working his way out of his recently deceased father's shadow. They meet when Anders is attending to his father on his death bed, and things go from there, I guess.

Anders took a deep breath. With it, the something hissing over his heart settled down to a whisper. The hospital always beset him with inner whispers; not a good feeling, but one that compelled him on, nevertheless. Pediatrics hit the hardest, the injustice of it all, but being there also kept his mind steady. Doing something. Critical Care was different. There wasn't usually a lot he could do, in the Critical Care wing. And his rounds today had him facing that patient, the one for whom there was nothing to be done, and who set his obsessively helpful spirit into split ends, because he was also an absolute asshole. When Anders was in a room with him, under steely eyes and the cracking whip of his tongue, the disease in him felt deserved, and some part of Anders burned like blue fire, so hot it took biting his cheek bloody to restrain his bedside manner from bad attitudes. The disease is never deserved, he reminded himself and the licks of flame that still remembered the patient's rude barkings from last time. Even in rich men who in life had been given much more than they ever did deserve, a death like this one was still a hard death, and people who are dying are allowed to die angry. So he took another deep breath, because dealing with some patients just needed that much more breathing, but he could still do his job. And that was the job; to be there, at the end, for anyone.

He was getting worse, sleeping more. It wouldn't be long now, and Anders tried not to be relieved. He checked his charts, his monitors, the IVs still barely holding him up. Increased the morphine, for his pain, and finished without saying a word. For a moment, he almost missed it; at least when the man was swearing at him and ranting in indecipherably bigoted tirades, he was lively. He sighed, staying the extra moment to offer the man's sallow cheeks a sympathetic glance. Death was a natural part of life, and he was old, and an asshole, and maybe he didn't deserve it but... soon the bed would be free again, and that would be alright.

When he turned to leave, there was a dark figure sitting on the bench in the hall outside. He was reading a magazine but not flipping the pages, one leg crossed over the other in the stiff posture of someone who is uncomfortably waiting for uncomfortable news. One of the family. Anders took another deep breath. He hadn't had dealings with the wife, but he'd overheard them well enough. An unpleasant woman for an unpleasant man, trying to buy off death and then trying to kick the whole hospital down with her complaining when she couldn't. If the man waiting outside now took after either of them, his shift was about to get a whole lot worse.

He stepped out into the hall, and the man looked up from his magazine. His features were striking, sculpted. Skin the deep, radiant bronze that Anders was sure his father's would have been, back in his youth before misery and disease stole its colour. And he was, unmistakably now, his asshole patient's son; same steely grey eyes, right down to the faint creases beside them, and just as unfeeling.

"Are you his doctor?"

Usually, that question, asked at this point in the process of losing someone, was croaked out. But the son didn't croak, he asked his question with a continued lack of feeling, and a bit of impatience.

"Not his attending, only a resident. I can page the doctor, if you'd like,"

"No, that's fine. Can you just tell me how long?" The man stood up, tall. Much taller than the way people usually stood in hospital corridors; poised and proud in his posture — not actually taller than Anders, but he felt it. Still a little stiff maybe, but anything uncomfortable was covered up by how well he fit into his suit; smooth and black and clinging to his body like it was made to hold him. Anders blinked, "how long he has," the son clarified unnecessarily, still coolly impatient, "I have places to be, you see."

His eyes wandered past Anders, hesitating over the window to the room where his father lay dying, then snapping back again. Not entirely unfeeling after all, but the sadness in them was troubled by something else, still indecipherable. Anders wondered what kind of relationship a son could have with a father — a father like that — for so many secrets to be buried in that glance.

Anders swallowed. No he didn't, he decided, but the thing that whispered care into his heart was wondering, catching onto the well-hidden glimpse of feeling in the man, craving already to comfort the rest.

"A few days, maybe." He answered, gentle with the news. The son nodded once. "You should say your goodbyes."

The son was looking past him again, back through the window at the sleeping form of his father, more unhappy secrets set into his jaw. Anders watched the jaw tense, and stay there.

"In a few days, maybe." Replied the man, though he barely moved his tense jaw to say it. "He's awake."

Anders turned to follow the man's eyes, landing his own gaze on a twitching hand and barely moving bedsheets. He didnt look back again before darting into the room to offer his patient care.

"Dorian?" Croaked the patient, steely grey eyes opening to scan his face, and then closing in apparent disappointment.

"Your son? He's right outside, I'll —" but he wasn't. The tall, statuesque man was gone, the magazine left lying open on the bench outside in an empty white hallway. "I'm sure he'll be back soon." Anders amended, attempting to offer a bright spot of hope. His patient grunted.

Anders took a step away from the bedside, but as he did a thin, wrinkled hand shot out, and grabbed him by the wrist. The cold, unfeeling eyes opened, except now they were sad. "A word of advice, if you don’t want to be disappointed in life, don't have children." Even breathy and hoarse, he managed to give his voice bite. Then his asshole patient's gaze fell on the little gold earring hanging from Anders’ ear, and he coughed. Anders took a deep breath in preparation for another insult, and to help him recover from the bit of unfriendly advice. "You're lucky they don't let you people have them."

Anders tried not to sigh. The dying are allowed to die angry. "I'm sure he'll be back." He said again.

----

Dorian. The name stuck to him almost as well as his tight black trousers, and Anders couldn't help but turn it over a few times in his mouth after he left the room. He made the rest of his rounds, and checked back in on father-of-the-year Pavus a few more times, lying to himself about what he was hoping to find. Dorian. He never did come back though, not during visiting hours of that day, nor the day after. On the third day things weren't looking well, and Bride of Asshole Pavus had alerted everyone on staff to the fact that it was their fault, even the poor janitors. The bed would probably be free again by the end of his shift.

He made his rounds, thinking as little about that particular patient and his particularly unpleasant wife as he could, trying to tell his inner whisperings that it wasn't worth being sad over, even if the son never said goodbye. Maybe he didn't deserve one, how could Anders judge? (Everyone deserves one). Under his breath, Anders told himself to shush. (If not for the father's sake, then for his own). Again, shush. Then, through the too-thin walls and slightly ajar door as he made his way down the glaringly white hallway, Anders heard muttering. Sad, broken, angry muttering. He stopped.

" —I don't want it." the phrase was repeated a few times, some utterings angry, others sad, all of them broken. "I don't want your life. I don't want to be you. I don't —" Dorian. Dorian choking on a sob. Anders took a step back, careful about the squeak of his shoes. "I don't even know why I —" he tried not to listen in (no you didn't), but the door was ajar. "Everything. I could become everything you ever asked of me and it would still never be enough, so I don't know why I— I —" there was another heartwrenching choke to a stop, then a gutteral sound of frustration that Anders could feel in his own gut. "Just once. You couldn't say it just once?" It sounded like the kind of question he wouldn't be getting an answer to even if the man were conscious. "I'm sorry." Anders felt that in his gut too, and the thing he was trying to keep quiet inside him wondered if the words were from Dorian to his father, or the ones Dorian was begging his unconscious body for, or both.

In hospital rooms, the sound of beeping monitors disappeared into the fray. Wheels on stretchers trundling down the halls, squeaking shoes on linoleum, ventilators whirring and monitors beeping. They only sounded like anything when they stopped, and let out that one long note to signify the end. Dorian choked out his apology several more times, once sad, once angry, always desperate, and then the monitor stopped beeping, drowning out his gasps for air with its ending, and Anders had to do his job. He walked in.

Dorian shot up. Hands swiping at his red eyes and posture somehow rising without even a hint of hunch, and Anders pretended poorly not to see any of it. The attending came, procedures were followed, and Dorian disappeared into the waiting room like he was supposed to, without a look back.

The wife was gone by the time Anders poked his head into the waiting room. It wasn't his job to tell the family, and the news had long been shared, but something told him to peek in anyway. He took another deep breath when he saw him — this family really seemed bent on messing with his breathing — sitting, one long leg crossed over the other, staring down a terrible cup of coffee, not drinking it. He sat straight, his skin shone, his suit fit him like a glove and not a hair on his head was out of place, but he looked tired. Dorian. Anders approached cautiously. It would be a while before the family could take the body, and he should go home, rest. He told him as much, to a response of slow nods. Then Dorian looked up from his coffee, eyes emotionless except for the fact that they were lined in watery red.

"I'm just waiting for my mother to finish hounding her lawyers," he said, and despite himself Anders looked about nervously, "she's not here, don't worry. She left for home an hour ago. If I wait another, she'll have tired herself out and passed out under a bottle of wine." He sighed heavily, "could use one myself, but to be honest with you I don't quite feel like going home." His eyes flicked up into Anders' with a dim light of mischief, and Anders wondered what his looks could do for him on a good day. Things Anders could never hope to achieve, no doubt.

Anders offered him the carefully crafted soft smile he reserved for these kinds of things, and said “sorry for your loss” with just a touch more feeling than most patients’ families received, since the man looked like he needed it.

“Can’t say the same to you I suppose,” Dorian replied, shaking his head, “though I am sorry.”

Anders opened his mouth, struggled to find anything to do with it, and then closed it again.

“For my mother,” Dorian explained as he put the coffee cup he was still holding down on the low table in front of the chair he was decorating, apparently giving up any semblance of drinking it, “I’m sure his care was better than he deserved, but she doesn’t do well in situations she can’t control. It won’t come to anything.”

Anders nodded slowly. Better than he deserved? A phrase Anders might have thought himself, over the past few weeks of dealing with the irate patient as he approached death’s door, but now that he’d gone through it, something about the sentiment irked him.

“Everyone deserves compassionate care,” he corrected with another careful smile, “the best chance we can give, and comfort when that’s spent. No less.”

The response did something odd to Dorian’s face; first a sigh, then it transmuted itself into a strangled sort of laugh, while he shook his head and regarded Anders with still-dull eyes. “Well, it can’t have been easy,” he muttered, eyes landing on Anders’ soft smile, which he hoped was still there. “Thank you.”

Anders left him then, offering one more nod and smile before turning away to finish the rest of his shift. Two hours later, changed out of his scrubs and into his tattered old jacket over his tattered old t-shirt and jeans, he walked by the waiting room again, on his way out. Dorian was still there, still staring down that same cup of undrunk coffee.

“Mr. Pavus, ser?”

Dorian started at the sound, and looked up from the coffee with an almost angry light in his icy eyes. “Please, Maker, call me anything but that.”

Anders swallowed. “It’s — it’s Dorian, isn’t it?” Dorian nodded, “Dorian,” saying his name to his face felt wrong, somehow, “it’s getting rather late, is there someone I should call for you?”

Dorian shook his head. “No,” he sighed. “Are there any bars nearby? A really terrible one, preferably.”

Anders frowned, but there was a pretty terrible bar just across the street, stuck into a hole in the wall of an alley, with grimy old barstools and floors littered in peanut shells, so he told him so. Dorian stood, always so tall.

“Thank you, Doctor…”

“Anders,” he attempted a smile, but there was a good deal too much worry in it, he was sure, “just Anders; I’m off duty.”

Dorian turned from him, then suddenly turned back. “Would you care for a drink, Anders?”

Anders blinked. “I uh —”

“You’ve seen the last of what was undoubtedly your worst patient today, haven’t you? Don’t tell me you didn’t plan to celebrate.”

His brows creased unhappily, all on their own, and something inside him whispered back the memory of that broken bedside apology. “I wouldn’t —”

“You should. I aim to. On me?” There was that light of mischief again, a little brighter, coupled with what could almost be a smirk. Maker, was he flirting?

“I don’t drink.”

Dorian frowned, and Anders almost wished he did. “A bowl of peanuts on me, then.” Dorian amended his offer with a shrug. And for some unknown reason, Anders nodded.

“Alright.”

#my fic #my writing #dorianders #dorian x anders #modern au #angst angst angst

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bbq-hawks-wings · 4 years

Note

Really long ask - Part 1: Hi, sorry for this long rant, but I just wanted to vent since I saw this latest story posted on AO3 and I am restraining myself on commenting on their story so I'm just letting my anger out here about it and other issues regarding fan-depiction of Hawks. It's vaguely related to your post on how DabiHawks or Dabi+Hawks stories make it all about Dabi and always made Hawks out to be the one who starts the problems in their relationship or is the one trying to get Dabi's

Content warning: passing mention of r*pe in a fanfiction.

LOOOONG post under the cut.

(Cont.)

Dabi's attentions when it's canon that it's the complete opposite. This latest story that came up in my feed was about Hawks "harassing" Dabi (who apparently has a backstory of r*pe) and Twice helps Dabi works out his feelings. Among the hoards of tags condemning Hawks, they decided to use "Hawks is very uncool in this fic heads up" so that's another one to add to my filters. I think I also have to block the "Dabi Needs a Hug" tags too bc he's always woobified like heck.

I really want to read stories where Hawks interacts with Twice since they have a bond/drama with each other, but people have been adding Dabi and either making it seem like Hawks has been gaslighting Dabi in their "relationship" or with Twice. I can acknowledge stories where Hawks feels guilty for what he had to do or Twice being anger/betrayed over Hawks' actions since that is actually what happened; but I will not stand for Dabi claiming Hawks took advantage of Twice or Twice and Dabi having feelings for each other with Hawks in the way bc Dabi is a) the one who let Hawks in b) knew Twice is gullible and c) used Twice as bait. Even in the stories that are cute/causal+funny, Hawks is always the one who gets threatened with fire, harsh insults, or guilted into compliance but the seriousness of the first 2 are always brushed off and the third kinda makes me want it that Hawks doesn't have friends bc most people write him as a bad friend who only cares about his own problems (especially the ones that write Hawks like a celebrity/night club person).

On writing Dabi, his issues always take priority over everything else, his family loves him, and the lov is always chill with him. He's usually written as the fun asshole/caretaker (bc of his big brother status or ablity to cook). Those factors aren't bad by itself, but it's extremely irritating when the writers/artists can give that level of care to Dabi, but just reduce Hawks to a meme who is a workaholic for the government/scared of punishment & not bc he really cares about the people he saves/helps. It's not like I hate the DabiHawks pairing, but the majority of the content (esp the recent ones), are frustrating to read & Hawks' character is usually written in bad out of character extremes. I am really mystified that I'm praying for canon content rather than fanmade most of the time.

Phew! After the back and forth it looks like we got to the end of that! (Or did we?! *Dun dun DUUUUN*) If not, though, feel free to keep the asks rolling. Lol Foxy and I are usually pretty happy to receive as many asks as people want to send even if it takes us a while, individually, to get to it. Now to finally address what you sent.

I find myself in a weird place when it comes to OOC fanfic because on the one hand people can write whatever they want, and I don’t really have a place to criticize them; but also when they blatantly and willingly misinterpret a character so they have grounds to bash on them it also leaves me acutely uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d call it “problematic” as much as a squick? Like, if they’re willing to blow past all the obvious proof to the contrary about their claims of a fictional character just because they hate them, then are they willing to do the same thing to a real person? Usually, those kinds of thoughts are pointlessly extreme, but we know those who unironically and/or unapologeticly call fans of the heroes “bootlickers” so... It’s like, ooc vent fics are also fine; and if you want to rewrite a character to fit the narrative scheme you’ve set up that’s cool as long as its tagged (“ooc [character]” or something) and/or just mention in the a/n that they knowingly and willingly mischaracterized them for the sake of the fic. Just. Don’t. Claim. It’s. Canon.

And speaking of canon, as much as I’m sure Horikoshi knew Hawks and Dabi were going to end up shipped I think it’s obvious that he never was going to canonically write them ending up together, yet here comes the “canon must validate my headcanon” crowd calling him a bad writer because the author had some bigger narrative goal in mind than having two pretty anime boys kissing.

And the worst part to me is, I feel there’s a distinct slice of the DabiHawks crowd missing out on some of the possibilities of this ship by intentionally mischaracterizing them. Like, the aesthetic equal/opposite draw of the ship is phenomenal as it is and I don’t even ship them, but I can see a wide range of possible fics based solely on the principle that they are canonically incompatible!

At the end of the day, Dabi is a dime-a-dozen edgelord - that pain in the butt OC that so many newbie D&D players make that they think is so deep and dark and mature, but is about as cookie-cutter as they come. It’s not that this kind of character is unsalvageable or a hopeless Gary Stu character, just that they don’t often come across as compelling in and of themselves or that they need more than just selfish hatred to carry them through a series. Two kinds of edgelords that can be done well are the “Out of the Ashes” edgelord and “I’ll Pull You Into Hell With Me” edgelord. The first kind recognizes there’s more to life than their sad backstory and getting even and thus choose to aspire to more noble causes - think Joel from The Last of Us. The second recognizes they’re actively doing wrong and come to embrace it - being more concerned with getting what they want than taking the moral high ground - think Frank Castle, aka the Punisher - and even these darker, “unsaveable” kinds of edgelord antiheroes can have redeeming qualities such as meeting and helping a young hopeful and telling them, “I know I’m on the road to hell, so if you want to save yourself you’d better not follow me.”

Dabi actually has what he needs to become the second type right now (assuming he’s Touya) and could even evolve into the first not unlike Kratos from God of War, but that potential can’t be fully recognized until you admit that he’s fundamentally self-centered and a bad person as-is. He may have the tragic backstory complete with justifiable hate at his genuinely abusive father, but rather than using that as fuel to see that never happen to anyone else like it did him - he just wants to get even. He burns people alive, knowing well he’s participating in the same destruction that his father committed to make him what he is now. He doesn’t recognize any of the merits of hero society and is only concerned with burning it to ash. He could use what happened to his family to incite compassion in his heart and take others under his wing, but instead he uses people as a mean to his own ends. He isn’t even proper grimdark - he’s just your run of the mill egotistical megalomaniac with a punk aesthetic.

And that’s still a good character in the grand scheme of things, maybe just not alone! Moreso, it’s a good villain and EVEN BETTER when you put him next to Hawks who is at his core:

Fundamentally Hopepunk!

Hopepunk is about being good and kind as an act of rebellion against a cruel and unfair world no matter how bleak it gets or how badly you’re beaten down. Despite his own cruel past, Hawks still has a heart to help others for no other reason than to help them, he constantly changes the odds to save as many people as he can when he’d be given a pass for letting the cards fall where they will, and not only is his aim to “help others” but to make sure that there’ll never be need for heroes again. He’s an active rebel against the system fighting with kindness and goodness, fervently looking and listening for the next opportunity to do good.

In agreement with you, Hawks and Twice are interesting to explore because while Twice is an optimist looking to make the world a better place, he’s still a step or two removed from Hawks’ worldview because Twice refuses to let go of the “family” he found for himself while Hawks is willing to sacrifice himself for others. That dynamic is so interesting, and it’s what made them so initially compatible and subsequently heartbreaking in canon.

And it’s such a disappointment to see this unwaveringly earnest character reduced to “shitty fratboy” so often. For a lot of people newer to his character I can understand the confusion, but there really isn’t an excuse if you’ve been reading the series, and the possibilities for fics with this canon personality are just so much more interesting to explore, especially with Dabi as his sort-of opposite.

For DabiHawks to work well, you have to recognize that something has to give in either of them. Some of the juiciest, most angsty content is when you have two characters grow close together over commonalities only to be reminded that despite everything else they share, that One Thing will always keep them from truly being able to see eye-to-eye. Either Dabi has to grow past his hatred and relearn compassion and empathy, or Hawks has to lose grip of that hopeful vision he has and fall into despair. Both options are good to explore, but both require the acknowledgement that Dabi’s view of the world is fundamentally bleak and selfish, especially compared to Hawks’. For a supposed revolutionary out to change the world for the better whose a diamond in the rough with a heart of gold, that’s not exactly on-brand; and at the end of the day the issue is that some are unwilling to admit that what they wanted Dabi to be is likely not going to happen and they love that fake version Dabi more than they love what Hawks actually stands for which is why Hawks always gets the shaft in the end.

I still personally hold a bit of a grudge against the DaiHawks ship as a whole purely because, as you said, Dabi always seems to take priority over Hawks instead of letting the two build a dynamic together. Hawks is always the one who has to give, and the torture porn some have made him go through to “make the ship work” is downright disturbing to me. Even at its height DabiHawks content completely flooded the Hawks character tags on Tumblr with some of the same problems that have persisted to this day such as emphasizing their aesthetic as opposed to their dynamic and rampant mischaracterization.

Anyway, that’s my long-winded response. What do you think, @autumn-foxfire?

#long post anon #autumn-foxfire #let's talk hawks

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nuclidic · 4 years

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Given that a lot of us are stuck inside with all this COVID-19 stuff, do you have any good TimKon fic recommendations to keep us more happily occupied?

Haha yes! I have this list from years ago but it is way past time for an update.

Disclaimer: these are just things I like, please heed all tags and warnings etc. I'm also not reccing any WIPs because unfinished fics kill me every time.

Crystal Clear by Merit andAnd I'll Tell You No Lies by caecily

Two short takes on soulmate tropes that have to go first because I love them so much, I love soulmate aus, Tim and Kon are soulmates, the end.

Where There's a Wish by LeeayreBeing Robin’s vessel is hard enough: the exhaustion, the life-threatening late night activities, the bruises and bullet holes and broken bones. Trying to hide all that from his incredibly suspicious, incredibly hot new roommate while maintaining his studies and placating his parents? Tim has never had it so hard. Especially since said roommate doesn’t actually know he’s Superboy.

So the setup for this is unusual, I'm not sure if it's based on anything but: superhero identities are Personas, independent (basically magical) personalities created by the wishes of a person or groups of people who act through hosts that have the will to manifest whatever that persona does. Basically: Robin is an independent persona, Tim shares his body with him and when Robin manifests the costume and all the gadgets appear. It's explained throughout the story, but just in case you start it and are like wtf is happening. This possibly should go in the thirds section because the actual pairings in this are: Robin/Tim, Red Robin/Tim, Tim/Kon, Red Robin/Tim/Kon, Red Robin/Superboy, and Red Robin/Superboy/Tim. Red Robin can also be kind of dubconny so watch out for that if it's a concern.

Wing Beats in Reverse by firefrightJason Todd is the third Robin, not the second, growing up in shadow of Tim Drake's death. Despite this, he still manages to form strong bonds with his new family. Especially Damian, who wishes to atone for his past mistakes with Jason's predecessor. But when he's fifteen, a mysterious red hooded figure kidnaps Jason from the rooftops of Gotham, and after that his life will never be the same again.

A Robin reversal AU (ie Damian is the eldest, Dick the youngest) that's Jason-centric but of course that doesn't lessen the Tim angst. Or the Kon angst when he finds out Tim is alive. Hopeful ending, but it doesn't fix everything.Other pairings: JayRoy, StephCass (barely)

Time Flies by by LaroyenaJon Kent is Superboy. Tim's gut instinct tells him that's wrong.(Timkon fix-it where reboot!Tim misses Kon like a phantom limb. And then he gets him back.)

Sometimes you just need to cry over the lack of Kon in your life and this fic provides the PERFECT excuse. Heartbreaking and then happy. (Also brings Colin back UNLIKE DC.)Other pairings: implied Clex

Not Completely Powerless After All by ChimaeraKittenNobody was quite prepared for the kid who runs the company to visit, but they manage, in fact, they might be pleasantly surprised; they weren't expecting him to be nice. Of course, they weren't expecting him to be a possible ninja either, but you gotta take the good with the bad.

Outsider POV!!! I have never watched Powerless so you definitely don't need to be familiar with it, this is just a glorious casefic told by someone who doesn’t know it’s a case.

Matters of the Heart by DMWith Clark off-world as an ambassador to Earth, Conner has to watch over Metropolis. Though it should be straightforward, there appears to be something amiss with seemingly random crimes happening around the city. Conner has a hunch that they’re connected and calls in his best friend to help. But as the two of them spend time together working the case, Conner realizes that his feelings for Tim might not be what he had thought.

A long casefic with feelings, basically everything I ever want.

Stumbling Home by bewaretheboojumIn his mid-twenties, Tim moves back to Gotham City after several years living abroad. He's feeling adrift, unfocused and a little off balance as he tries to re-establish a life in his home town.Kon is a fireman by day and superhero by night. When mysterious fires start cropping up in Metropolis, all signs point to arson. Who better to help him get to the bottom of this arson case than Tim? And really, it seems like Tim could use the distraction...

Another casefic with older TimKon. I didn't like the initial setup with Tim having abandoned his friends for years but it won me over in the end.

the honesty in your body by LaroyenaLuthor's tech saved Kon's life at the cost of his mind. Tim must take a feral Kon across space to restore his humanity... which is just as difficult as one may think.(Batman Omegaverse AU: unabashed TimKon porn detailing their original get-together in their early teens to their definite get-together in their late teens. But mostly porn.)

Yep, this is mostly omegaverse porn and it's excellent and I love it, I really don't know what else to tell you.Other pairings: BruDick

I'm Alone Here, I Think by unluckylokiSuperboy is fighting robots in San Francisco and remembers something that wasn't.There's a new priest in the Naxos temple appointed by Dream of the Endless.Kon is missing something. Tim is missing everything.One day Krypto practically drags Superboy to a remote island in Europe and there's a dark haired guy smiling at Kon like he knows him.Maybe he does.

Sandman crossover but I haven't read Sandman in 500 years so you don't need to know most of it. Kind of identity porn, but more...fraught. Excellent Tim angst (there...might be a pattern here) and I'll be honest I'm not very into all the witches and stuff but overall very enjoyable.

Nowhere But Forward by MishaBerryIt shouldn't have happened the way it did.When Kon finds Tim in Paris, it leads to a night that neither of them will ever forget, for better or for worse. Tim is then forced to confront something he's been denying about himself for a very long time, and Kon begins to question some things about himself. The road ahead is full of twists and turns, but there's nowhere to go but forward.

I really love long fics, but tbh I found this started to drag a little towards the end. I still enjoy it overall with delicious Tim angst.

Plus One SectionSometimes when pickings are slim we can try food we wouldn't normally eat, and sometimes it's delicious. Which is to say these are fics with Tim/Kon/Another Person. Don't go any further if this upsets your OTP soul, I completely understand.

TimKonBartTroika by glitterandlubeThis is kind of written like crack and definitely won't appeal to everyone, but it's a fix-it of preboot where instead of living with the Kents in Smallville and becoming the country boy of Teen Titans (2003) Kon moves to Gotham and then scores with Tim and eventually Bart. Follows the previous canon's timeline almost to the start of Red Robin. Some (honestly warranted) bashing of Steph but also of Lois Lane (???).Also contains explicit Tim/Dick.Other pairings: Clex, JayDick

TimKonCassieTrymmetry by glymrWhy do they feel like something's missing?

Set in a universe where Kryptonians form triad soulbonds. Kon and Cassie have both always been thinking about Tim when they're together, and after Kon comes back they can no longer deny it. They have to find Tim. I wish this was ten times longer.

JayTimKon

Heart of the Hoard by firefrightJason is a knight on a mission to save a captive young woman from a cruel and vicious dragon. However, when Jason reaches the keep the girl is kept in, it quickly becomes clear that not all is as it seems with his quest. For starters, Lady Timothea is actually Lord Timothy, and - as Jason soon discovers - he's hardly a prisoner in his tower.

Perfect because Kon is an ACTUAL DRAGON though it does lean on his YJ cartoon characterization.

I (Don't) Want to Believe by chibinightowl and strikeyourcolors

FBI agents Tim Drake and Conner Kent are sent to Arkham Heights High School to investigate a series of unexplainable incidents that have both staff and students on edge. Tim's firmly of the opinion the school is haunted while Kon is positive the occurrences can be explained in a more reasonable manner. After all, he doesn't believe in ghosts.Right? Right?

Horror casefic where Tim had a previous thing with Jason but also a thing with Kon so sharing is the way to go, especially when you're more (or maybe just equally) concerned about being murdered by ghosts in a haunted former asylum.

Okay I am stopping now because otherwise I will continue forever. I hope this satisfies some hunger.

#timkon #fic recs #missdirect #jaytimkon #timkonbart #timkoncassie #long post

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #402

“there’s a space kept in hell with your name on the seat / with a spike in the chair just to make it complete”

Have you ever had any really infected injuries? Not an injury, per se, but I've had at least one ear piercing get infected during the healing process. Shit sucks ass. Are you popular on any websites? No. What was the last song you listened to? "Savior" by SWARM. Are you considered popular at school? I wasn't. If you could host your own talk show, would you do it? No. I've got nothing interesting to talk about. If you were starving would you eat food out of a garbage can? I honestly don't know if I could with how squeamish I am about sharing food, even with family. And we're talking about sharing food that's been in the TRASH. Do you know anyone who has changed their first name? I do. Which one of your senses would you be the most devastated to lose? I THINK hearing. I hate silence, so that would just be... haunting. I want to be able to hear people's voices and other sounds. Do you know anyone who has been on life support, and survived? I have no idea. Do your parents have a strong relationship together? God no. They're divorced for a reason. Have you ever read any of Charles Darwin’s works? No. If there was such a thing as a mental health first aid kit, what would you want to be in it? Some ice cream and a Mountain Dew bc I'm an emotional eater, my "graduation" pebble from my partial hospitalization program to remember how far I've come, some cold water to run over my face (or drink), my iPod for music and phone to watch YouTube, a nice, big blanket to turn into a burrito in... that kind of stuff. If you’re in a relationship, are you happy? And if you’re single, are you looking for someone? I'm not actively searching for anyone, no. What is something that people make fun of you for? Always being on the computer. It makes me EXTREMELY self-conscious, and I really wish people would keep their mouths shut about it. Which supermarket do you like to shop at? Wal-Mart. Have you ever been told that your boyfriend/girlfriend wasn’t good enough for you? In the past. Do you think it’s okay to flirt with someone that’s already taken, as long as it goes no further? Fuck no. Do you struggle to say ‘no’ to things you don’t want to do? YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP. Someone attractive is staring at you. What do you do? Probably just kinda smile and blush and look down/away. Are you friends with someone a lot of people dislike? *shrug* Favorite photo search engine? Tumblr for gifs, Google or Pinterest for still images, depending on what I'm looking for. Do you doggie paddle or actually swim in a pool? I'll do both, I think? It's been too long since I've swum. Ever made a snow angel? Ye-ep. Would you ever take up smoking? No. I like having operational lungs. Do you laugh at racial jokes? No. Hate to break it to ya, but they're not funny. Book series you enjoyed reading recently? I've been loving Wings of Fire by Tui T. Sutherland, even if I'm reading very slowly. My psychiatrist has given me a new way to approach my hobbies I have difficulty engaging in, so I'm hoping if I keep it up, my rate of reading will speed up! Are there any keys on your keyboard that have letters fading away? Ahaha, yeah... "a," "s," and "d." A true gamer. How "w" is still alive, I couldn't tell ya. Favorite non-chocolate candy? Sour Punch Straws, probably. The red ones, in specific. Last person you texted? My mom. What did you learn from your first job? That I can't work with people. Favorite website from your childhood? I was a Webkinz A D D I C T. Least favorite flavor of food or drink? Cranberry came to mind very quickly. Least favorite pattern? uhhhhhhh Favorite potato food? Either French fries or Lays wavy potato chips. PC or console gaming? I grew up as a console gamer, so I'm kinda biased. Writing or drawing? Don't make me choose!! I get more satisfaction out of drawing something I'm proud of, but I do way more writing. Who would you put before everyone else? My mom, probably. Lamps, overhead lights, fairy lights, or sunlight? Fairy lights are so cute. How many phone numbers do you have memorized? I shit you not, none. What is your third favourite colour? Hm. Maybe rose gold, or lilac. Can you remember your first phone? If so, what kind was it? I'm really not sure, but I WANT to say it was one of those slide-y, compact Blueberry ones? Who is your favourite character from Alice in Wonderland? The Cheshire Cat has always been very alluring to me. What is the last thing you looked up online? The definition to a word just to ensure I was using it correctly. Have you ever had your fortune read? No. I ain't wasting time or money on that shit. Can you read tarot cards? If you couldn't guess from above, I have zero faith in this kinda stuff, so I don't care to learn. Do you prefer lemons or limes? Lemons. I like lime flavoring in some stuff, though. Are your expecting anything in the mail? No. What would you like to see out of your window everyday instead of what you see now? The forest. Do you own a camera? I do, a Canon EOS Rebel T6. Have you ever written a special note in a book? Yes. Early into our relationship, Jason lent me a book to read, and I wrote a lil love letter in it for him. Do you have any artistic talents? I mean I like to think I'm a good writer and a decent artist. Do you remember the last movie you saw while on a date? Yeah, IT with Girt. It was fun because he's a horror pansy, haha. He did fine, though. What would you do if you found out you were pregnant? Freak the fuck out because I haven't had sex in many years, so that thing's coming the fuck out 'cuz it obviously ain't natural. Favorite thing to get at McDonalds? Look man, I'm shameless, I love me a Quarter Pounder w/ cheese. Plus some fries. :x Do you know anyone named Alex? I know multiple people named Alex, actually. Whose house did you last sleep over at? Sara's. In other words, it's been a loooong time.Would you ever record yourself having sex? God no. Like zero judgment to the people that do, but I get NOTHING out of watching others "do it." I've never actually tried watching porn, but I couldn't have less interest. I know I'd hate it, and a lot. Did the vacuum scare you as a child? I don't think it did, anyway. Have you or would you ever use a dating app? One of my most embarrassing secrets is that I was briefly on Christian Mingle. It makes me want to cringe into fucking oblivion. Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? My dad. He's... a character. What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school? That time fucking flies, so cherish every millisecond. Do you and your friends ever talk about your sex lives? Not really. Even when I was sexually active, I was private about that stuff. I don't care if others talk to me about theirs, but odds are I'm not saying much about myself. What were the best and worst interviews you’ve ever had? What made them so good/bad? I've never had a bad interview, but I mean, I've only had I wanna say four in my whole life. None were anything special either, though. Ever put someone else in the hospital? No. Have you ever sold anything on eBay? If so, what? No. What is the best surprise you have ever had? Finding a container of puppy chow underneath the Christmas tree one year. It was my parents' way of telling me we were getting a dog (which I had been nagging them about FOREVER), and next came Teddy. <3 I miss my boy. Is someone in love with you? I wouldn't know. Ever kiss someone on the first date? No. Ever sleep with someone on the first date? That's a hard no. Do you wear cologne/perfume/aftershave regularly? No. Do you snore? No, actually. Pretty astonishing for someone with such severe sleep apnea. When is the last time someone else slept in your bed? When Sara last visited. How often do you dust? Not... nearly enough as I'm supposed to. Mom gets on me about it all the time. What is the most ‘extreme’ activity you have ever done? Ha, nothing wild, I assure you. I guess riding a four-wheeler through the woods once with our former neighbors, who were good friends of ours.. Have you ever rode on a mobility scooter/wheelchair just for fun? Um, no? That's a jackass thing to do. Some people actually need those. Who’s the most controlling person you know? OH MY FUCKING GOD. OUR FAMILY FRIEND TOBEY. EASILY. She seizes control of EVERY situation, even if she has no right to be involved in it. Does anyone keep a photo of you in their purse/wallet, and if so, who? Not to my knowledge. Do you own a microphone? No. Do you enjoy trailers at the cinema? I do! I like arriving in time to see them. Have you ever been burgled? No, thankfully. Have you ever entered anything into Urban Dictionary? If so, what? No. What’s the last live performance you watched on TV? No idea. Have you ever been embarrassed to buy something from a shop? Not to my recollection. It helps that I'm not the one buying things, like ever. What’s the name of one of your friends’ dogs? Buster! :') He's a precious lil bean. Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. A GIANT CENTIPEDE. That's one pet in the invert community that I have ZERO interest in EVER owning. Those bitches are scary. Have you ever needed to wear a tie? If so, when/why? Nope.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''fuck u'' by archive

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clevercatchphrase · 3 years

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2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

ON TO 2021!

I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

Good night.

#long post #new year's resolutions #year review #year retrospective

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