#I just need a decent true thing that explains like a 2 year absence without it being too big a deal

[curiousorigins]

Most days I’d rather be asleep. Probably going to end up watching another sunrise. I’ll have you know I was mildly, but nothing important, productive today.

#Chronic Insomniac #I am OP #I'm like regular person tired... which means I should be able to sleep #But alas I was interrupted during beginning sleepy time #So my body and maybe brain are convinced it was already done #I get ranty while sleepy and my quality of sleep has been way done #apologies if nothing makes sense #I kind of want to get back into the social media and all that stuff #But I don't want to explain my absence in anyway #And I have people who actually care enough to notice #if anyone has decent avoidance techniques and reads this #feel free to share them #Like I'm fine #But I know if I share the actual reasons why I've been gone #It'll turn into a big thing because it's been a crappy time. But I've had people. So it's fine. #But I'm trying with the honesty thing now #So if I'm asked directly I don't know what to say #I just need a decent true thing that explains like a 2 year absence without it being too big a deal #Also I have no idea where my phone is so that's awkward

[azenkii]

 ATLA Fic Rec 

because I've been spending way too much time reading it. Btw, this is a rec for gen fics and zukka fics.

Note: an asterisk after the description means that the fic or series is incomplete. (Sadly, this is a lot of them, but I'm pretty sure most of these fics are still currently updating.)

GEN:

Anything by MuffinLance is a must-read. my personal favourites are Salvage (where Hakoda ends up with one (1) grumpy new prisoner/crewmate/adopted son) and Little Zuko v the World (where Zuko is 12, and it's adorable).

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris is a god-tier platonic soulmate au about zuko and the gaang, so like...go read that right now

The kintsugi series by discordiansamba is an AU where Toph's parents hire Zuko-as-Lee to be a bodyguard for her, and I love it so much. It has some of the best Toph-and-Zuko sibling bonding I've ever seen. *

Dragon Moon by Satirrian is a Dragon! Zuko AU and it's incredible. It also features Bounty Hunter Zuko, so do with that what you will. *

The What We're Given series by Haicrescendo is *chef's kiss*. It's an AU where Zuko flipped his father off early on into his banishment and started living his best life with Iroh. Enter the Gaang. Shenanigans ensue. *

The Internment series by Hannahmayski is another Zuko breaks free from his dad early AU, and it's also really good. Basically, Zuko was never given the option to capture the Avatar, making his banishment indefinite. He sails around with his crew fighting the Fire Nation and it's great. *

The best way to solve your problems (is to help someone else) by hewwodarkness is an AU where kids start disappearing in Ba Sing Se during Book 2, and Zuko takes it upon himself to do a little vigilantism. It's fantastic. *

The Blue Spirit AU series by H_Faith_Marr is an AU starting from, surprise surprise, the Blue Spirit episode. The Gaang takes in Zuko without knowing who he is, and the Power of Friendship™ goes to work on Zuko. *

The the first rule of earth kingdom fight club... series by ohmygodwhy is an AU where Zuko, among other things, fights in underground cage matches, meets Toph early, and realises that his dad might be wrong. It’s pretty funny and really good. *

The The Non-Existent Twin series by FoiblePNoteworthy is hilarious. It's an AU where Zuko poses as his own twin, Li, and the Gaang buys it hook line and sinker. *

The Guilt (The Jet Adopts Zuko AU) series by FoiblePNoteworthy is also really good. Like the title says, it’s a Zuko joins the Freedom Fighters AU. *

The new ways series by blueseam is just a Zuko and the Gaang bonding fic, mostly set in the Western Air Temple, with a side of Zuko not taking care of himself and the Gaang stepping up to the job. If you’re like me and am an absolute sucker for Zuko and the Gaang, go read this.

The Family Matters series by WinterSky101 is a really good fic if you’re looking for Hakoda and Zuko. That’s all I have to say: Hakoda and Zuko.

a nation, held by snowdarkred is a GREAT Fire Nation & Zuko fic - set before and during canon, not after it. Go read it, right now.

Notable mentions: a lot of works by naggeluide are gen and pretty funny, though if you don't headcanon any of the characters as LGBT+ you might not like some of them.

ZUKKA:

anything by Haicrescendo and dickpuncher420. For Haicrescendo, my personal favourite is the Carry On For You series, and for dickpuncher420, it’s love language.

sirens & sleepless nights by Satirrian is a modern AU that just borders on dystopian. Ba Sing Se has been overtaken by the Fire Nation, Zuko is a soldier who broke away from the Fire Nation and got shot for it, and Sokka finds Zuko on the street and brings him inside. It’s amazing, go read it!

do you take this jerk to be (your one and only) by jatersade is a fic that I’m 90% sure is on every zukka fic rec list, and it deserves to be. It’s an arranged marriage AU where Zuko is engaged to Yue, and Sokka is his cultural guide. *

midnight runs and other things by isamagicdragon is a modern AU where Zuko keeps sleepwalking into Sokka’s apartment. Shenanigans ensue. Also, top-tier Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee interactions. *

Unchained Melody by avocadolove is another fic that I see a lot on rec lists, and it 100% deserves it. It’s a long fic (as of now, it’s at 63.8k) and is an AU where Sokka, after getting taken to the Spirit World by Heibai, ends up as a ghost that only Zuko can see. Ft. great enemies-to-friends-to-lovers and an incredible plot. *

Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought is SO good. It’s an AU where, instead of being banished, Zuko was sent to work in a coal mine/prison, which eventually becomes the target of a Water Tribe raid after Aang’s return. It can get pretty dark, so watch out for that, and it’s really long (as of now, 168.8k). But trust me, it’s worth it. *

Heart Beat Here by thefangirlingdead is an adorable Modern AU oneshot where Zuko, while shopping for engagement rings with Katara, freaks out when Sokka lies about where he is. It’s a happy ending, don’t worry. One of my favourite fics.

feels like we only go backwards by oldpotatoe and A Certain Slant of Light by JustGettingBy are both amnesia fics where Sokka loses his memory several years after the war. They’re both so, so good. A Certain Slant of Light is finished, but feels like we only go backwards is not.

reality strikes, so bring back the night by zukkababey is a time-travel oneshot where Western-Air-Temple Sokka wakes up in the future to find his older self married to one (1) Fire Lord Zuko. Fluffy and funny. 

maybe i just see you (in everything) by epicbubbles is a really cute Modern AU oneshot with love confessions and just fluff all around. 10/10 go read it!!

it’s the illusion of separation by argentoswan is a fic that has legendary status and it absolutely deserves it. God-tier Modern AU where Sokka ends up working at the Jasmine Dragon alongside his former high school bully, Zuko. (Kind of) enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, and it’s just...SO good. *

say you like your shirt soggy by crosspin is a reallyyy nice 5+1 fic. It’s Modern AU, and it’s pretty short (3.7k), but the amount of yearning that gets packed into that 3.7k,,,,*chef’s kiss*

and they were roommates by flydunes is another Modern AU where sokka puts up an ad for a roommate. Zuko moves in, and Sokka gets a crush. It’s just good vibes all around :) *

like blood from a stone by catalinacat is a Soulmate AU that took a completely different direction with the soulmate trope. The summary does a better job of explaining it than I can. *

absence of heat, excess of destiny by theycallmesuperboy is one of the best soulmate AUs out there. it’s not too long, only 4.3k words, but it covers the entire series and then some. Seriously, go read this.

it isn’t strange, but it’s true by theholyterror is a 5+1 post-canon fic with some of the best pining I’ve ever seen, ft. Ambassador Sokka and Fire Lord Zuko. The 5+1 is times Zuko went out of his way to touch Sokka.  *

like the sun inside of you by ofherlionheart is another post-canon fic, and it’s incredible so far. the first chapter alone is 23k, so it’s already a decently long read. *

the stemverse: earth science zuko au series by acezukos is a REALLY good Modern/University AU. So far, it only has one work (earth system history) but that work is already *chef’s kiss*. The series is incomplete, but earth system history is complete!

rebellion’s such a hushed affair by zeitgeistofnow is a fantastic Modern AU that, like sirens & sleepless nights, borders on dystopian. Actually, I think it is dystopian, but it hasn’t been tagged as such. Anyway, 10/10, go read it right now immediately

Mark Time by foil is a Modern AU where Sokka ghosted Zuko years ago, and they get brought back together by Aang and Katara’s wedding. It’s really good, but the fic has some pretty heavy content, so make sure you read the warnings. *

That birds would sing and think it were not night by HisMomoness is a Modern AU that has Zuko tutoring Sokka, with absolute top-tier pining. Like, seriously, the pining is insane. Superr good

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by meliebee is one of the best post-canon fics I’ve ever read. It features a civil war in the Fire Nation (that gets resolved about halfway through) and some great Toph and Zuko interactions, as well as some Grade A pining. 

boy problems by burnt_oranges is FANTASTIC post-canon and has sokka and zuko in an accidental arranged marriage, plus some attempted assassinations. It’s great.

zuko vs the homie sexual agenda by parmigiano has Zuko and Sokka pining for each other in Ikea. Do I need to say more?

Friendship Bracelets by peachcitt is a Modern AU best friends to lovers. Pretty short (4.9k), but the pining is immaculate.

isn’t this the vision that you wanted by nebulastucky is INCREDIBLE, I read it recently because it just got completed and it’s *chef’s kiss*. It’s post-canon ft. mutual pining and some reallyyy good ‘and there was only one bed’ scenes.

Real Slow and no one knows anything but us by surveycorpsjean and quidhitch respectively are two of my favourite post-canon Ambassador Sokka and Fire Lord Zuko fics. Go check them out!

The Duke’s a Hazard by naggeluide is a really nice AU starting from the Western Air Temple, where the Duke decides that Sokka and Zuko are now his new parents. They bond over coparenting, and the (kind of) enemies-to-friends-to-lovers is really good. Plus, it’s funny.

Those Who Favor Fire by CSHfic and VSfic is a really good fic of the Spymaster Sokka AU. If you don’t know what that is, it’s an AU where Sokka fakes his death and goes undercover in an organisation that wants to kill Zuko.

Fics I added after posting (so far, all Zukka):

The Road Between Action and Inaction by Donvex is a fic that I can't believe I left out the first time?? It's a modern hitchhiking AU and it's great.

Rituals of the Ocean Floor by Donvex is a nice one too. It's only around 2.2k words, but it's a Fox Spirit!Zuko and Sharkman!Sokka AU, and I just really like the writing style.

by the stars above, i knew we were in love by theycallmesuperboy and The Fate of Nations in Our Hands by sapphic_ambitions are both top-tier post-canon fics. Be warned: by the stars above is a liiiittle bit angsty.

blue's clues by parmigiano is a really good Modern AU where Sokka, a university student journalist, gets ahold of the phone number of the Blue Spirit, a new campus vigilante. He ends up talking to the Blue Spirit to get an interview out of him, and it's really cute!

Honourable mention: the Avatar Zuko series by the_cloud_whisperer is one of the best series I've ever read, and it's really long - it got completed about a month ago, with 493.6k words in total (415k if you ignore the extra work made up of author's notes). It develops all the characters really well, especially Lu Ten, but the main ship is Zukaang. Personally, my biggest problem with Zukaang is the age difference, and Aang is aged up to be Zuko's age (or older, I think? I don't really remember) in this. I kept reading it because the plot was too good to give up, and I do highly recommend it, but yeah.

I’ll add more fics if I remember them, but this is what I had bookmarked. Also, shameless self plug here because I also write ATLA fic @ azenki on ao3

#atla #zukka #fic rec #zukka fic rec

[starrybouquet]

On Seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG1

A note: I wrote a series of essays several weeks ago, when I was feeling particularly crappy. I'm not particularly proud of them--they're pretty dramatic--but they do explain several of my more personal fandom feelings. I know I don't always tend to be the best at explaining things on the spot, so I'm posting these with the hope that I can refer people to them the next time that happens.

Um, I mentioned they're a little dramatic. I'm really, really sorry about that. But hey, if I can't be dramatic on Tumblr, in fandom, where else is that gonna go?

But still - if you're feeling a little sensitive today, maybe you wanna skip this. Or not. Just a light warning. :)

This piece is on seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG1, but they aren't all Stargate-related. I'll be posting them in the next few days, hopefully.

To those of you who like s9-10: I have nothing against you. Some of you I know better, some less well. In general, though, I like you, you seem like fine people. This is not about you, I hold nothing against you for liking those seasons. In fact, I envy you. This is more a personal post about why I'm an idiot. If you want, feel free to scroll down past this. I won't be offended. I'd put it under the cut but I'm on mobile.

Okay. Why, hello, those of you willing to read this rant...

No matter how much I denounce and ignore it, I cannot get past the pain of seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG-1. I've never watched them in full. Seen a few episodes here and there.

I cannot, repeat, CANNOT stand the thought today. It hurts.

It's an old pain, and it's not just SG1. SG1 is just one of the highlights in a long line of books and shows that have repeatedly broken my heart by being SO GOOD and then taking an, uh, precipitous right turn, shall we say. Because a hard right seems too kind, and a precipitous drop too harsh.

I love SG1. I love love love it. I like the plots and I love the science, but what I really fell in love with was the characters.

I loved all of them. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if Sam, Daniel, or Teal'c had been on any other show, I guarantee you they would have been my favorite by far. Jack is just so...Jack that he has to be my favorite. That's SG1 for you.

I've never had super close friends. I have good RL friends, don't get me wrong. They're nice people. But we don't have much in common.

That's okay. That's been my experience forever--really nice folks who maybe didn't always get me or have anything to say to me, but were good, decent people.

And this is good. Really, it is. It's just that SG-1, for me, has always represented the promise that there *are* people out there that are your true friends, and you will do brave and brilliant things with them. It will happen.

It's naive, I know. But I haven't been able to let it go. Maybe someday. But not right now.

Which brings me to s9-10 of SG1. It hurts.

It hurts that SG1 scattered to the wind.

It hurts that they sent Jack away from a place where he was happy, where he'd found friends and meaning in life again, away to fucking DC. To be...what? A politician? I could write a whole post just about this. Actually, I have. I could still write more posts about it!

It hurts that Sam went to Area 51, and nobody seemed to mind, the 'Gate didn't spontaneously combust as we were always led to believe it would.

It hurts that Daniel's personality supposedly changed that much, in the absence of his friends. Though some of his lines are funny, they aren't the earnest, idealistic, thoughtful Daniel I fell in love with. I get the idea that new-look Daniel would roll his eyes at s3-8 Daniel, and beat up floppy hair Daniel. And floppy hair Daniel is my baby and anyone who doesn't appreciate his brilliance can face my wrath. That includes you, buff s9-10 Daniel, and also whoever decided/approved that change in characterization.

Really, the only one who doesn't hurt is Teal'c. Because it feels like he's moving forward, toward happiness.

So...here we are. Season 9. Mitchell, Landry.

I often say I hate Mitchell. Do I resent him for replacing Jack? Yes. I do. We can talk about plot reasons and all that, but at the end of the day, I was going to hate anyone who tried to be Jack.

This is true in real life, too. You can't try to be anyone else. You've gotta walk your own path.

Now, people say that I didn't give Mitchell a chance. I say that the way he was portrayed, in the few episodes I've seen, tells me enough.

I can think of lots of ways Mitchell could have been interesting. How would Daniel and Teal'c react to an old, actually bad tempered (not Jack bad tempered, actually bad tempered) hardass after eight years of their best friends leading them? Or--start with his actual character. Mitchell, he hasn't been at the SGC. Wouldn't he get some flack from the longtime team leaders of SGs 2-5ish? They'd be insulted, right?

Or we could've gotten a nice Daniel Teal'c episode arc and then we could've had one Samantha Carter as team leader, though we won't get into that.

Bringing me to my next point. Co-leads?? Seriously?? You're trying too hard, folks. Telling me Sam used to know Mitchell does not actually make me like him.

Same thing with Landry. Unlike Mitchell, I guess I don't really have an opinion on Landry. He's just....there? No character development for this man.

Anyway, back to the team.

One of the things I love about SG1 is how the humor and friendship was so damn natural. Other than a few episodes (Urgo comes to mind), the plots weren't intentionally humorous. They were campy sci-fi plots sometimes, sure. They were funny because Jack was funny, yeah. They were lower budget than some other sci-fi. But they were as serious as sci-fi gets. It was how the characters reacted that made it funny.

Similarly, we were never told SG1 were found family. We just Knew. Because of the way they acted with each other. Because of the way Jack would "order" them to do things.

And hey, by the way, they weren't always family. Sam used to be less willing to ignore Jack. Daniel used to be less willing to trust Teal'c. Jack used to be a little more stern.

So...they meshed together. Like all found families do.

Every time I see a photo of new-look SG1 in seasons 9 and 10, I can't help but feel that they're trying too hard. I don't get the family feel because they aren't a family, damn it. It doesn't matter how many times you *tell* me they're super close. One of the reasons the original team got so close is because they all needed each other. Jack was depressed, Daniel was grieving, Sam was alone and had lost her mom and wasn't speaking with her dad and had never opened up to anyone in her life, Teal'c was an alien fighting for freedom after spending 100 years essentially as a slave.

And partly because of that, by season 9? Daniel and Teal'c (and Sam, when she comes back) don't need a family the way they used to. They have each other. They have Jack, or at least they *should*. *Glares in angry at Jack in DC vibes*

So...they simply don't have the relationship with Mitchell they do with each other.

It'd be different if Mitchell needed a family. It's not that SG1 hasn't added people before--I think Jonas is a perfect example of this. He wasn't Daniel, and that always hurt. But he was young, and naive, and innocent, and he needed SG1 because he'd left everything he'd ever known.

And that worked.

Without needing family, Mitchell is just a coworker. He can be a friendly coworker. A friend. But if he wanted to become better friends, family, he needed to show depth and vulnerability. He needed to need SG1.

And he never does, from what I've seen and heard about and read about. Or if he does need SG1, he doesn't need them badly enough to show more than an occasional bout of thoughtfulness before returning to his normal pale-Jack-imitation ways.

Now, I don't know why that is. I lean toward bad writing. I haven't watched Farscape (it's on my to watch list) but it seems like Ben Browder is a fine actor.

So, seasons 9 and 10 are probably fine TV. I'm never going to watch them through, so don't ask. I've tried and failed and every time it just tears my heart a little more and I'm won't be doing it again.

Those seasons...they just lost everything I watch SG-1 for, and so...yeah. I feel the hate strongly. Not because they're bad--I think they're different, not necessarily bad. My hate is only because in creating those seasons, they tore down the parts of SG1 that I loved most.

So s9-10 show me a few nice hugs and laughs? That's nice. I like comedies, I do. However...that's not my Stargate. Not the one I love. I liked the sarcastic one, the one full of wonder, the one where they had to scrape and claw their way through the galaxy with naivety and courage and brilliance. The one where they ate together, fought together, died together, were resurrected together.

It hurts, man. It hurts when the things I love turn into something that's lukewarm. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

That's why we have fanfic. And, with any luck, I'll actually start that AU I've been talking about.

It's fanfic, and so it'll be my Stargate. The ending I wanted--which really wasn't an ending at all, more of a closure of one chapter of the story.

Damn, did that turn dramatic. Um, sorry about that, and also sorry for spilling my feelings all over you guys. Thanks for reading, if you got to the end of this.

#sg1 #stargate sg1 #fandom #sg1 meta #overdramatic fandom essays #my blogstuffs

[strawbeebo]

~♡ Shio, Shoyu, Miso ♡~ [3/3]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Fem! (She/Her) Reader

Warnings: SPOILERS!!! the spoiler is implied in the anime already and I think is coming up this week’s episode or the next, however I still want to put a warning just so y’all know!

Words: 3.6K

Genre: Fluff

A/N: the final chapter is here! hope ya enjoy

TAG LIST: @fairytailwzard​ @itadaklmasu​ @thebiggestnaturaldisaster​ @drealugo31 @minnieminnie00-got7

As always, if you enjoy this and want to see more of my work, PLEASE consider reblogging as it’s the best way for my works to get around and keepin’ me motivated to make more for y’all!

PART 1 | PART 2

When Fushiguro didn’t show up the following week, you didn’t pay much mind. The second week of his absence wasn’t that strange either. By the third, however, you were starting to wonder if maybe something happened, but your hopefulness filled your mind with assurances that he was probably just busy, maybe he had some sort of exams coming up or maybe he had just been too tired to make his way into town. Still, your hopefulness could only lift your spirits for so long and after a month of not seeing him, your mind couldn’t help but go to places of self doubt. Had you been too forward? You thought you had done a decent job of hiding your feelings, but maybe you weren’t so clever after all. Maybe he realized and got nervous and, not wanting to have to tell you off, decided it would be best to just cut your friendship short before things got awkward. Or maybe he just was never that interested in your friendship, or rather what you assumed was friendship. Maybe your lovesick mind was just filling in the blanks, putting meaning into every small smile he’d send you or every accidental touch even when he was nothing more than a polite customer. 

Another week and all you felt was embarrassment at the thought that you let your emotions get this out of hand. The two of you were barely friends, he was just a nice guy who made conversation with someone his age while getting a meal. There was nothing special, in fact you probably didn’t even really like him like that. Most of your friends were in relationships and it was making you a little bit of a hopeless romantic is all. You probably would’ve latched onto the first attractive person who gave you attention that could be perceived as romantic interest. Every part of your heart and mind were telling you that it was all just one thing or another, anything but a serious crush, and yet despite all that time and overthinking, eventually you had to admit defeat and throw up the white flag.

You liked Fushiguro. A lot. You loved his passion for his friends that he tried so hard to hide under a grumpy frown, you loved how he always seemed to put others first, you loved his goofy hair that he complained he could never get to lay flat, you loved everything about him to bits. However now it seemed like you had waited too long, decided to avoid the embarrassment of admitting to liking someone so much even though you hadn’t known him for long and now you were stuck with these feelings and didn’t even have the option to let them out. Another week passed and you had made one final decision: if you ever saw him again you were going to ask for his number and then ask him out. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. You thought your chances were slim of you seeing him again and even slimmer of him returning your feelings, but it was actually quite the opposite, the problem was that things for Fushiguro had just been...complicated.

He couldn’t even think of a way to explain the rollercoaster that had been his life lately, especially not to someone like you who knew nothing about what his life was really like. Hell, the past month and a half had moved so quickly even he was sure he had missed some of it. A few big fights were one thing, but losing Itadori after having the shit beat out of him by Sukuna was like getting hit with a ton of bricks. It didn’t feel real, it felt like a mistake, as if somehow he had dreamt up the whole thing. But it was real, he knew that from the look on Kugisaki’s face, and probably his own too, when they received the final news. He didn’t cry, hell he didn’t really know what to feel, and for a while you were gone from his thoughts just like everything else. He was moving on autopilot for a long time, only starting to get himself back on track when he was introduced to the second years once more as the two classes, or what remained of them, worked on some training for the upcoming challenge against Kyoto's students. 

It was then that thoughts of you slowly began to weasel their way back into his mind, only now he didn’t know where he was going with those thoughts and feelings. It made him feel a bit sick at first, or maybe he just felt guilty that despite losing his friend he couldn’t help but think about you amidst the aftermath, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. At night when he’d try to fall asleep he’d think about Itadori and naturally his thoughts would drift to you. He’d tell himself that you probably couldn’t begin to understand his own self made hell that was his life and, even if you could, he wouldn’t want to drag you into something that could turn so dark in a matter of minutes. From there he moved on to convincing himself that maybe the two of you could just be friends and he could go back to how things were, but that just made him realize you’d be needing an explanation as to why Itadori wasn’t around anymore, plus he already tried to whole ‘acting like his feelings were strictly platonic’ thing and it never worked out once he was actually with you. So things stayed that way, with him having you on his mind whenever he would drift from thinking about school, but not actually doing anything about his situation. See, he thought he was getting back into a normal groove until once again his world was flipped over on its head.

Itadori was back. He was seemingly happier than ever and, y’know, without a giant hole in his chest. Not only that, but he had been back since only a few days after his ‘death’ and it was Gojō’s decision to keep him hidden until then. If Fushiguro could’ve, he would have beaten the ever living shit out of both of them, but there were more important things at hand so both he and Kugisaki were a bit forced to accept this new reality, act like they hadn’t been torn up by losing Itadori, and move on. And move on they did, and on and on and on. More unexpected turns of events, more fights, more questions and curses and all sorts of inexplicable things until finally, for a moment, they could breathe. And of course, just like any other time when his mental space wasn’t filled to the brim with more dangerous and serious matters, his mind drifted back to you.

 It had been about two months now since he had seen you, maybe more, and yet now he was more hesitant to visit you then he had been before. Itadori, however, was not, and he had a feeling it might be a good idea to pay you a visit without the company of his friends and that’s exactly what he did. The two of you talked for a bit as he ate, obviously not about the...odd events of his life, but there was one thing that even he couldn’t dismiss. First it was how excited you were to see him when he first walked in, then it was the look of disappointment on your face when you asked if Fushiguro was joining him and he said no. You tried to hide it, maybe you didn’t want him to feel bad that you were more looking forward to seeing Fushiguro rather than him, but he could tell regardless. You went on to explain that you hadn’t seen him in months and while you didn’t say how much you missed him or tell him anything about your revelation of your crush on his friend, he could tell that something was up. Still, you talked with him a bit more, wished him well, and he went on his way, practically making a beeline for Fushiguro’s room the second he got home.

His incessant knocking was more than enough to bring Fushiguro’s concentration on the book he was reading to a grinding halt and he could tell before even opening the door that it was probably Itadori. 

“What.” He asked, making zero effort to hide his annoyance as he opened the door to see his beaming friend.

“Guess what! I went and saw (Y/N)!”

Your name alone was enough to cause his eyes to widen and a wide range of questions and emotions to fly through his head. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about you, god knows that’s far from true, but he had sort of...pushed you back. Figured if he procrastinated or didn’t think about this one little issue for long enough that maybe it would go away, but Itadori just made sure that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

“You what?”

“I said ‘I went and saw (Y/N)’! Do you need to get your hearing checked?”

“Why?” Was all he could ask, catching himself before he managed to ask his list of questions. Were you okay? Were you mad? Did you even care? Itadori simply gave a shrug in response, putting his hand under his chin as if he were thinking very hard on what he should say.

“Well I just figured it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, I like her a lot y’know, she seems cool.” He spoke, missing the way Fushiguro’s eye twitched at the notion of Itadori ‘liking her a lot’. “She seemed kinda sad too, she got real excited when I walked in, but seemed pretty disappointed when I told her you weren’t with me. She said she hasn’t seen you in months, what’s up with that man?”

For a moment his heart jumped at the prospect of you missing him, but then he was left with guilt just as quickly.

“We’ve been busy.” He muttered, already knowing that was partially bullshit. He had been busy before, but he had a good amount of recuperating free time over the past two weeks that he spent properly avoiding you and his feelings for you.

“I guess…” Itadori hummed. 

From their second or third visit to see you, he had a tiny suspicion that Fushiguro had taken a little bit of an interest in you, but judging by his reaction even he could guess that there was a significant amount more than just a ‘little’ interest.

“You should go see her.” He said, quite matter-of-factly, “I mean we’ve got some free time with it being summer and all. She’d probably like that a lot. Besides, you only live once right? Well- ok I guess that’s not right for me to say but you get what I mean.” 

Fushiguro rolled his eyes and gave him a short “Yeah.” in response and since Itadori had said all he really wanted to say, he gave him a goodbye shortly after that before making his way to his own room, leaving Fushiguro alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to get his hopes up as he tried to think this through without losing his head. Itadori said you seemed sad and that he only assumed you had missed him and if he knew Itadori, he knew he wasn’t always the best at reading the room. Besides, even if he was right and you really did want to see him, that didn’t mean you thought anything of him aside from being a friend, but then again, wasn’t that enough? Either way, hadn’t he been itching to see you and just avoiding it because he didn’t know what to say? He closed his door with a sigh before running a hand down his face with a groan. He still didn’t really know what he was doing or how to navigate his feelings for you, but he just wanted to see you, enough so that he was willing to forego his usual ‘think first and act second’ methods and simply decided that if time allowed it, he’d stop by to see you this weekend, which was exactly what you had been crossing your fingers for.

You had been halfway over the moon since Itadori paid you a visit and once again it seemed like you had forgotten your prior shortcomings, though it wasn’t really that you had forgotten, you had just sort of come to terms with the outcome. Even though you were a bit sad that Itadori had come alone, he didn’t mention Fushiguro having any ill will towards you and seemed equally surprised that he hadn’t visited you which made you think that at least he probably wasn’t upset with you in any way. Granted if he wasn’t upset with you and he didn’t not like you, that left you not really knowing why he had been gone for so long, but with Itadori coming in it gave you high hopes that you could either ask him about Fushiguro or Fushiguro would come in on his own. You hadn’t backed down from your promise to yourself and now you actually felt less nervous about the prospect of confessing. You felt like even if he didn’t return your feelings, having him around as a friend would be just fine for you, though while your spirits were up in comparison to how they had been, his had dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

He made it all this way, which really wasn’t that far from home or anything, but now that he was standing just out of view of the restaurant windows, he was having a bit of trouble getting his legs to keep going. He had practically been repeating ‘the outcome doesn’t really matter’ as a mantra to himself the last couple days and his whole walk here, but now he realized the outcome did matter to him. A lot. He only thought it didn’t matter because he figured if you rejected him there was no way you’d want to flat out cut him off entirely, but now he was worried staying strictly friends would be so much worse. Could he really push his feelings down just like that? If he wasn’t able to stop his feelings for you, would you be able to tell? Would that push you to stop contact? He knew the only way to find out was to see for himself, but his heart was currently trying very hard to just say ‘fuck it’, turn around, and save himself the possible heartbreak, but his resolve to do so was cut short and all it took was hearing his name.

“Fushiguro?”

You had gone outside to set up a little sign announcing some new menu options when out of the corner of your eyes you saw him, standing about ten feet away from the entrance with furrowed brows as he glared down at his feet. You couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on your face as you closed the distance between the two of you, stopping a few feet in front of him as his eyes finally snapped up to meet yours. If your heart could have burst with joy it surely would have, meanwhile his was hammering in his chest like there was no tomorrow. He heard you speaking, asking him where he had been and explaining your worry that he’d never come back, but it felt like your words were going in one ear and out the other as he simply stared at you.

“Am I losing you? Sorry it’s just-... actually I can talk your ear off while you eat.” You laughed nervously, trying to keep your composure and act like you weren’t bursting at the seams with intent to confess.

 “Anyways, what’s it going to be for you today? Salt, soy, or-“

“Actually, I wanted to ask for your number.”

His jaw clenched as he realized what he had just said without even thinking. He wanted to backtrack, to make some excuse, say he misspoke, but he knew this was his last chance so despite the look of sudden shock on your face he decided to keep going.

“I just- I thought it was kind of weird. That I don’t have your number yet, I mean.” 

Your face flickered with confusion and for a second he felt sick to his stomach. He was mentally stumbling over himself, suddenly not sure what the hell he was doing as he could feel redness creeping up his skin all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“And uh,-“ C’mon brain, please just give him at least a few more moments of functionality before crapping out on him. “Damnit, this is so stupid….do you think maybe you’d want to go out with me some time?”

He muttered part of that at himself, but you really didn’t care. All you could feel were the butterflies erupting in your stomach and the heat warming your cheeks even more than the setting summer sun had.

“...You mean like here?” You muttered, almost immediately mentally smacking yourself a second after the words left your lips. It was like your brain just had to make sure this was real and what he was asking of you wasn’t just some misunderstanding.

“What? No- I mean, I guess it could be? I was thinking more like...getting ice cream or something...together.”

Now he was avoiding your eyes, one hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck and his cheeks ablaze with color. A moment passed and his heart began to sink and he was fully prepared to turn his ass around and strongly ignore any questions about where he had gone, but it was the sound of your laughter that kept him from doing so and instead brought his eyes back up to meet yours.

“Sorry, I’m laughing at myself, not you.” You said with a smile so big you had to bite your inner cheek in an attempt to make yourself look less thrilled. “I’m kinda jealous, I’ve been working myself up to ask you the same thing all week y’know. You kinda stole my thunder.”

He blinked, his brain taking a moment to process that you were accepting his offer- no, not even just that, but you had been wanting to ask him? Suddenly he felt even more guilty for avoiding you, then he just felt plain stupid for not asking you sooner.

“I’m…sorry about that.” He replied, eyes still a bit wide as his brain continued to mull over what was happening. “And about not coming by sooner. I’ve been busy...and I had some stuff going on.”

“Oh, that’s ok.” You responded, your giddiness only ceasing for a moment. “Honestly I was pretty worried about you, but I figured if you felt comfortable explaining then you would. But if not that’s fine too I’m just...really glad I got to see you again.”

“Yeah, same here.”

The conversation between the two of you quieted and you were left simply staring at one another, a mix of apprehension and excitement brewing inside both of you, but before more words could be exchanged the two of you were interrupted by your mother opening the shop door and yelling at you to come back inside.

“Ahh, ok so- How about I get you something to eat first and then we can figure out where we’re going to go, huh?” You asked with a shaky laugh and a nervous smile that for some reason made him feel like he could finally let out the breath he had been holding for what felt like ages as he gave you a short nod and followed you inside. 

All these worries about what would or could happen and yet here you were, just like always. Talking happily over food, though of course this time the conversation was a bit different as you discussed the different places you both liked trying to decide where to go as if you both knew it didn’t really matter where because the feelings were already there even before you had your first date planned. Your smile still made his heart skip a beat and the feeling of his eyes on yours still made your skin feel warm, but now it felt better without needless excuses or worries.

It felt like the two of you spent hours together over one bowl of ramen and when it finally was time to say goodbye, you both felt comforted in the known fact that it wasn’t permanent and that you weren’t leaving each other dissatisfied. Sure there was no knowing the future, hell he hadn’t even been five minutes away from you before new thoughts and concerns about where this was going entered his head, but it only took one look at the small slip of notebook paper he held in his hand with your name, number, and a small heart scribbled onto it to remind him that for once, he really didn’t care about the possible negative outcomes because he knew one thing for sure. For you, he was willing to take the risk, to take the good along with the bad and let himself be happy for once and if that’s what you wanted too, he was more than happy to let this story that started with an option between salt, soy, and miso ramen play out for as long as it possibly could and, if he was lucky, maybe, just maybe, that story would never have to end.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader

[kimmyvanity]

Memoir

Preface

This is my memoir in reference to an evanescent life-time of my past. Time glides in serenity or in chaos, but no matter what, this little occult thing pulverizes my indelible memory into fragments as its span stretches towards an infinite end-- once I thought I would never forget each remark, occasion and mood involved in that event, time proves that I was wrong. For the purpose of mustering them, I begin writing my piece-meal memory down. Through the course of flashback, the demeanors and remarks of some reluctant people are rewinded and ruffles my psyche strikingly; the voice-- once billowed in my head but eventually succumbed to the magic of time, murmuring in the distance lasts for certain hiatus, and has been frequently heard over by the harmony of transient delight and gradually turned into silence-- now revives. I don’t want to forget this unforgettable piece of my life, and written words can assist me to reassemble them. 

Part One

I was born into a family of uniqueness and abnormality, which consists of a noncommittal and occult father, a stubborn and crotchety mother, a stepsister and a stepbrother of mine. No further extension to my other families or relatives is needed, albeit my grandma and uncles shall be included in account for their care for me. But I decide not to do so, due to the minority regarding their impact on me may not be that palpable and profound to be discussed if I am prone to explain the adverse force driven by my milieu to my pessimistic attitude towards life and human beings. 

My parents have never married. The absence of wedding and honeymoon pictures in the house has not just once drawn me into the doubt: have they ever married or have they divorced already and never informed me? Surely this wasn’t the only sake for me to call out this question, the long period of separation, and the aura of awkwardness whenever they met each other also conceived me with such an idea, they were deluding me and preventing me from an earth-cracking naked truth, but I must and will dig it out.

Each time they met, spit and tears, two things comprising saltiness and bitterness would be produced, I didn’t overhear much about the topic when they argue, but I bet the true driving force to those intense arguments were never the event they had dissension upon, it was something ineffable and obscure, and certainly couldn’t be comprehended by me at that age--maybe hitherto or never will I understand, maybe, maybe…

One day, after another explosive argument and conflict between my mom and I. She began to intimidate me again with the statement of sending me to my father’s company. I was in 5th grade, if my hippocampus is not fooling me right now. Barely my soul and body were integrated together, everyday’s consecutive and pointless arguments arose from daily triviality fatigued and exhausted me. I locked the door of my room, she tried to kick it open and pull me out from the room, my fear and disappointment exacerbated with the thundering racket made by the kicks, my mind bursted: don’t open the door! My heartbeat wasn’t at a normal rate I was sure, finally she gave it up and called my grandma-- the only person who makes me sense unconditional love and empathy. My grandma soon arrived, she tried to knock the door open or exhort me to open the door, I refused, then I heard a frequent pounding as a result of my grandma’s lost temper. Alright, now, no one really wanted to help me out of this whirlpool, my grandma was also jaded with those shitty things. But eventually they calmed down, and we arrived at compliance that I would open the door and have a peaceful talk with them and they would not send me to my father’s company. Another reason that I was so scared was because my mom actually has indeed threaten me with a huge traditional Chinese knife once in the mid of night, possibly because I didn’t want to take a shower, though I know I smell bad, or I didn’t want to go to bed, and fazed her to stay up with me. I rushed to the bathroom, and locked the door instantaneously. I stepped into the bathe, and tried to find something long and sharp which might protect me from the threat of death. I welled up without a sob, tears all over my face, I wasn’t even in my pants, well still had my panties on, but still in a quite whimsical and wistful situation. I didn’t know how long it took for her to finally calm down, and tried talking me out, I declined with fear, I requested her to put everything sharp on the lodge, or I would rather sleep in the bath with the door deadly shut. She did so but I still didn’t come out, she went to bed in silence, it was summer, daily 8 hour long nap till 14:00 or 15:00 and lying awake in my bed watching TV shows made me hardly fall asleep till the dawn of the next day morning. She had to work because my father stopped giving us the necessary budget for living since I was in third or fourth grade. Obviously, that was one of the arguing points they had come up with. It was so complicated, my father gave my mother a quite decent amount of money when I was little, and it was so called our alimony as my father insisted; however, as my mom stated, it was the bonus share credited for her contribution to the company. Well, I was confused by that, but one matter-of-fact was that my father asked my mom to lend 80 percent of the money to one of their friends. That was one of the major mistakes my mom had made, she signed her name on the IOU, yes, which means she became the creditor instead of my father. I didn’t know how the thing fermented and evolved into a irreversible way, when their friend didn’t pay back in the past due time, and for both of their reputation or vanity among their clique, they decided not to force him, but my mom and I were in need of that money to sustain our life, she didn’t have a job, she used to go to company to help accounts but after a shareholder of the company past away due to heart attack, she barely went to the company anymore. And it was totally another story. One important part of this was I was also being told not to visit, therefore my father and I had a 2 year long not-seeing-each-other hiatus. Anyway, we really needed that money, otherwise we would starve to death, but my father thought it was my mom’s fault to lend the person money, he told my mom, if she wanted to afford the living of both of us, she could sell the house. WTF was this rubbish? What the hell was wrong with him? Was he trying to make us to the point of homeless and starvation? I couldn’t comprehend this, was there hatred between him and my mom, and I was an innocent victim in this event? I didn’t know, and I still don't know. We used to travel to Beijing and Australia together with my stepbrother, it was a fun time. I didn’t feel much resentment or awkwardness between them, I didn’t know why things got this bad. I knew all of those when I heard their ear-blowing quarrel in the living room, I hided in my bedroom, my grandma was living with us by that time, my mom asked my grandma to buy something for her, I went out and begged to go along, and they refused, until now, I still don’t understand why the mother-fucker they didn’t allow me going along with my grandma, then I wouldn’t be listening to their quarrel combined with aggressiveness and hatred, sometimes I really think that soundproof of a house is one of the most monumental components in a house ever, it prevents a whole lot of things from someone innocent. In fact, I didn’t hear anything but the yells, I was so sad, and cried on my bed with my hand over my eyelids, it was a cloudy afternoon, I had my curtains closed, barely the sunshine permeated my room, I half lied on my bed, I didn’t know what to do I fell asleep with a severe headache. And I woke up, I couldn’t tell what time was it, my eyes were inflated like two balloons hanging on my face which I was sure, my headache didn’t abate, it was worse, but I felt much better since the quarrel had ended, I walked out of my room. I didn’t know what happened next, I was found to be really sick, my body temperature wasn’t showing I was in good shape, we went to the doctor, and I totally forgot what happened next. 

That was the first time, and next time he came, I learned to pacify myself with TV shows, because then I didn’t have to hear them anymore. He didn’t live with us since I was born because of work, but he would come back home several times a week, and it was fine for me, many families were in that situation, and every time he came, he would bring some snack he brought from Japan while he was on errand. Everything was just fine. 

Anyway back to the earliest point, I opened my door to my grandma and my mom, they came in, I was hiding in my blanket, I was ashamed to see my grandma, by that age to concern about those shitty things which she supposedly never confronted, she is such a nice person, I haven’t heard a single curse word slipped through her lip. She has never done anything bad to anyone, she is such a helpful and kind person. I don’t understand. They sat down by my bed, I stared at them, again, my father was brought up, and I finally demanded a question which lingered in my mind for a long while: have you guys ever married? My mom was in shock for just a second, and she regained her calm soon. In all lexical squabbles, she told me NO, they never got a chance to marry. What does that even mean?

I know my English is broken and wacky, I just want to write something about my insights and feeling. 

[virmillion]

Some Kind of Magical - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

Warnings: Past violence, let me know if you have any more

Words: 4449

    Patton splits off from the other three, carefully using the warmth of their words to build a barrier around his heart. No telling how strong it’ll need to be tonight, but he can obliterate that bridge when he gets there—his dad isn’t supposed to be home quite yet. Picking up the pace, Patton pushes his black and blue glasses higher up his nose, trying to quell the rising terror that always accompanies his walks home.

    The number of wild animals crawling out of bushes to greet him is less than reassuring—at this rate, they’ll follow him all the way back and his dad will use them as target practice. Patton shoes them off with handfuls of dried fruits from his bag, regaining his solitude by the time he reaches the front door. Thankfully, the house appears quiet, an unheard of occasion as of late. It’s a rare day when he isn’t greeted by furious yelling or pointedly aggravated silence—if Patton didn’t know better, he’d swear there was some sadistic being testing his resolve in striving toward pacifism.

    “Please be okay, please be okay, please dear Cethyphyirr be okay,” Patton chants to himself, tripping up the stairs on his untied shoelaces. He ignores the gaping frame where his bedroom door had been just that morning and drops his bag to the floor, fooling himself into thinking it would be enough of a barrier to protect him. Without so much as a glance at the sea of garbage and mess at his feet, Patton wades through the clearest path to his closet door—still attached, praise Ceth. Shoving the shelves and weapons to the side, he removes the poster blocking a shallow hole in the wall to reveal a little cove of various babbling critters.

   Tarasques and shedus and jorogumos alike peer out at Patton, each a different age and each recovering from some injury or another. Patton unrolls a cloth bandage, tearing it in the middle with his teeth and turning to the turtle-like tarasque. He patches up a hole in the shell, using his other hand to scoot aside the baying freybug that’s ventured out of the hole. The jorogumo skitters up his arm with several hairy legs, the face-like markings on its back seeming to wink at him.

   “You guys are lucky this cavity came with a size charm, you know that?” Patton sighs, watching his hand shrink each time it enters the gap to escort out another animal. The shedu’s tail puffs up, consuming a majority of the opening and growing into the space. It blocks Patton’s access to the other creatures until he can nudge the creature back to shrink down again. “Yes, Dad, absolutely I should go into Resolute,” he mutters. “Certainly, my one true calling is taking up arms against the creatures that I want nothing more than to protect. How ever do you do it, figuring out exactly what’s best for me? Even teaching me to solve my problems with my fists, to the point that my friends already know they have to restrain me.” Patton grits his teeth, clenching his hands into fists as his jaw begins to ache. He only stops at the whimpering of the freybug, which backs toward the nest with a wary focus on him. Slowly, his fists relax. “Really, Dad, you truly are a wonder to behold. One to rival the Ejnathryk itself.”

   “Patton Thyrrdyn!” A furious voice bellows from downstairs. Patton holds back a groan, quickly and methodically replacing the poster behind the weapons and shelves. The last creatures vanish just in time, as the name is repeated louder and closer than before.

   “Hey, Dad,” Patton says, descending the stairs to look at the man in the front entryway. “What can I do ya for?” He feels his pulse quicken for the ever-present dread that his dad might find the hidden creatures, but this rage doesn’t look like that of a betrayed father.

    “Care to explain why there’s dirt tracked in here?” The panic recedes, leaving only a slight irritation at such a loud yell for such a trivial complaint.

    “Guess I didn’t notice. Sorry.” Patton turns to head upstairs, to escape before the discussion inevitably turns to TryMyts, but nothing can ever be quite so simple.

    “Did they discuss Trytsu selection today?” The edge in his voice alone is enough to make Patton hesitate. “Don’t worry. I know you’ll pick the right one.” He pauses briefly, watching Patton back away with a nod. “I only want what’s best for you, kiddo. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

    “I know.”

    “So, any ideas for dinner?” A stab at conversation, and a poor one at that.

    “No, but Logan, Roman, and Virgil are supposed to come over later. We were gonna try to get started on planning our TryMyts projects.”

    “Who?” A hollow sigh takes up residence in Patton’s chest, begging to be released in a show of sheer aggravation. His dad has met all three of them several times over, and this is just an act to prolong the dying conversation. This information is the only thing keeping Patton from melting down into a stereotypical heap of groaning teen annoyance.

    “Logan Thylktor, Roman Thyrrak, and Virgil Thriyv. We’ve been to each other’s houses a bunch of times, and you even met Virgil’s mom at orientation for senior year TryMyts stuff, remember?”

    An ugly frown toys with his dad’s mouth. “The adoptive parents that don’t understand their place. Yeah, I remember those two.” It would be so easy for Patton to remark on his own mom’s absence, or how ridiculous it is to be upset that two people would willingly take in someone not related by blood, or how well-functioning the Thriyv household is, but he doesn’t. With thinly pressed lips and a slight dip of his chin, Patton retreats the rest of the way upstairs.

    In his room again, he could easily get a head start on his project, or even on putting a dent in the mess on his floor, but that would be too easy. Instead, he lifts the lid from a glass box of miniature trees and grass, hidden in an unmarked crate beneath a heat lamp in his closet. After a moment, something small and green glides from one of the branches, its mottled red tail streaking behind. Patton allows that same wistful smile to cross his face, twin to the one that always appears when his healing creatures test out their reparations—rehabilitations, as it were. The amphiptere, a little winged serpent, finally comes to a rest at Patton again, concluding its tour of his room by wrapping its tail around his finger. The other hand, resting on the floor at his side, promptly stings with the dull pain of a bite.

    “Hey,” he scolds softly, looking at the little beaked basilisk peeking out from his pile of clothes. In Patton’s defense, sometimes the mess is convenient. The reddish brown scales glow as it makes a muted guttural sound, its eyes barely cracked open. Damaged neurotoxin gland, a difficult fic to be sure, but that doesn’t mean Patton isn’t trying. The eyes, having long since recognized Patton as a protector, rather than a captor, avoid his gaze. Paralyzing its closest acquaintance probably isn’t the best course of action. Patton idly observes the progress of each of his creatures, whiling the time away until his friends can get over and ensure that his dad won’t barge in.

    “Patton? Those Loman and Rogan kids you were talking about are here.”

    He doesn’t bother to correct the names—the flub was probably intentional, anyway. Aimed at getting a rise out of Patton, prompting a reaction, proving he didn’t raise a broken boy that would never belong in Resolute. That what everything’s always been about, is trying to force Patton to stretch the extra three inches to fit in a six-foot mold. “Send them up, please.”

    Of their own volition, the creatures return to their tanks and crates and corners, hiding from the people they don’t know well enough to trust. Only Patton is allowed to be graced with their presence, exclusively due to his persistence in trying to help them.

    “Wish they’d stay out so I could meet them,” Roman comments on his way in, watching the speckled tip of the amphiptere’s tail vanish into the closet.

    “Yeah, well.” Patton shrugs, nudging the door shut with his foot and clearing a path through the rubble of clothes on his floor. “Do we want to wait for Virgil?” Rather than answer, Logan drops his weight in papers to the ground, leaving Roman to carry the conversation on his own. Patton’s eyes track the motions of a few flyaway papers, floating gently like fallen butterflies.

    “His mom said he didn’t come home this afternoon, and his mother was busy with a meeting, so his mom said he might stop by later, thanks for our time, but she really should be getting back to her notes.” Mid-sentence, Roman’s voice shifts up an octave in a remarkable imitation of Virgil’s mom. At least, as remarkable as the imitation of an adult woman can be, given that the imitator is a teenage boy.

    “So basically, we’re on our own without the sarcastically comedic comments?”

    “More or less.” Roman joins Patton and Logan on the floor, bringing his comparably meager supply of books with him. With one last sigh, Patton braces himself for the onslaught of work they have ahead of them. By the time a shadow falls over the small window on the far wall, he’s long since stopped paying attention to the outside world. He blinks, trying to force his hazel eyes to focus on what’s in front of him, to make sense of the endless lists and bullet points.

    “What about this? A battle for glory in a ring of deadly creatures, lit by Cethyphyirr to symbolize your creation of a new existence into the world of an official Trytsu?” A decent suggestion from Logan, which lies in direct conflict with the neat scrawling on the paper he holds up—schematics for a Rehabilitate project. Patton squints at the paper, trying to comprehend Logan’s cramped handwriting—despite his penchant for artistic pursuits, he could certainly stand to improve his legibility. Although the situation might be less than ideal, it’s not the worst idea to circumvent Patton’s dad’s refusal to accept a non-Resolute Trytsu.

    As Logan repeats himself for Roman to scribble the battle idea onto his notepad, Patton copies the written plan down in his own pages. “Hasn’t the whole ‘glory of Cethyphyirr’ thing been done before?” Roman pokes his cheek with an eraser, sticking his tongue out. “Not very original of a TryMyts, no offense.”

    “First off, nothing is original,” Logan says, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “Second, even if it’s been done, it hasn’t been done by you, which is what would make it stand out. Third, the point of TryMyts is not to be original.” He unfurls his remaining two fingers to gesture with his entire hand at Roman. “Every student might well do the same project, provided the result is worthy of finding a place in their Trytsu, be it that of their parents or a new one. Yours doesn’t have to be special. It just has to be effective.”

    “But originality is what makes people stand out! What would you say if someone told you your work was boring, or had been done before?”

    “In all likelihood, I would embrace the challenge of outdoing a previous accomplishment, though that should hardly be any of your concern.” The sparkle in Logan’s eyes sends a jolt through Patton’s spine, an inevitable debate waiting to ignite. “Suppose, Roman, that you were to do something entirely original. How, precisely, might you intend to pass off such a thing to your parents, if you don’t have the perfect grades to back it up? They will assume you won’t succeed if you haven’t succeeded already. Better yet, if there’s never been a safe trial run of your supposedly ‘original’ TryMyts before, how can you guarantee Pib’s safety when you attempt it?”

    Patton is already on his feet and scurrying out of the room before Roman can come up with a retort, letting Logan’s triumphant debate-mode voice fade behind him. He makes up some excuse about getting snacks, the argument rapidly escalating and drowning out his mumbles. Of course, he already knows there’s no extra food lying around the house, but that’s beside the point. Even some ice to let melt on his tongue would be enough, just something to drown out his racing thoughts over Virgil’s absence. Suffice it to say, Patton was less than thrilled to hear about Virgil not making it home, even more so that he didn’t make it to the study session. He just needs a good distraction, is all.

    Take an injured rabbit for example, on its side mere feet beyond the front door. Patton jumps down the last few stairs, ready to sprint outside and help—until his rescue is interrupted.

    “Hey, kiddo, how’s it goin’?” Eyeing the suspiciously pink glow on his dad’s face, Patton shrugs noncommittally, desperate to keep his gaze off the rabbit. “How can you not know? Any project breakthroughs? Any of your little friends planning to betray their heritage and change Trytsun?”

    “I don’t know, no, I don’t know, gotta go,” Patton says, bouncing between his feet and trying to squeeze past his dad. No dice, as the man has him trapped between the railings at the landing of the stairs.

    “What about that Thriyv kid? Did his parents decide to keep their faux-altruistic ways out of other people’s lives for once?”

    “I really don’t know. He might be over later, but I’m not sure.” For a split second, Patton lets his eyes dart to the door, where the rabbit remains. A pair of eyes gleams back at him in the darkness.

    “Hey, hey, eyes on me, kiddo. Right here.” His dad grabs his shoulder, forcing his attention to snap back. “I just want what’s best for you, you know?”

    “I know.” Ignoring the desire to remark on the peculiar way of showing affection, Patton finally slips under the arm braced against the wall. The eyes outside are closer than before. A dish of water, that’s all he needs, just a few seconds to get to the rabbit and get it hydrated and get it upstairs to safety. An ideal plan, simple enough in its success, if the faucet weren’t so slow, if all the dishes weren’t dirty, if his dad had moved sooner, if the rabbit were still warm. With his dad having disappeared to do Ceth knows what, Patton sinks to his knees beyond the door. The eyes have vanished, leaving only the vague sense of being watched as he carefully cradles the rabbit’s hind leg, snapped beyond a point of reason.

    “I’ll help you, promise,” he murmurs, doing his best not to jostle the poor thing as he takes it to his room. Roman and Logan appear completely unsurprised as he sets about wrapping the rabbit’s leg and dribbling water into its mouth with a straw. The other two carry on with their discussion of possible TryMyts ideas, a relaxing backdrop of sound as he works. For however little it’s worth, the rabbit’s eyes slowly brighten, its body heat returning over the course of far too many minutes.

    “Patton, I think we’re going to head out,” Logan says, jolting him from his concentration. “Our parents will be expecting us soon, and we don’t want to impose.”

    “No problem,” Patton replies, barely taking his eyes off the twitching rabbit. “See you tomorrow.”

    “Tomorrow,” Roman agrees, offering a wave as he follows Logan out through where a door should be and down the stairs. Patton waits for the click of the closing front door, counting the moments that follow. After seven seconds, the inevitable complaints present themselves.

    “Why did they have to stay so long?”

    “Don’t know.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “Homework.”

    “What?”

    “Homework!” An edge of aggravation laces through Patton’s voice. This whole charade is as ridiculous and unnecessary as ever.

    “Okay!” A twin spear of irritation lingers with his father’s response.

    “If you need me to be louder, don’t go off at me for complying,” Patton mutters to himself, wishing he could slam the door shut. Of course, it doesn’t exist anymore, probably burned to high Ceth by now, in the name of his dad’s twisted ideas of what being in Resolute truly means. As the echo of a pitiful excuse for conversation fades, the annoyance on both ends slowly dissipates, the chasm of a closet remaining silent. With a careful parting of the obstacles, Patton places a finger into the charmed gap, watching his fingernail shrink down. The sudden visibility reveals all of his little friends curled up on top of one another, happily dozing away. To the quiet hum of the heat lamp’s whirring, the amphiptere huffs hot air out to match the warmth on its back.

    Patton replaces the mess he’d sifted through earlier to disguise his creatures from sight, pleased at how well the posters and boxes blend in with the whirlwind of clothes and papers and projects. There, on the floor of his closet and slumped against the door, is how the morning sun finds him, an obnoxious beam on his crusted shut eyes. It takes a few slow, exhausted blinks for Patton to gather his bearings, before he jumps to his feet.

    Mutterings of “gonna be late” and “crap crap crap” and “Ceth please lend me your speed” chase Patton around his room as he tugs on the first pair of shoes he can find. The clothes from yesterday will have to do, Patton decides, shouldering his open bag and running out the front door. Granted, the stolen bedroom door is a nuisance as well as an invasion of privacy, but it certainly allows for a conveniently fast exit. Down the sidewalk and onto the pavement, the pale sun overhead offers the smallest modicum of warmth for his shivering arms, coated in goosebumps. Twin birds flock behind him, cawing anxiously for their usual morning treats. Patton obliges, scattering a handful of raisins on the ground behind him as he sprints for the school. The last dregs of students filing into the building that rapidly crowns his horizon forces his legs to beat faster, his heart rate pulsing through every last nerve ending.

    “Ceth, please, just a little faster,” Patton heaves, flinging his body into the building with reckless abandon. He collapses into his usual seat in his classroom—thankfully near the front door—and lets his head loll back as the teacher closes the door behind him.

    “Late start, Thyrrdyn?”

    “You could say that.” He lets himself laugh with the other kids, certain the bright pink burn of exertion is spreading rapidly across his face.

    “Well, you sat down before I could shut the door, so I suppose I’ll let it slide. This time.” The telltale wry grin Patton sees toying with the teacher’s lips is enough to know he’s off the hook, with no bad blood to show for it. As the attention of the class reluctantly drifts back to the front of the room, turning minds toward pretending to learn, Patton tunes it out. He can get it all from Logan or Virgil later, rather than strain his willpower to be engaged now. More important of an issue is considering whether his room and reputation are safe, should his dad decide to snoop around while he’s gone.

    The poster was definitely blocking the size-charmed nook, and he almost certainly knocked over the shelves and weapons in his rush to get out. At the very least, the mess should deter any would-be paternal inspectors of that odd spiderweb crack in the wall. There has to be something more, something else he’s forgetting, or he wouldn’t have this lingering sense of dread that something’s missing. Once more through the checklist, the heat lamp was on, the closet door was shut, the mess looked organic, everything important was contained behind closed doors, so everything should be fine.

    “The rabbit!” Patton hisses, rapping the side of his fist on his desk. He darts his eyes around furtively, thanking Ceth that no one seemed to notice his outburst, but one mercy doesn’t solve another. He was helping the rabbit, Logan and Roman left, the mini-interrogation with his dad, and he passed out on the floor. The rabbit was probably long gone by the time Patton woke up—with any luck, it had at least partially healed. With any luck, it would know to hide itself, or get out while it still could.

    With every moment that the teacher discusses whatever it is the class is supposed to care about, Patton feels his pulse pick up. If he could just run home, double check for any incriminating evidence, he could reassure himself and not have to fear his dad’s wrath. The bouncing of his eyes and the tapping of his feet aren’t exactly comforting ways to fidget, not to mention how they seem to agitate the teacher, but Patton can’t particularly find it in himself to care.

    “Patton Thyrrdyn, do you have something you would like to share with the class?” He jolts, eyes wide as they focus on the imposing adult.

    “Um, no, Myjhyrr. Sorry, I didn’t—Sorry.” Patton pulls his lips between his teeth, biting down until they tingle and the color drains away. Prodding the little teeth-shaped indents with his tongue, he smiles sheepishly at the teacher’s wary look. With a glare of warning, the teacher continues the lesson.

    Maybe he could leave at lunch and be back by the next class, if he just sprints a little faster than his lungs would like to allow—but no, no, that wouldn’t work. The higher ranking people in charge of the school started assigning teachers to block off the exits months ago. Patton is well and truly trapped, and there’s nothing he can do about it. If he could just get to the door—

    “Thyrrdyn! You know as well as I do that your record will tolerate very few further complications, and I don’t suppose you desire to toe that line. If you don’t want to repeat this year, I suggest you sit up, face forward, and pay attention.” It’s a bit difficult to discern what, exactly, is so pointed in the teacher’s words, but something in there makes Patton’s blood boil. The worst he’d ever done was give Than a much deserved nosebleed, and that’s hardly any of the teacher’s business to share in front of the whole class. As if they didn’t already know, didn’t already spread rumors to make him sound even worse, like he planned the attack instead of losing his grip on pacifism. At this rate, someone might well end up with a pencil stuck through their arm. Maybe a pen, just to spice things up from last time—which, in Patton’s defense, was an accident. It wasn’t his fault Than set his arm on Virgil’s homework after being asked repeatedly to stop. And besides, Than’s arm wasn’t the only casualty that day—Patton lost a perfectly good pencil.

    At the teacher’s withering glare, Patton lets his eyes fall to his paper, covered in unintelligible doodles and half-hearted notes. Might as well pretend to pay attention now, if only to perfect his acting for when he’ll have to feign innocence at home. No time like the present to start coming up with an alibi. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Patton was forced to be dishonest, anyway. He doesn’t necessarily want to hurt anyone, but if the good of the many outweighs the good of himself, of course he’s going to pursue the former.

    By the time Patton reminds himself that yes, little white lies are okay in a few choice circumstances, the desks around him are empty, save for the kid asleep in the back corner. The teacher comes to a halt in front of Patton, an incessant clicking sound coming from beyond the desk. As the teacher begins to once more reprimand Patton for not paying attention, the clicking solidifies into the recognizable sound of a pen being shuttered and reopened far more rapidly than necessary.

    “Thyrrdyn—” click “—you—” click “—need—” click “—to learn—” click “—to pay—” click “—attention!” Click click click. “I’m going to have to write you up if this continues.”

    “Oh, no, there’s really no need for that,” Patton says, eyes trained on the infernal clicking pen. “Just an off day, you know?”

    Click click. “It better be. Go on to your next class, but one” click “—last thing.” Click click click. “You’re aiming to switch into Rehabilitate, yes?” Click click.

    “Yeah, but how did you—”

   “Not—” click “—important. What is important is that I have a very close connection to the TryMyts advisors, including Myjhyrr Ryhanthyrri. It would be a shame if he were to find out about your poor aptitude for a place in the Rehabilitate Trytsu.” Click click click click.

   “There’s really no need for that,” Patton repeats, wincing at his lack of more extensive protests. “I’ll do better, I swear, I just need to get the ball rolling on this year. Diving headfirst back into school and all, yeah?”

   With a heavy sigh, the teacher’s eyes fly to the ceiling. The conversation needs to end soon, if Patton is to get to his next class on time, and they both know it. By some miracle, the clicking stops. His head hurts. “Look, Thyrrdyn, I just need you to pull your act together, alright? I’ve heard great things about you from other teachers, past violence excluded, and ideally I’d hoped you would keep it up for this final year. I don’t want to have to be the one to hold you back and make you redo your TryMyts, but I will, if that’s what it takes. Get it?”

   “Yep.” Patton is already sidling toward the door halfway through the teacher’s hypocritical lecture, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “I will absolutely work on that in—whoops, sorry!” He dodges a student shoving their way into the room, half-wishing he could take back the apology when he realizes it’s just Than. No, nope, none of that, clean record in front of this teacher from here on out. Patton is nice and friendly and pacifistic and will act accordingly.

   “Don’t disappoint me, Thyrrdyn.” The teacher sighs as Patton darts into the hall, out of earshot before the ominous warning can reach him.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #violence mention tw #some kind of magical #labhwrites #mine

[sp4c3-0ddity]

i actually wrote college AU fluff that’s gen, for once. i would like to thank everyone in the Pidgance Positivity Discord for enabling my chemist Hunk headcanons

and I would like to apologize to Hunk for having to deal with Lance in lab

Read it on Ao3

or read all ~2500 words below!!

Hunk regretted telling Lance his lab section number approximately three minutes into the first experiment.

“Hey, Hunk,” Lance said from his own hood, “can I borrow your scoop?”

Hunk, scanning his procedure for the third time since he wrote it, glanced towards him and asked, “What’s wrong with yours?”

Lance held up the metal scoop. “It’s got these white spots on it,” he said, pointing to one. “What if they contaminate my experiment?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow, surprised by Lance’s concern, but rather than pass over his own scoop, he took Lance’s and looked at it more closely. “Uh, Lance,” he said, “these spots are calcium carbonate.”

“Which is…?”

Hunk pinched his lips together and carefully asked, “How the heck did you pass general chemistry?”

Lance stared at him for a beat before snatching the scoop out of Hunk’s hand and walking over to the sink, mumbling something about all his friends being jerks. And Hunk took advantage of his temporary absence to start setting up his experiment.

“You doing okay, Hunk?” Shiro, the TA, asked when he came over.

“Yep,” Hunk said. Now he held the separatory funnel in his hand, prepared to shake it.

“And you, Lance?” Shiro prompted.

“Peachy,” said Lance.

Shiro crossed his arms as he eyed Lance. “Then why aren’t you wearing your safety goggles?”

Lance’s separatory funnel almost slid from his grip, but he recovered it before it could fall. “I’m fine though,” he said.

“Then make sure you stay that way by putting on your goggles.” Shiro patted Lance’s shoulder as he passed, approaching another pair of students in the middle of their experiments.

Lance looked at Hunk. “You…wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of goggles I can borrow, do you?”

Hunk sighed as he vented gas from his funnel and set in place, turning the stopper and draining the bottom layer of fluid. “I thought I reminded you to bring your own pair.”

“Yeah, well…I forgot. And then I thought hey, at least I avoid those red lines I get after lab.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Lance, one day you’re gonna be that guy that people tell stories about.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lance said, already busy with draining his own separatory funnel.

They worked in blessed silence for a good few minutes, at least until Lance said, “Hey, Hunk, I think I threw the wrong layer away.”

It wasn’t that Lance was completely inept, exactly. It was that Lance was inept at certain things…like chemistry, and Hunk, for the life of him, could not figure out why the hell Lance chose a major so heavy with it.

“I like marine biology,” Lance said once when Pidge asked him, “and marine biology needs it.”

Pidge, for her part, did not like chemistry and did her best to avoid it, though luckily her interests did not align with it beyond a single semester of general chemistry that she currently procrastinated. “I’ll take it next year,” she said if anyone asked, and then mimed gagging whenever she caught sight of Hunk’s and Lance’s organic chemistry textbooks.

“Chemistry is just applied physics, Pidge,” Hunk told her.

“Well, keep it away,” Pidge retorted, holding her computer over her head as if chemistry was contagious.

Hunk glanced at her computer screen, curious about what she worked on. “Pidge, is that file’s name Mordor?”

“Yup,” she said, glaring at him.

“What is it?”

“It’s the worst coding assignment ever,” she explained.

“And it does…?”

“Well, one does not simply code for Mordor, that’s for sure.”

Hunk took that as a pointed sign that he was invading her privacy and didn’t press her for more details. Odds were it was a differential equation solver…or something like that.

Lance, for once, elected not to participate in their conversation, instead keeping his eyes on the chemistry textbook open in front of him. He pressed his hands to the back of his head, looking focused, at least until Hunk noticed that his eyes weren’t moving and had glazed over.

“What’re you stuck on, buddy?” Hunk asked.

“Huh?” Lance glanced up at him. “Oh, hybridization. Why is a carbon with a double bond sp2 hybridized again?”

Hunk set to explaining, but Lance interrupted him, “Wait, wait, wait. What’s this about pi bonds?”

He looked at Pidge, though he knew beseeching her for help was pointless, and sure enough she focused on her computer again, mumbling something about for loops and iterations.

“You know what?” Lance said after Hunk tried yet again to explain the finer points of hybridization. He stretched across the table until his arms were on either side of Pidge’s laptop, forehead pressed to his open book. “Why don’t we take a break and get some coffee?”

“It’s four o’clock,” said Hunk.

“You don't even like coffee," Lance said.

Hunk looked between his friends:  from Lance, unfocused and annoyed, to Pidge, frustrated and open to his idea. So, despite the knowledge that he and Lance had a midterm in two days, he agreed.

“See, Hunk, here’s the thing,” Lance said as they left the lecture hall, their exam behind them, out of sight and out of mind, at least until the professor graded it. “This isn’t the right kind of chemistry.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Hunk, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s the right kind then?”

“Well, you know…” Lance waved a hand dismissively. “The kind you have with someone, like romantic chemistry. Like what you and Shay have.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and said, “For the last time, Shay is just a person I met and admire.”

“She gave you a rock,” Lance pointed out with a smirk.

“She’s a geology major,” Hunk said.

“It was a very pretty rock,” Lance said. “There were those crystals on it.”

“Quartz.”

“See?” Lance elbowed him in the side. “You even remember! And I know for a fact you keep it on your desk.”

“All right, fine,” Hunk said with an impish smile of his own. But before Lance could gloat about being correct, he added, “I admire the rock she gave me too.”

“You—” Lance lightly punched his arm, and they both laughed.

Lab got even worse after the midterm when Keith switched into their section.

“What happened that you had to switch this late in the semester?” Hunk wondered.

To his amazement, Keith flushed red and admitted, “I…went out with the TA.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and Hunk stared at him incredulously. “Like…on a date?”

“Yes,” Keith said tersely, but from the way he very pointedly set up his experiment without even glancing towards Hunk or Lance, he refused to speak further on the matter.

“Now Keith and his old TA had chemistry,” Lance grumbled under his breath.

“We have chemistry now,” Hunk said when he noticed how far behind Lance was in his experiment. He’d only just finished setting up his reaction in the sand bath, but Hunk’s was nearly done, the color inside the flask already changing.

To be fair, today’s experiment was fairly short.

But within a few weeks, Hunk noticed a pattern emerging:  Keith finishing first, and Lance’s work turning sloppier while he tried to catch up.

“You know it’s not a race, right?” Hunk told him.

“I know but I’m still gonna win,” Lance retorted as he scooped his reaction’s product onto a piece of weigh paper while it was still damp.

“You’re gonna get over a hundred percent yield if you weigh it like that,” Hunk pointed out.

“Even better.”

“So you’re okay claiming to create matter?” Hunk asked.

“Shiro doesn’t care,” Lance said. He put the paper on the balance and, without waiting for it to stabilize, jotted a number down in his notebook. “He only cares that we have a number.”

“Okay, this is true,” Hunk conceded, “but you do know that scientific accuracy is kind of…important?”

“Oh, now you sound like Pidge.”

Hunk rolled his eyes and gave Lance up for a lost cause, but he had his revenge when he ‘forgot’ to reply to a text message asking him to correct his post-lab report.

Somehow, Lance survived the lab that semester with decent grades on all of his reports – though Pidge predicted that it was all thanks to Hunk.

“You’re not even in our class,” Lance grumbled.

“I don’t need to be there to know it’s true,” Pidge retorted.

“Well, Pidge, I guess I can’t see that movie you wanted to see on Friday after all,” Lance threatened, arms tightly crossed.

“That’s okay,” Pidge said, sounding unbothered. “I’ll take Matt with me instead since he’s visiting.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Then I’m changing my Netflix password.”

Pidge’s eyes snapped from her physics textbook to his face. “You take that back!”

“Only if you take back what you said about Hunk enabling my grades!”

“Why would I take back the truth?” Pidge demanded. “What are you, the Catholic Church?”

“Oh, comparing yourself to Galileo again? How high and mighty of you, Pidge!”

“You understood that reference?” Hunk wondered, interrupting their budding argument and surprised despite himself.

Lance gestured towards Pidge, who rolled her eyes before returning her attention to her studying. And he said, “She’s used it before. I’m just adapting to her.”

“Then why can’t you remember what the Grignard reaction is?” Hunk asked, pointing to the organic chemistry notes spread out over the table between them. “We’ve been over it so many times.”

“Grignard?” Lance narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “That’s the one with manganese, right?”

“Magnesium,” Hunk corrected, “but that’s closer than your last guess.”

Lance grinned. “Ha, I’ll ace the final then. Wait and see, Hunk.”

“There’s a really big difference between manganese and magnesium,” Pidge then pointed out. “I don’t have to have taken chemistry to know that.” But when both Hunk and Lance glared at her, she smiled sheepishly and added, “But good job, Lance.”

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance said wryly. “I guess I won’t change my Netflix password after all.”

They had assigned seats during the final exam, so Hunk didn’t have to deal with Lance’s leg bouncing and vibrating the whole row of desks. But he did have to deal with the stress of seeing Lance finish before him, and wonder if he managed to answer every question on the exam or simply gave up.

Then again, it wasn’t like Lance to give up, even if he had no skill at something, which, well… They’d studied together every day for hours at a time for almost two weeks, and though Lance spent half that time distracted by one thing or another – usually a game on his phone or a conversation with Pidge – he still learned something.

Probably.

Hunk ignored the anxious churning in his stomach as he returned his focus to the exam. He thought he’d paced himself quite well so far, but between the time on the clock and the questions he had left to answer, he started to doubt himself. It didn’t help that someone in the row in front of him kept swearing under his breath.

Chair, and…a boat, Hunk thought as he drew cyclohexane in its two most stable molecular configurations. He was careful to count sides on each shape, to make sure that the hexagons had six corners and the pentagons had five.

He would not lose points on mistakes that wouldn’t have happened if he’d paid more careful attention to detail.

Name the following organic compounds. Easy, Hunk thought.

Propose a synthetic pathway between the reagent and the product. Oh, and this one had suggestions.

By the time Hunk reached the last question, he was grinning, feeling better about this particular exam than he had about anything in the last eighteen weeks of the semester…at least until Shiro called time.

Hunk glanced up at his lab TA before writing his best guess for a question he’d barely scanned, then, after passing the paper over to the TA that collected them, he mentally calculated what his score would be based on questions he knew he got correct.

Well, at least he would pass, right?

Hunk walked with Keith out of the lecture hall; he tried to ask him what he got for that last question, but Keith said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why?” Hunk wondered, eyebrow raised. “Did your girlfriend tell you what was on the exam?”

“No!” Keith said quickly. “I just don’t like talking about exams after the fact.” He crossed his arms, and after a beat added, “And the TAs don’t know what’s on the test until we do.”

“I knew that,” Hunk said. “Shiro refused to tell us anything.”

He and Keith parted after that, and Hunk met Lance at the cafe on campus, where Pidge waited for them at a table in the corner. “What time did you have to get here to get a table?” Hunk asked her.

Pidge didn’t look up from the old history exam she held in her hand when she replied, “Two minutes ago.”

“Seriously?”

“Right on the hour, when people go to class.”

“Nice,” Hunk said appreciatively, sitting down right as Lance joined them with three drinks:  hot chocolate for Hunk, who didn’t enjoy coffee, black coffee for Pidge, who didn’t like milk, and iced coffee for Lance, who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘cold’.

“So how do you think you did?” Lance asked Hunk.

Hunk sipped his drink, considering. “Not too bad,” he said. “I think I’ll get at least an eighty percent.”

“Not too bad?” Lance said. “I’d kill for that.”

“You’ll pass,” Pidge said after shooting a brief glance at him. “You’ve been studying your ass off.”

“Look who finally noticed all my hard work!”

“Your lab report grades might bring you down though,” Pidge continued as if she hadn’t heard Lance. She stared straight at him as she emptied three sugar packets into her coffee and drank deeply from it.

“I got decent grades on those,” Lance whined.

“Shiro’s an easy grader then,” Pidge said. “I saw your reports, and I may not know what half those molecules are called, but reports are supposed to be easy enough to follow. And yours were kind of—”

“Don’t say it, Pidge,” Hunk beseeched her.

“—sloppy.”

Hunk sighed, but to his surprise Lance admitted, “I guess I could’ve done better, but I would’ve done a lot worse without Hunk’s help.” When Hunk threw a glance at him, he added, “I was in good hands.”

“That’s true,” Pidge agreed.

Hunk smiled, glad Lance could confess to needing his help in regular conversation, but the smile disappeared when Lance said, “Oh, yeah, that reminds me:  which section are you taking next semester?”

Hunk wondered if it was too late for him to drop out.

#voltron #hunk #lance #pidge #reem writes fic #please give me feedback #we craves it precious #mildly inspired by real-life events #reem writes gen

[pinknerdpanda]

At The Crossroads - Ch. 3

Characters (All AU): Dean x reader, Benny Lafitte, Anna, Castiel Hennessey, Meg Masters, mentions of Crowley

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Canon level gore

Word Count: 1917

Summary: It’s the 1920’s, Prohibition is at it’s peak, and New Orleans acts as a beacon to all those in search of a fresh start, smooth jazz, and a taste of the good ol’ giggle water. The Crossroads is the joint to be in for all three, or so you thought when Benny Lafitte hired you. All your dreams of becoming a famous jazz singer were just starting to come true, and then Dean Winchester strolled back into your life. Just one look into those green eyes of his was enough to send you into a tailspin. Question is, will you recover, or will you crash and burn? 

A/N: This is the third chapter of this 1920’s AU series.

Need to catch up?  Part 1 | Part 2

A/N 2: This story was edited and beta’d by @wheresthekillswitch. She also wrote the summary and contributed to some of the writing and plot development of this story and series. I don’t really know how to credit you, but suffice it to say, this story would be nothing but a sad little WIP in my folder if it wasn’t for you, Lee. Thank you for your continued wisdom, guidance and support as well as your unwavering patience.

Aesthetic by the wonderful and talented @arryn-nyxx. (Go check her out - she is amazing!)

I really appreciate feedback! Tags are at the bottom and if you would like to be added to my tag list, just send me a message or an ask. 

At The Crossroads Chapter 3

Three Months Earlier….

Castiel

“Why should I trust you?”

She stares at me and makes a show of snubbing out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray at the edge of my desk before answering me. “Because, blue eyes, I got nothing to gain from this.”

I silently consider her statement, I know she’s taking a huge risk even coming here. She’s right though; everything falls on her if this thing goes south. Sighing, I stand and round the desk to lean against the front edge.

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly, Miss Crowley…”

“Masters, actually,” she interrupts. “I adopted my mother’s family name. Wanted some distance from my father and some of his more...nefarious activities.”

She emphasizes the word. Nefarious. That's putting it rather delicately. I study her cautiously, crossing my arms over my chest. “My apologies, then, Miss Masters. So, you have information on the Black Hand as well as your father’s business. And you want to work with me because…”

“I’ve always had a soft spot for a man with a badge,” her blood red lips curl flirtatiously, and I have a sneaking suspicion it has something to with the rush of warmth I’m feeling in my cheeks. She looks down at the floor, her thick black eyelashes fanning out across the apples of her cheeks and her smile fades. “Besides, Officer Hennessey, I've had my fill of this life and I want out. My father has made it very clear that he has no intention of allowing it.”

Every instinct I have tells me no; well, nearly every one of them. The look on her face is one that I’m more familiar with than I’d like to be. Sure, there’s sadness, pain, and loss reflected in her large, chocolate eyes, but beyond that, there is rage - like the smoldering remains of a fire, long after the damage has been done. There’s something else, too. I can’t quite put my finger on what, and I sure as hell can’t explain it, but, against my better judgement, I believe her.

“Alright, Miss Masters. I think we can come to some sort of arrangement.” I reach out to shake her hand; a show of trust and solidarity. She smirks and accepts it. One thin, dark eyebrow lifts in either surprise or amusement, I can’t quite decide which, and for a moment I wonder if I have made a huge mistake.

“Call me Meg, Officer.”

-----

Dean

It’s at least 5:00 am before I finally climb the stairs to my small apartment and jam the key in the door. I feel as though I could sleep standing up, and every bone in my body hurts. It’s not a new feeling, though. Everytime Crowley is at The Crossroads, I feel him scrutinizing everything I do, and I wind up cleaning every glass, table, and counter at least twice.

On top of that Anna never showed up for work tonight, so one of the waitresses had to take over as cigarette girl for the evening and that pushed the night back even further.

Y/n hasn’t spoken to me in a week; not since she saw Anna and I on the street. If she was saddling close to Benny before, she’s gotta be sitting in his lap now. The two of them are thick as thieves these days, and who knows what he’s told her about me and Anna. As far as I can tell, she’s drawn her own conclusions about what she saw. And Anna hasn’t exactly done anything to make her think differently.

Last night, she’d snuck into the storeroom when I’d gone back to grab another case of hooch. Frankly, I’d like to know how many times I have to tell her to scram before she takes the hint. One of the nice things about having Anna gone was that I didn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder to see what hooey she was gonna pull. It feels like lately she's determined to ruin my life and drive y/n and I further and further apart.

I step inside and lock the door, my fingers making short work of the buttons on my shirt and I throw it aside. If I time it just right, I may be able to have all my clothes off by the time I get to the bed and I can just fall right in and let sleep overtake me. Shoes next, kicking one off and then the other, not bothering to care where they land. I fumble for the belt on my pants and allow them to slide down my legs and step out of them on my way to the bed. Just a few more steps.

My knees hit the edge and I pause before closing my eyes allowing myself to fall face first into the soft down mattress. However, instead of the pillow, my head makes a soft thud as I hit something firm and cold. Confused, tired, and angry that I’m not already halfway to dreamland by now, I scramble to my feet.

I flip on the lamp, the light flooding the room in a gentle golden glow and making me clamp my eyes down tight. I blink slowly to allow myself time to adjust, bright spots dotting my vision from the sudden assault.

I’m not sure if it’s my sleep deprived brain or if my eyes are playing tricks on me for nearly rendering them useless, but it takes several moments for my brain to process everything I’m seeing. The whole scene is a mix of colors that are just wrong.

Her hair, strands of copper and rust, fans out haphazardly across my pillow. Crimson splatters mar the bright white of the sheets and blanket in a stark contrast. Green eyes, frozen and unmoving as though they are made of glass, stare up at me, silently begging for mercy. Her lips are a sickening shade of blue as though she’d been stranded in a snowstorm for too long. It’s like I’m seeing pieces of a puzzle and each one, on their own, although startling, doesn't make much sense. But as my mind starts fitting them together, a horrific and gruesome scene begins to unfold before me.

Anna’s lifeless body - scantily-clad, pale, and covered in blood - is sprawled somewhat seductively across my bed and any feelings of anger or exhaustion I may have felt earlier are replaced by fear and my stomach roils in response.

-----

The stillness of New Orleans before dawn is something you relish as you slip from your boarding house and into the crisp morning air. There is really no reason that you should be awake already, but after tossing and turning all night, your thoughts on anything but sleep, you decided you’d had enough.

The last week has been hell for you. You’ve seen Dean every night and every night you’ve either been unwilling or unable to face him. Every fiber of your soul has been crying out for you to go to him, talk to him - find out the truth. And, whether it’s your pride or your still-healing-heart you aren’t sure, but you just couldn’t. Until now.

You’d spent every restless moment since your head had hit the pillow, arguing with yourself over and over again. You know that he’s keeping something from you, and if there is one thing that you can't stand, it's being lied to. You're not sure if it’s better or worse than when he’d left you all alone for an entire year. Your life had ground to a screeching halt without him and you’d thought you would never recover.

But then, by some stroke of luck, you’d found yourself back in his arms again. It had been hard at first; to look at him and try to ignore the dull ache in your chest that you'd become accustomed to in his absence. But you thought it was obvious that the universe had brought you back to each other. What you had with Dean was pure and beautiful and you’d finally decided that you weren’t going to let some redheaded bimbo stand in your way.

Mr. Crowley had been at the club last night and you knew that meant Dean would’ve been staying late to make sure everything was spic and span. If the last few times Mr. Crowley had spent his evening at The Crossroads were any indication, you expect Dean to just be getting home.

So you set off in the direction of his apartment. It’s a decent walk from where you are staying, but you have come to know the route by heart. You pass the time rehearsing everything you want to say as you weave your way through the eerily quiet streets. The streetcars have yet to begin their morning routes and as the sun begins to break over the tall buildings of The Quarter, the only faces you see are those of the newsagents setting up their stands for the day.

Having repeated your speech in your head at least twice, you feel fairly confident as you approach the last corner before Dean’s building. Every practiced word and phrase slips completely from your mind, however, as his building comes into view and you freeze, fear rattling your bones instantly.

Three shiny police cars are parked in front of the building as though their operator had been in a hurry to get out. There are several uniformed officers flitting about between the cars and the entrance. A large white wagon that you assume to be an ambulance is backed up near the foot of the stairs, and a few men with white coats dot the scene.

You don’t realize that you’ve moved until you find yourself being stopped by a large officer with kind eyes.

“Miss, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stand back,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “This is a crime scene.”

You gape up at him, your brain finding it increasingly difficult to associate his words with their meaning. Over his shoulder you see two men hefting each end of a long stretcher out of Dean’s apartment and down the stairs, their faces stoic and devoid of color. There’s a sheet covering the stretcher and your stomach lurches as you realize that it’s soaked through in several places with blood.

“My beau, Dean Winchester, lives in that apartment. Is he alright?” you ask in a panic laced voice, just as the world starts to go topsy turvy on you.

The officer’s demeanor shifts from commanding to sympathetic and for a moment you assume the worst - it’s Dean under the bloody sheet.

“I’m sorry ma’am…” his words fade in the dull roar of blood as it rushes to your head.

More movement from the building catches your attention. A tall man with brilliant, blue eyes wearing a light colored trench coat appears at the top of the stairs, leading another man - this one shirtless and bloody, his hands bound - down the stairs.

It’s the eyes that really give him away; you would recognize them anywhere. You realize you’d been wrong. The thought of it being Dean under the sheet had been horrific, but watching him being led down the stairs and shoved roughly into the back of a police wagon instead was the worst thing.

Your whole world shatters as your vision narrows and slowly dims. The last thing you see is Dean’s blood spattered face from behind the glass of the car window and then the darkness engulfs you.

...to be continued...

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags (I love ya’ll - stay weird!): @wheresthekillswitch @arryn-nyxx @emilywritesaboutdean @fandommaniacx @cookie-dough-lova @spnfanficpond @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @27bmm @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @amionthetumbler @abbessolute @deansdirtyduchess @fandomismyspiritanimal @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @zenia3 @charliebradbury1104 @9769997118 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67  @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @almusanzug @feelmyroarrrr @captainradicalpassion @bethbabybaby @thinkwritexpress-official @akshi8278 @hexparker @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

At The Crossroads Tags:  @torn-and-frayed​ @curlyblondexoxo​

Pond Tags (Dean + Angst) : @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nichelle-my-belle @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @notnaturalanahi @salvachester @whispersandwhiskerburn @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @deathtonormalcy56 @samsgoddess @frenchybell @for-the-love-of-dean @mysupernaturalfics @spn-fan-girl-173 @deandoesthingstome @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @fiveleaf @deansleather @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @mrswhozeewhatsis @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @quiddy-writes @babypieandwhiskey @wi-deangirl77 @deantbh @supermoonpanda @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67 @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx @writingbeautifulmen @revwinchester @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed @ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel @inmysparetime0 @winchester-writes @deals-with-demons @maraisabellegrey @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @melbelle45 @winchester-family-business @4401lnc

#dean x reader #au!dean x reader #Au!dean #1920's AU #dean winchester #benny lafitte #SPN Fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn au fanfic #at the crossroads #dean angst #arryn's aesthetics #Panda Writes #death #angst #blood #murder

[junker-town]

Who won Week 2 of the NFL preseason?

Photo by Will Newton/Getty Images

The Bears D-line, Warren Sapp, and Lamar Jackson all had very good weeks.

The first true week of the 2019 NFL preseason offered up an acceptable football substitute with a handful of uplifting stories. Patrick Mahomes was perfect over the course of seven plays before getting taken off the field and rolled in bubble wrap. The Patriots got their long-awaited revenge over the Lions. Damon Sheehy-Guiseppi lied his way onto the Browns roster and then returned a punt for a touchdown in his first game with the team.

This week was similarly uplifting as coaches broke out some of their good china and threw even more starters into the mix. Weeks 2 of the preseason saw a few more high-profile starters take the field as stars like Deshaun Watson and Russell Wilson joined Week 1 veterans like Alvin Kamara and Kirk Cousins in the mix — for no more than a few series of playing time.

Of course, the real action during the preseason comes off the gridiron. With that in mind, who won Week 2 of the NFL preseason, barring a furious finish from the 49ers and Broncos on Monday night?

Not considered: The Arizona Cardinals, who looked baaaaaad

First-year head coach Kliff Kingsbury’s offensive revolution has yet to take flight with his first-string quarterback. Kyler Murray, the reigning Heisman Trophy winner and top pick in April’s NFL Draft, looked every bit an overwhelmed rookie Thursday night. Murray completed only one of his five pass attempts against the Raiders’ blitz and was sacked twice — one of which resulted in an entirely avoidable safety.

He finished his day with eight total pass attempts and a very un-air raid 12 passing yards. By the time Murray headed to the bench for the night — after four series — the Cardinals trailed 26-0.

That deficit wasn’t just Murray’s fault. Arizona will have to fix major holes in its passing defense, which will be without Patrick Peterson for the first six weeks of the season due to a PED suspension. Offseason addition Robert Alford, who signed the second-largest contract of the Kingsbury era in hopes of offsetting Peterson’s absence, will also miss a “significant” chunk of the regular season due to injury.

How is the unit holding up behind them? Let’s just see how they did against the Raideeeeauughgggh oh my god.

That’s two perfect passer ratings from Derek Carr and Mike Glennon, and a technically perfect performance from interception god Nathan Peterman — even though only three of Peterman’s completions traveled more than five yards downfield. Peterman’s career regular season passer rating, for reference, is a robust 32.5.

It’s only the preseason, but geez.

Now on to this week’s winners

Starting with:

10. Josh McCown’s jersey room, which just got 10 percent more decoration

McCown will soon find his picture listed under the Webster’s Dictionary entry for “journeyman,” (should my letter to the editor find its way to the right hands). The 40-year-old broke his brief retirement to join the Eagles as Carson Wentz’s backup, making Philadelphia the 11th stop in a 17-year NFL career.

The veteran has alternated good and bad seasons since 2013. Fortunately (?) for the Eagles, 2018 was decidedly “bad” for the former Jet — his 55.8 passer rating was his lowest ever in a season where he’s thrown at least 20 passes. He’ll supplement a quarterback room that’s been ravaged by injury this preseason, as both Nate Sudfeld (broken wrist) and Cody Kessler (possible concussion) are slated to cede snaps. If McCown snaps back to form, he could carve out a spot as the No. 1 option behind Wentz this season — which, if history is any indication, will lead to an eventual Super Bowl MVP award.

9. The Cowboys, who appear to have a decent Plan B if Ezekiel Elliott’s holdout persists

Tailback/receiver Tony Pollard was exceedingly versatile at Memphis. The 2019 fourth-round pick earned only 139 career carries, but he also made 104 catches in three active seasons with the Tigers. He made the most of his touches, too — the explosive runner averaged nearly seven yards per rush and more than 12 yards per reception for a program that went to the postseason every year he was on the roster.

On Saturday, the rookie proved he can translate those skills to the NFL, at least in the preseason.

The NFL really let the Dallas Cowboys draft Tony Pollard in the fourth round. (via @nflnetwork) pic.twitter.com/Hqkd6e4YuE

— RJ Ochoa (@rjochoa) August 18, 2019

Pollard isn’t going to replace a player who led the league in rushing in two of his first three pro seasons, but the rookie is capable of making life a lot easier if Elliott fails to report to Dallas before the regular season. He finished his night with 42 rushing yards on only five carries, all of which came in a 97-yard opening drive against a smattering of Rams starters.

8. The Bears defensive line

It’s been good enough to make veteran guard Kyle Long completely lose his shit in practice.

Quite a practice for Bears RG Kyle Long tonight. Got into a scrap with rookie DE Jalen Dalton. Took Dalton’s helmet and starting hitting him with it. Then chucked it down the field. Was pulled from practice. Oh, and then Long barfed a couple times on the sideline.

— Jason Lieser (@JasonLieser) August 15, 2019

7. Underdog WRs battling for Bill Belichick’s attention

The Patriots came into 2019 needing targets for Tom Brady. This got so bad Bill Belichick spent a first-round draft pick on a wide receiver for the first time in his 19-year tenure with the club.

That pick, Arizona State standout N’Keal Harry, returned to Foxborough to rehab an injury suffered in Week 1 of the preseason. The rest of his team spent its week in Nashville prepping for Saturday’s exhibition against the Titans.

He wasn’t the only New England wideout to swap the practice field with a spot on the trainer’s table. On Saturday, the Pats were without:

Julian Edelman (non-football injury list)

Josh Gordon (not eligible to return to the team until Sunday)

Phillip Dorsett (thumb injury)

Demaryius Thomas (placed on the physically unable to play list)

Cameron Meredith (also PUP), and

Maurice Harris (undisclosed injury)

That left Brian Hoyer and Jarrett Stidham to sling passes at undrafted free agent Jakobi Meyers, 2018 sixth-round pick Braxton Berrios, 2018 undrafted free agent Damoun Patterson, and Bemidji State defensive back Gunner Olszewski. And that group shined.

Meyers continued his meteoric rise with a six-catch, 82-yard performance that likely cements his place on the regular season roster. Patterson, who spent last fall on the club’s practice squad, hauled in the game-winning touchdown in the fourth quarter.

That throw though.@Jarrett_Stidham ➡️ @chasing_8#NEvsTEN | #GoPats pic.twitter.com/NtLD4iXFR6

— New England Patriots (@Patriots) August 18, 2019

Gordon’s return to the lineup will make it even tougher for these guys to make the roster in 2019, even if the timing of his eventual activation still raises questions. That aside, these wideouts got a solid chance to contribute Saturday night.

6. The Falcons, who finally have their answer to Taysom Hill

What’s that, New Orleans? You thought you’d be the only NFC South team to rely on trick play gadgetry from a former college-QB-turned-Swiss-Army-Knife-wideout? Nuh uh.

We have claimed QB Danny Etling off of waivers from New England. https://t.co/hvRhyuo1eB

— Atlanta Falcons (@AtlantaFalcons) August 14, 2019

And the rich get richer. Julio Jones and Calvin Ridley combined for 2,498 yards and 18 touchdowns last season. With Ridley in the mix, that aerial Cerberus could even go for 2,500 and 19. Dream big, Falcons.

Hill, on the other hand, spent his weekend proving he can push Teddy Bridgewater for the main understudy role with the Saints. The former BYU QB showed out against the Chargers second- and third-team defense, completing 11 of his 15 passes for 136 yards and a pair of touchdowns. He also ran for 53 yards in a performance that should make the rest of the NFC South all the more uncomfortable.

5. Jamie Gillan, who got into this whole football thing sort of by accident

The Inverness, Scotland native only played in five total high school football games before earning a scholarship to Arkansas-Pine Bluff — an offer he accepted sight unseen thanks to a Facebook post, some fortutious luck, and the most laidback attitude in football. That crooked path brought him to the Browns as an undrafted rookie free agent. If he can keep uncorking kicks like this he very well may unseat Britton Colquitt for a spot on Cleveland’s roster.

A casual 74-yard punt from the @ScottishHammer7 pic.twitter.com/hXsnIVj18e

— Cleveland Browns (@Browns) August 17, 2019

Like you needed more of a reason to root for a guy nicknamed the Scottish Hammer.

4. Warren Sapp, who is an ass about Gerald McCoy but is not wrong

Sapp cropped up in the news this week for calling out former Buccaneer Gerald McCoy in an appearance on the Pewter Nation Podcast. McCoy, he explained, doesn’t have the resume to qualify as a Tampa Bay legend. And that means McCoy shouldn’t be upset the team gave away his No. 93 jersey to Ndamukong Suh this offseason. Sapp even suggested McCoy owes back some of the $110 million he made in his nine years with the club.

As a headline, these comments seem like petty sniping from a player whose best days are behind him and whose post-football career has been turbulent. He was roasting a six-time Pro Bowler whose oversized salary made him a poor fit on a rebuilding team, but who still had plenty to offer as a player. Sapp also referred to himself in the third person so, eesh.

In context, however, Sapp makes a pretty good argument.

“The way I look at it, the thing that kind of threw me sideways was Gerald talking about now that this organization doesn’t have a right [to give away his 93 jersey]. And then he wanted to say that Sapp, [Derrick] Brooks, Lee Roy [Selmon], [John] Lynch, Ronde [Barber], nobody wore their numbers. Last time I checked, those were Hall of Famers and champions. We didn’t go to one playoff game with him (McCoy) and not one damn divisional title, so, I think he owes some of those hundred million dollars back in that sense.”

The Bucs’ Ring of Honor features nine players, five of which were on the team’s lone Super Bowl squad. All but one of those men, offensive lineman Paul Gruber, has won a playoff game for Tampa. Only three of the team’s jersey numbers have been retired — NFL Hall of Famers Sapp, Brooks, and Selmon. McCoy might wind up honored back in Florida sometime in the future, but Sapp’s right about the fact McCoy can’t quite match up with the rest of the Buccaneers’ hallowed brethren.

t-2. The Los Angeles Chargers, who play the Colts in Week 1

At this point, questions about Andrew Luck’s health are the familiar chorus to a depressing song for Colts fans. Unfortunately for Indianapolis, the second verse is coming to an end right as the preseason has kicked into gear.

Colts aren't ready to determine whether Andrew Luck will or won't be ready for a Week 1 start; plan right now is to calm the ankle pain down.

— Zak Keefer (@zkeefer) August 13, 2019

Luck’s “little bone” problem (team owner Jim Irsay’s words) will shut him down for the preseason, though he looked mobile in pregame warmups this weekend. There’s a chance this roaming lower leg affliction could keep him off the practice field and leave him at less than 100 percent to start the 2019 regular season.

This is welcome news for the Chargers, who face Indianapolis to start the year. If Luck sits out Week 1, Los Angeles would go from facing a quarterback who has led his team to the postseason in each of the four seasons he’s started 16 games to facing Jacoby Brissett, who went 4-11 in 2017.

Brissett is better than that record suggests. The presence of banshee offensive lineman Quenton Nelson and rock-solid young tackle Braden Smith mean he’s unlikely to get sacked on 10 percent of his dropbacks like he did in ‘17. Even so, he’s a significant step down from Luck. Los Angeles needs all the help it can get against a loaded schedule. Taking flight against a hobbled Indy team would an excellent start to the Chargers’ haggard quest to win Philip Rivers a title.

t-2. The Indianapolis Colts, who play the Chargers in Week 1

Here’s who Los Angeles could be without for the season opener:

Notable Chargers: * RB Melvin Gordon: holding out, willing to miss games * S Derwin James: fractured 5th metatarsal, no timetable to return * LT Russell Okung: on non-football illness list after a pulmonary embolism * WR Keenan Allen: ankle surgery, likely to miss preseason

— Field Yates (@FieldYates) August 16, 2019

Eep. James opted for surgery on his broken foot this week and will likely miss two to three months while he rehabs. Bad luck and injury problems are wrecking the Chargers.

That is an extremely Chargers sentence to write.

1. Lamar Jackson, who looks very much like Lamar Jackson

It’s fair to be worried about a running quarterback and the damage he takes over the course of a season. Jackson, who ran the ball 17 times per start, has mitigated that risk my making sure no one touches him, ever.

That touchdown run didn’t count thanks to an illegal blindside block, but it was still showcased the “why?” behind Baltimore’s furious finish in 2018. It wasn’t all running on Thursday, either. Drops prevented what should have been an 8-10 performance in a pair of Week 2 drives that ended in field goals for the Ravens.

The Browns have a great opportunity to climb up the AFC North this fall, but Jackson has the chops to make sure their division title-less streak reaches 30 years in 2019.

[creativeprompts]

14 Books Every Writer Needs on Their Shelf 

Here is a list of fourteen books on writing every writer needs on their shelf.

I was going to say you should have. But the only thing I would “should” you about is not a book, but a verb. You should write.

(And you should have a cat, or two. I have six, and seven litter boxes.)

These books are the actual books I have on my shelf. I didn’t go buy new books to make myself look smart.

Some of these books could be used as a reference to solve a specific problem, like “Form the possessive singular of nouns with ‘s.” That answer is on page one of The Elements of Style.

Or maybe you have a dragon called Resistance every time you try and sit down to write and you need to read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Or maybe you need to figure out how to make the reader care about your villain, and you need to read Save The Cat by Blake Snyder.

If you are a writer, you write. Right?

Writers should be writing, but sometimes you need to read and learn from other writers.

14 Books Every Writer Needs on Their Shelf

There are all kinds of books on writing out there, each covering some different aspect of the craft. I’ve listed fourteen of my favorites below. I’ve categorized them based on which aspect of writing they deal with so that you can easily find the ones that will be helpful to you.

Here are fourteen books every writer needs on their shelf:

1. For Fiction

The Modern Library’s Writers Workshop: A Guide to the Craft of Fiction by Stephen Koch

Joe Bunting suggested I read this book. A good suggestion, Joe. The book is full of wisdom from Koch as he shares insight and techniques from several great writers. Stephen Koch used to chair Columbia University’s graduate creative writing program.

(What a funny way to say someone was in charge of something. I am the chair of my cats.)

Art is long and life is short. Except for the miraculous times when it doesn’t, everything you write will take longer than you think it should. —Stephen Koch

2. For Formatting

The Chicago Manual of Style: The Essential Guide for Writers, Editors, and Publishers from the University of Chicago Press

All the rules you will ever need if you are a writer, editor, or publisher. And in this world of self-publishing, you could be all three.

This book’s shipping weight is 3.2 pounds. I can’t find my scale to weigh my copy. If this book were a steak you wouldn’t be able to eat it in one sitting.

In the absence of electronic files, the author should provide the publisher with two identical paper copies of the manuscript; one may be a photocopy. —The University of Chicago Press

3. For Fun

Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss

Words are fun. Life is fun. This book reminds me language is beautiful and words are fun. They rhyme, they dance, and Mr. Brown is out of town.

Leave room in your day for laughter and play.

PAT CAT Pat sat on cat. PAT BAT Pat sat on bat.

—Dr. Seuss

4. For Goal Setting

The Freedom Journal by John Lee Dumas

This will give you a detailed plan to get your book finished. It is one thing to say, “My book will be written at the end of the summer.” But what are you going to do every day to get it finished? Dumas gives you daily action steps to actually finish.

Actually is such a great word. Goals and actually, they need to go together. The word “goal” is on page 564 in my dictionary, and “actually” is on page 14.

Now, I actually need to use this book, or I will never get my book finished.

“If you don’t put time constraints on your goal, the time to accomplish it will expand indefinitely. —John Lee Dumas

5. For Grammar

The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White

A small little book with rules to help writers with their craft. I carry this book in my messenger bag (I don’t carry a purse) to read while I am waiting in line to buy cat litter, or when I am waiting at the veterinarian’s office. It’s a quick read to help you write better.

Or is that write well?

I suggest you read the whole book and not just use it for rule reference.

“Omit needless words. —William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White

6. For Memoir

The Memoir Project by Marion Roach Smith

If you want to write about your life, read this book. Hmmm, now I am sounding bossy. I have read this book three times, not because I didn’t understand it the first time, but because it is so full of good information and fun stories. I read it for pleasure and to learn.

We all have stories to tell. This book will help you write your story so someone will want to read it.

In any decent game of chance, you must be present to win. That’s also true with writing what you know, where paying attention is the skill you need to succeed. —Marion Roach Smith

7. For Resistance

The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield

Here is one battle writers need to win: the inner creative battle. The War of Art will give you the weapons to fight and win the battle to create. Don’t waste your life doubting your ability.

If you only have one book on your bookshelf, make it this one. Read the rest of the books at the library and buy this one.

The danger is greatest when the finish line is in sight. At this point, Resistance knows we’re about to beat it. It hits the panic button. It marshals one last assault and slams us with everything it’s got. —Steven Pressfield

8. For Screenwriting

Save The Cat by Blake Snyder

This book is about screenwriting. However, no matter what you write, you have to be able to tell me what it is about. This book helps you answer two essential story questions.

First, what is the logline for your story?

Second, why do you need to save the cat?  

If you can’t tell me about it in one quick line, well, buddy I’m on to something else. Until you have your pitch, and it grabs me, don’t bother with the story. —Blake Snyder

9. For Self-Doubt

You Are a Badass: How To Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life by Jen Sincero

This book talks truth with a few cuss words. I almost didn’t buy the book because Sincero said “badass” in the title. However, being a badass means loving yourself and not listening to lies other people tell you about who you are.

Seriously, don’t doubt your greatness. Live an awesome life.

You are perfect. To think anything less is as pointless as a river thinking that it’s got too many curves or that it moves too slowly or that its rapids are too rapid. ―Jen Sincero

10. For Self-Publishing

APE: How to Publish a Book by Guy Kawaski and Shawn Welch

You don’t need permission from anyone to self-publish a book. However, you do need to know how. This book is a complete guide to self-publishing. I have not only read the book, but studied it. We can have total control over what our books look like.

Whitman, for example, self-published (and typeset!) Leaves of Grass. Self-publishing could change from stigma to bragging point—maybe we could change the term to “artisanal publishing” and foster the image of authors lovingly crafting their books with total control over the process. —Guy Kawasaki and Shawn Welch

11. For Self-Editing

The Story Grid: What Good Editors Know by Shawn Coyne

When you write, it is important to be able to self-edit. Shawn Coyne, an editor for over twenty-five years, tells you everything he knows in this book and on his podcast, The Story Grid Podcast.

Without an Inciting Incident, nothing meaningful can happen. And when nothing meaningful happens, it’s not a story. —Shawn Coyne

“When nothing meaningful happens, it’s not a story. —Shawn Coyne

12. For Story

Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting by Robert McKee

Robert McKee’s book Story is about the principles of screenwriting; however, he explains clearly what makes a good story.

Some people have a long bucket list. The only thing on my bucket list, besides driving to Canada to see my mom, is to attend one of Robert McKee’s Story seminars.

A story is a series of acts that build to a last act climax or story climax which brings about absolute and irreversible change. —Robert McKee

13. For Submitting

The First Five Pages: A Writer’s Guide to Staying Out of The Rejection Pile by Noah Lukeman

Lukeman gives very specific information about story submission, from point size to margin width. Don’t give an editor an excuse not to read your story because you didn’t know how to properly submit.

“Your creativity should be expressed through your writing, not your font. —Noah Lukeman

14. For Words

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language edited by William Morris

Words are beautiful, and you can discover their origin and meaning. I know you can find definitions online; however, on a screen you cannot see the words that come before and after the one you are looking up. A dictionary is like a family reunion: the words are all related.

By knowledgeable use of the dictionary we should learn where a word has come from, precisely what its various shades of meaning are today, and its social status. —William Morris

Stop Reading and Write

Reading books on writing can help you write. But no matter how many books you have on your shelf, the only way to get better at writing is to write.

Write is a verb. Go do it.

What book or books would you add to my list? Let me know in the comments section. I would love to know what books you recommend.

PRACTICE

Write for fifteen minutes about a writer who keeps buying books on writing and never writes. Or just share what book you think every writer must have. I gave a list of fourteen books. If you could have only one book on writing, which one would you pick? No, wait, your top three. Or your top fourteen. It wouldn’t be fair if I got to list fourteen and I only let you list one. Now would it?

Source: The Write Practice

#writing resource #books writers should have

[ferrellcody]

How To Get Your Ex Back After 1 Month Super Genius Tips

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How To Make Your Ex Gf Want U Back

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How To Pull Your Ex Girlfriend Back

#How To Get Your Ex Back After 1 Month Super Genius Tips #How Can I Stop My Ex Moving Back In

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

“He likes this song.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

In which Cisco is given seven months to fall in love with Barry Allen. It’s admittedly a little weird - what with Barry being unconscious and all - but since when was anything normal nowadays?

Fandom: The Flash (TV show)

Words: Through Chapter Two: 4,769 (will be around 12k total)

Warnings: None

Pairings: Barry/Cisco

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

~~~ 

Worth the Wait: Chapter Two

Bartholomew Please-Call-Me-Barry Allen. Born 1989 to a Henry and Nora Allen, in their small, shockingly normal suburban home. That alone sent Cisco’s mind into a tailspin and really—he’d think later—it should have been a hint too. Because who the hell had a bio that was somehow this normal and this interesting? In the first freaking sentence?

Forget the god-awful name. Or even the fact that Barry was only a year younger than Cisco—thoughts of how they might have ended up in the same space taking up far too much of his time. All of it paled in comparison to the tragedy that was the guy’s home life and, like a multi-car pile up, it was the sort of horrible you just couldn’t look away from. Cisco spent hours that night flying through every article he could find, piecing all that horrible-ness together: the seemingly idyllic, nuclear family; Henry Allen suddenly going off the rails, the gory descriptions of Nora’s stab wounds; rumors that young Barry got a good look at the body (Jesus Christ); his insistence, for years, that there had been streaks of lightning in the house that night...

Cisco might have found the coincidence funny if it weren’t so goddamn sad. Who only knew how many shrinks the kid had needed to see.

Actually... Cisco knew. It was six, and he got the feeling from the notes he may or may not have illegally hacked into that either a) smarty-pants Barry had just started telling the grownups what they wanted to hear, or b) his adopted cop-dad started doing the exact same thing.

Cisco was really starting to like this guy.

He’d made it through to Barry’s work with the CCPD (“Dude. How are you still such a do-gooder after all that?”) when Caitlin startled him with a flood of light.

“Ahh, bright—bright!” Cisco cowered and hissed like a vampire. When his sight recovered from the assault he found Caitlin looking very unimpressed.

“Are you still here?” she breathed, managing to sound scandalized despite the fact that they’d both pulled all-nighters more times than he could count. She marched over, already ignoring Cisco in favor of checking Barry’s vitals. Her hands did that little fluttery, nervous thing before increasing his... something or other. That’s why she was the doctor.

Cisco just settled for groaning. His back was stiff and he really needed the little boy’s room. ASAP.

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. “It’s—five am!? What the hell, Caitlin!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, looking about as haggard as Cisco felt. “Do you have any idea the sort of responsibility Dr. Wells has just placed on us? On me? My specialty is in bio-engineering, Cisco. I like my people in their culture dishes. And yes, I took on a broader role when Dr. Wells asked it of me. I do have my medical degree and I do have training in first responder treatments, but I know next to nothing about treating someone in a persistent, vegetative state, let alone someone exhibiting Mr. Allen’s strange, and frankly impossible, tissue regeneration, and—”

Cisco threw up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, slow it all down. No one is asking for a miracle here. If anyone can keep this guy fine and fair, it’s you, Caitlin. Besides, he—” Cisco stopped. “Wait. Did you just say tissue regeneration?”

Caitlin smiled wide and fake in that patronizing way of hers, pointing fiercely at Barry. “Yes. Apparently there was an incident where a nurse accidentally cut him—heaven only knows what she was doing—and the injury healed in seconds. Dr. Wells gave me the report last night and emphasized that it was the only copy. Told me to destroy it when I was done reading. Hush, hush!” and she put a finger to her lips, only slightly hysterical.

Cisco just blinked dumbly. “I didn’t get that far reading up on him.”

“...what?”

“What.”

They stared at one another across the bed. Barry breathed deeply between them.

Cisco stood. “That’s it. Coffee. Now. You and me. We spill all.”

“But—” Caitlin glanced worryingly at Barry, gnawing at her lip.

“He’s been asleep eight weeks, Caitlin. He’ll be fine without us for a hour.”

Dragging her out of the Cortex was easier after that, but, if pressed, Cisco would have admitted that even he was a little hesitant at leaving Barry’s side.

Get ahold of yourself, dude. He thought. It’s been a day.

Somehow, that wasn’t at all reassuring.

***

The facts, when summed up, were these:

The particle accelerator, heralded as Dr. Wells’ magnum opus and one of the greatest scientific achievements in modern day history, was meant to change the world. For the better.

It did that for exactly twenty-seven minutes.

Then, inexplicitly, there was an explosion that sent a wave of dark matter across Central City. That same shockwave merged with an incoming storm, binding at the molecular level.

A lightning bolt from said storm struck Barry Allen.

Barry Allen was now experiencing some freaky-ass side effects.

+1 No one else in Central City had come forward about similar freaky-ass side effects. However, as any decent scientist knew, the absence of data did not necessarily preclude the hypothesis’ possibility. There could be others.

But that was so not their problem. Cisco felt that one crazy science fiction experiment was enough for them, thank you very much.

“Do you think the government’s involved?” he whispered, stirring his coffee extra hard. Caitlin gave him a withering look over her tea.

“Do you think before you talk? You know STAR labs is privately funded.” Caitlin hesitated. “I think Dr. Wells is actually working to keep the government out of this. Mr. Allen has only been showing these... symptoms,” she lowered her voice anxiously, “for the last few days or so. It looks like Dr. Wells got him here just in time.”

Or decided the time was right, Cisco thought. Yeah, ‘course STAR labs was privately funded, notoriously so, and only about 15% of that came from donations. The rest was staggeringly out of pocket. Cisco had honestly called bullshit on that his first few weeks in, until Dr. Wells had offhandedly mentioned a family fortune as well as his “not insubstantial” number of patents. A quick google search had proven that true enough.

It all meant that Dr. Wells had more than enough money to pour into a victim’s treatment. One who, oh, might be a lowly forensic scientist not making enough to pay those kinds of medical bills. Easy enough then to get frequent ‘updates’ on the patient. Plenty of time to pull the guy out when things got... strange.

Cisco nodded, a number of things clicking together. Like what Dr. Wells might have been doing these last few weeks. Like the enthralled look in his eye when they set Barry up in the Cortex, laid out like some sort of strange museum display. Or an offering.

Cisco shivered. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, finding it cold.

“What now?” he muttered.

Caitlin’s wide-eyed stare said it all. They’d been rather lost since STAR Labs had closed, but they both had new jobs now. Caitlin needed to keep Barry alive. Cisco needed to keep his mouth shut.

And they both needed to make sure Dr. Wells didn’t do anything regrettable. Because like hell would Cisco let him mentor get caught up in some crazy, secret government conspiracy thing. They’d both stuck by him through the media backlash and endless lawsuits. The death threats slipped in the mail and—Cisco shivered again—the one bomb left outside their door. The one that was, thankfully, just a fake. They’d weathered that.

They’d weather this too.

“To the strange,” Cisco settled on, lifting his drink. Caitlin companionably toasted him back.

When Cisco drank the coffee it was still fucking cold.

***

Keep his mouth shut, sure. Cisco had never been very good at it, but at least he didn’t have anyone to blab to. It was kind of a blessing if he bothered to rationalize it. Except not. Looking around at his family—disappointed mother, too perfect brother, a sister in Caitlin (who’d just lost family of her own) and a pseudo-father figure in a reclusive Wells—Cisco realized that he really didn’t have anyone to confide in anyway. Being frank, he had colleagues and people bound to him by blood… but not many friends.

Fuck. No friends at all.

It made stalking Barry Allen so much easier.

Because Cisco didn’t stop with the guy’s tragic backstory. Of course not. Where was the fun in that? He wanted to dude’s social media.

And oh... holy hannah. Was it worth it.

“What a dork,” Cisco breathed. He said it with reverence, the kind of awe that could only come from a like-minded fella, the kind of breed who’d been bullied all through school and still had Magic the Gathering cards stuffed under his bed. Cisco knew Barry Allen. Barry Allen was him.

If, of course, he was a 6’2’’ model-type with a social life the size of a small planet. He could scroll through Barry’s Facebook and Instagram for weeks and still not reach the previous year. Didn’t the guy ever run into post limits?

“Awkward pic with hot girl, third wheel with hot guy and girl,” Cisco shook his head, scrolling quickly. “Eating. Lame-o sunglasses. More eating. What is that face? Tumbling down the stairs—okay, that one has gotta be staged.”

Except that Cisco looked across the room at this gangly sasquatch and was suddenly positive that he made it through life by tripping over his own feet and acquiring bruises he couldn’t explain. Barry probably got his shoelaces tangled together. He’d probably slip on a banana peel if one suddenly appeared.

Cisco snorted. “You would. You totally would.”

“Would what?”

“Oh my—” Cisco very nearly upended his laptop as he jumped, thinking for one shocking second that the coma guy had actually spoken. By the time his brain had re-booted Dr. Wells had already rolled into view, a slightly teasing look in his eyes.

And wow. He hadn’t seen that in a while.

It was a small improvement, but noticeable, and Cisco saw why as Dr. Wells bypassed him completely to get at Barry. There was a collection of saline drips in the back pocket of his chair that he immediately began hooking one up, taking care not to jostle the needle in Barry’s arm. A small dusting of crumbs on his shirt spoke of lunch actually eaten and—Cisco noticed with a pang—he had pile of journals in his lap, ready to be read. He didn’t need to see the titles to know they dealt primarily with long-term coma patients; theories on how to treat any... unexpected side-effects.

In the week since Barry had come to STAR labs his abnormal cellular structure had hung between the three of them, unacknowledged overtly, but driving them all the same. It was like they’d just been waiting for the world to give them something new to focus their talents on, something more personal than a particle accelerator. Caitlin had taken a dive into her research with real enthusiasm, the first since Ronnie’s passing. Dr. Wells was playing overseer once more. And Cisco...

Cisco was having the sudden, utterly crazy image of Barry in his Suit.

Yes, the Suit had a capital ‘s’ in his mind because it was the biggest and best-est thing he was ever going to make. A state of the art, indestructible, lightweight body armor that would completely revolutionize the world of protective gear. Big dreams, sure, but Cisco was confident enough in his abilities to imagine the outcome, even if it was years—decades even—down the line. Someday every fire fighter, police officer, and first responder would wear armor developed in STAR labs, capable of withstanding whatever the world chose to throw at them. In the Before it had been just a way to save lives. In the After it was also a way to save the Lab’s reputation.

He kept it on the table downstairs, pieces thrown into a hazardous pile that would only seem disrespectful to someone who didn’t know Cisco’s style. He could have put it up on a mannequin, sure, but for some reason Cisco didn’t want to give the Suit a face yet, even a blank one. It was too... individualized.

That is, until he started imagining Barry in it instead. Randomly. Little flashes like day dreams that just sort of came to him with no real context. It wasn’t even the Suit as it was now, but what Cisco wanted it to be someday. Slick and lean, dynamic, skin tight to allow for complete freedom of movement. Barry’s measurements were perfect for it.

Even weirder though was that Cisco hadn’t realized he’d wanted it in red until he’d seen that pic of Barry from last fall: sporting a fire-engine sweater that had him glowing amongst the crowd. That was exactly what Cisco’s Suit needed: a color that both stood out and oozed confidence. Don’t worry, we’re here to help. Don’t worry—you won’t get to see me bleed.

Too bad forensic scientists don’t need a Suit, he thought.

“Cisco?”

The realization that Dr. Wells was still waiting on an answer made a flush run up Cisco’s neck. His mind blanked on what they’d been talking about.

Dr. Wells seemed to realize. He folded his hands, not in his lap, but atop the blankets where Barry’s legs lay. It was the exact spot where Cisco had rested his feet on that first night together.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dr. Wells asked.

“They’re worth more than that,” Cisco said, but the joke didn’t land. He just shrugged, wondering if he could articulate everything his mind had been running through. Whether Dr. Wells, with that faraway look still lurking in his eyes, would be able to understand.

“Do you think he’ll ever wake up?” Cisco finally settled on. It was, in a way, all his thoughts rolled into one.

Instead of answering though Dr. Wells just regarded him. Insert here: bug under the microscope feeling.

“You’re growing attached to him,” he observed. It wasn’t necessarily a condemnation.

Cisco scoffed. “He just got here.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He rolled past, the soft whrrr of his chair the only sound in the room. There might have been a time when Dr. Wells laid a rare, complimentary hand on Cisco’s shoulder. Now he just called out as he left:

“I’m growing fond of him too.”

He’ll wake up. He has to.

Cisco blew out a breath. At least he wasn’t the only one.

#Flash #The Flash #Barry/Cisco #Barry Allen #Cisco Ramon #flashfic