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falling-pages · 3 years

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Coffee Break: Hawks x Reader

Hi lovelies, I’m back with considerably better mental health. I’m still taking writing a bit at a time, slowly, taking my time editing and researching to improve, but I’m finally able to produce content I love again. I’m finally recovering all the joy of writing and now I’m focusing on writing what makes me happy. Thank you for all the sweet messages and support, it means the world to me :)

Quirkless Reader x Hero Hawks

Fluff

Warnings: None

“Americano with almond milk for you, chai latte for me.”

You had been so focused on your report that you didn’t even notice the window opening and your winged boyfriend climbing through until he slid your favorite drink in front of you. The smell was heavenly, steaming through the paper cup bearing your local shop’s logo. Your fingers still against the keyboard as you reach for it, stretching out your cramped digits. After typing for hours, any sort of movement sent discomfort rattling up your hands.

“Thanks, Kei,” you say as he hovers behind you, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

He bent to wrap his arms and wings around you, clutching you close in your chair as you cradled your coffee to your chest. The little cocoon he had suddenly made enveloped you in warmth, cutting off your view of the computer with his beautiful red plumage. All you could see, sense, and smell was him.

He ran his lips up to your temple, the shell of your ear, the spot beneath your earlobe, giving little pecks of affection while he had you under his wings. What good were those wings, anyways, if he couldn’t use them to comfort you?

“Are you nearly done, dove?” he asked, snuggling his face into your hair. “You’ve been at this for hours. Honestly I didn’t know if you were human or one of those robots the captcha quizzes ask about.”

You chuckle, leaning back against his chest. The coffee is still extremely hot, and though your tired brain begs for it, you hold off until it cools down. Keigo gets fussy when you slurp your coffee too quickly and burn yourself. “I still have miles to go before I sleep.”

“Isn’t that some poem?” he asks. “Some American poet?”

“Robert Frost.” You twist your neck to look at him. “You remembered? You’re no poet.”

“But you are. And you quote a lot of them depending on the day.”

“Because they are applicable to my situation.” You turn back and move his feathers away from your computer, making a landing space for your still piping hot drink beside it. The bright white screen welcomes you back harshly, black lines of text still existing. When his red curtain shields you from it, you have a habit of forgetting it exists. Maybe that’s the point--making you forget your worries with kisses and gifts.

You try to lean forward to type again, but his arms hold you back. “Kei, thank you for the coffee, but I have to keep reading this report.”

“You’ve read it three times already tonight!” he whines. “The thing is 50 pages. I don’t know how your eyes haven’t fallen out of your head.”

He sends a feather to lightly touch the coozie around your coffee. Both he and the feather flinch at the contact. “At least wait until your coffee cools down,” he says. “Please? For me?”

Though the man is part bird, he can pull a very convincing puppy face. It’s true, you have gotten to the point where the lines have blurred into one massive pile of digital ink. And his plush wings and warm breath on your neck are oh so inviting.

“How did you know I’ve read it three times?” you ask softly, feeling your eyes begin to close.

“Hawks are very observant creatures,” he says. “They know when their lovebirds are tired.”

You sigh, allowing yourself to give up the ghost and slump against his collarbone. As much as you wanted to keep making revisions to the report, you knew you would force yourself into another all-nighter if you didn’t stop now. You had pulled three already this week, and Keigo had grown frustrated of going to bed alone. If you stayed up again, he would likely take matters into his own hands.

Breaks increase productivity, right?

“Okay,” you relent. “But only until my coffee cools.”

He chirps happily, sending a feather to close your laptop while he scoops you into his arms. The chirps were something you had to get used to, but once he cooed in your ear in his sleep, you couldn’t help but fall in love. He had tried so hard to hide his avain traits in the beginning of your relationship, still wary of all that the Commission had instilled in him, but with you he was free to be the man-bird hybrid his spirit longed to be--chirps, feathers, and nesting included.

You snatch your cup right before he picks you up. He brings you to the couch, where he lies down on his back and settles you against his chest, making you leave your drink on the coffee table. As you lie against him, head against his heart while his lips graze the top of your crown, his wings flutter over you and wrap in to swaddle the two of you together. Abdomen warmed by his body heat, legs tangled up in his, the throaty coos in your ear, his heartbeat slowly lulling you into peace...you knew what he was trying to do.

“I can’t sleep yet, Birdie,” you whisper, drawing a pattern with your finger on his other pec. “As much as I’d like to, this is just a little break. I can come to bed tonight if I get all my reading done.”

“You work so much,” he sighed. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the top of your head. “I think you need to relax a bit.”

“Cuddling you is relaxing,” you say, and though your voice hitched as if to continue, you left the sentence there. He already knew how hard you, being quirkless, had to work to make anything of yourself. It was hard enough to get a minimum wage job without some sort of quirk, much less get into law school, where rich prep kids with genetically-perfect powers took all the top ranks. You might have graduated top of your commoner class, but even your best strategies and most cut-throat arguments couldn’t hold a candle to those born with sharp tongues and persuasive tones. The only thing that kept you going was the fact that you could represent other quirkless clients--and, in that, maybe fight the discrimination you had grown up with.

“Lovebird.”

You turn to him, yanked out of your insecurities when you hear his soft voice utter a pet name only for you. Others might be dominating your class, but none of them were dating a certain winged hero.

“I don’t know how to make you see yourself the way I see you,” he said simply, reaching a hand through your hair. “I wish you could. God, I wish you could see how perfect you are, why I adore you so much. Why it hurts to see you pushing yourself beyond your healthy limit.”

A chord struck you. You knew your hectic lifestyle wasn’t the healthiest, but it never occurred to you that it hurt him. But, looking back, you should have known all the neglected attention and lonely nights, despite being just a room away, would affect him deeply.

He had deep abandonment issues, and he was likely reliving all of that now.

Keigo took a deep breath, running his fingers down your arm. “I don’t want to be a distraction to you. I know I can be clingy, and I’ve been trying to get better, but your schooling comes first. I don’t want to take that away from you just because I’m needy.”

“Kei,” you sigh, shifting under his wings. You turned onto your stomach, forearms on either side of his face, chest pressed against chest. He lazily wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting his wings slightly so you could move. His eyes slowly scanned your face. “You don’t have to apologize. You never bother me.”

He smiled, tucking your closer beneath his wings. “Really?”

Despite his usual sass and arrogant tone in hero work, his voice is sincere, his eyes shining. The predator in him relaxes into a more docile state.

“Really.” You smooth back his hair. “Thank you for taking care of me. Now, I believe my coffee has cooled.”

You push back the curtain of plumage and reach for your drink, rolling off of him to sit by his side. As soon as you raise the cup to your lips and take that blessed first sip, you know something is wrong.

“You got me decaf.”

Your voice is hard, scaling wildly back from the soft words you had uttered against his chest. He giggles, covering his mouth with his hands, but it doesn’t hide the red mirth coloring his skin.

“How could you!” You whine, bouncing up and away from him.

“You need to sleep!” he says. “You have been up all night the last few days, and I need you to sleep.”

You sniffle, blinking quickly to produce fake tears. “You traitor.”

Keigo rises to hug you, nuzzling his nose against your hair. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he whispers. As repulsed as you are, his hugs are too nice to refuse. “I’m only trying to take care of you.”

“I know. But next time--”

“Hmm?”

“You’re buying me regular.”

If you enjoy what I write, please consider buying me a coffee :)

#hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami #bnha #mha #bnha hawks #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks x y/n #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #hawks fluff #hawks x reader fluff

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kamkairo · 2 years

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16/18/21 for Aldous!

oh man you gave me some good ones, hope you don't mind if I go on about this little bastard man ;W;

16- What do you think would improve this character? Like, character-arc wise?

I do think about this a lot

As much as I put Aldous through hell with all that he has mentally and psychologically messed up with him, I do want him to eventually get better and actually enjoy his life while he has it instead of dreading each day as they come, being able to do what actually makes him happy instead of forcing himself to do a job that just makes his problems worse, and getting that persona he hid behind as a coping mechanism that got wildly out of control over time back in check. I have a lot about him written out, including what exactly affects him so badly, but haven't yet figured how they could be dealt with. Not everything can be 'fixed', but some can be mended enough to get him back to a much more stable state of mind, such as decreasing the persona's influence over his mentality and finding a balance that lets him be accepting of his fate but also eager to make the most of his time while abandoning his mortician profession and sticking with what he actually enjoys

I have writings for multiple different outcomes for him, and I like exploring them in AUs sometimes because I have far too much free time and not a lot better to do

18- What’s something you associate this character with? E.g. a certain colour, object or scenery?

The things I associate with Aldous are mostly things I had in mind while designing him (though it is a recycled design from a character I no longer use but it has had some alteration since) and figuring out his personality and characteristics. I can go into a little more detail with them as I list them below. Some might make less sense than others but that'd be due to lore that I haven't talked about openly yet

Spiders (related to the way he sometimes moves about) Shrews (the first original design was an anthropomorphic shrew, so he has a long nose, rodent-like teeth, and a sometimes aggressive temperament as a sort of reference to it) Tim Burton (the designs of Psychonauts gives me Tim Burton vibes to a degree, and Aldous's design was somewhat purposely based on those in Corpse Bride) Edwardian era (related to his family line, his parents were born in the mid-to-late 1800s in England before immigrating to the states, bringing parts of their homeland with them) Ratigan (his mannerisms and flamboyant behavior) Vincent Price (my voiceclaim for Aldous is Price's voice pitched up a little over 10 percent, it has the melancholic vibe that I feel fits him very well (I know he uses a transatlantic accent and not british but it's close))

I would be very curious to know what others might associate him with, though I haven't talked about him much so far so there probably isn't much for people to go off of

21- Wild card! Talk about anything to do with this character! Anything at all!

Radom fact about myself, when I make ocs/fancharacters, I often like to make characters I'd personally like to see in things I enjoy, and Aldous is no exception. When I write about him he's actually very fun to figure out, since he's got a number of traits to him that I like exploring in a bit more depth. When he's not being a depressing, brooding asshole or riddled with anxiety, he's very extra and dramatic

and I didn't plan on him turning out this way but I think it works out

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

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our-love-forever · 4 years

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His Eyes | Genji Shimada

a/n: this is dedicated to @leelokel , one of my old subscribers that had won a small contest in the past and I had written this for them. I made a bit of improvements as well as additions to it, so I hope that you like this new, improvised version! (gracias por tu constante apoyo <3)

word length: 2k

How long had you been friends with Genji? 3 years? You weren’t sure since the days that you would spend with him flew like the wind, without a trace. The fond memories that you had created with him were all that mattered, and they were something that you wouldn’t dare let go of for anything in the world.

Every day by his side was an adventure – playing at the arcade game with the intent of beating the highest score, filling your stomachs together at one of the ramen stands – to say that you loved him was an understatement. You loved having him in your life, and he loved having you in his.

In those occasions where the two of you shared your time in peace with a casual conversation here and there, Genji couldn’t help but add how much of a blessing you were to him. From changing his life to always caring for him were topics where he would express his gratitude towards you, never ceasing to make a smile to appear on your lips. If it hadn’t been for his tag-along invitation 3 years ago to Nepal, exploring and staying at the temple where he had been cared for by his mentor, the both of you wouldn’t have the bond you have now.

With the passing of time, your feelings inevitably began to grow more into that of love for him as a man. You couldn’t deny that the way he made you smile - with his soft words full of warmth for you and the constant worry he had over your being at any given time – only made those feelings of yours to multiple further. You loved him for who he was, inside and out.

The thought of confessing to Genji had crossed your mind too many times to actually keep count at this point, but the fear of it not going the way you hoped for only sealed your true feelings further inside your heart.

Would he feel the same if you did confess to him? Or would it ruin what you both already had together? That fear only made your body freeze in its spot, even turning your stomach into a painful knot at the mere thought of it. In the end, if having him in your life as your friend and only that meant keeping inside what you truly felt for him, it was something you were willing to do. Even if you wished for something more.

--------

“How does going to the park today sound?” Genji asked from the other end of the call. In an instant, you cheerful let out a yes, sensing the excitement in his voice as he established where to meet and at what time. The call had come unexpected, but that’s how the both of you made plans most of the time.

Making your way to the destined park in Hanamura, cherry blossom trees beautifully decorated the area, giving the place that tranquil yet romantic feel to it as a few petals painted the soil beneath you. It would be a lie if you said that the strings inside your heart didn’t pull at the scenery before you, daydreaming of what a date here would be like with him. Nothing could help to stop a soft blush from creeping into your now warm cheeks.

Walking a bit deeper into the park where most of its many benches rested, you settled yourself into one of them and glanced around you for your expected companion. It didn’t take you long to recognize Genji a distance away from you, making your heart to hammer inside your chest.

A small, whispered curse left your lips as the quickening of your chest wouldn’t stop even at your constant, mental demands for it to do as you said. He had this effect on you and it seemed it would never stop anytime soon.

You resulted in waving at his direction, signaling him of your presence. You took into account as Genji had stopped in his tracks, his vision clearly planted on you despite the mask that covered his line of sight.

“Genji!” you called out to him, “You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting a million years for you!”

That seemed to cut him out from his earlier trance as a shook of his head could be seen, his feet guiding him once again to where he needed to go, a wave of his own thrown your way. You then stood from where you rested and hurried to his direction, engulfing Genji in your arms once he was in reach. The man squeezed your form in response, tighter than what he usually had given you in the past, but no complains could be heard from you.

Finally, the both of you made your way back to where you had been previously and chatted away about each other’s days and whatnot.

From one exchanged story to another, you began to realize that most of the talking was been done by you, while Genji gave the occasional nod and ‘yeah’ as responses. Confusion clouded your mind since this was out of character about the man by your side. He always had something much more exciting to say in response and you couldn’t help but worry to build inside of you.

“Are you ok? You seem out of it today,” you inquired once a pause had been reached within the two of you. Genji shook his head in a frenzy as if clearing his own thoughts, letting a couple of minutes pass by. He then carefully took a hold of your right hand with his left, a soft sigh leaving him.

“I-I have been troubled by some thoughts of mine that won’t leave me alone…,” Genji trailed off, giving himself a few seconds to relax the tension on his shoulders. “And I thought that, well… it was time to express them now.”

Worry etched into your features, unable to hide the way you felt about this coming out of the blue. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” reassuring him with a squeeze of his hand.

“Yes,” he responded with confidence in his voice, yet the way he let his vision fall into the soil betrayed his own words.

He snapped his head to your direction in a matter of seconds then, that confidence in his voice now reflected in his body. A tighter squeeze was given back to your own hand before he began to speak that of which troubled his mind.

“The moment you came into my life, you made see things in a better light and made life worth living for.” A heartfelt smile came to your lips and you were sure that the same could be said about his behind his mask. “You accept me for who I am which means a lot to me, since I come to doubt myself at times.”

“We have the best of times together: fooling around like children, going to places without a plan at times, having the deepest and most meaningful conversations- I could list out many more things, but that’s not my main focus with this.” Genji gave out a nervous chuckle, needing a moment to look away from you for a second. What was his main aim with this, you wondered? It felt just like that what he had just implied – a meaningful conversation – but usually those didn’t have him in this state of nervousness.

Then he fully enclosed your own hand between the both of his and his attention went back to you.

“For s-some time now, I have come to the realization that I care about you… as more than a friend.”

The pit of your stomach fluttered wildly while a deep blush manifested on your face. You had been completely taken aback by him, the Genji Shimada that had been by your side all these years and here he was; confessing what he truly felt for you.

You took notice of his current bowed head, a shy smile apparent on your face as you inched a bit closer to him. “G-Genji… I care about you as well… a-as more than a friend.”

A giggle escaped you once you had given your response and at the speed that his neck had lifted from its current position had you almost startled for a second. The drape of his arms around your figure afterwards made your heart fly a thousand miles, a breath of air that had been trapped inside you to be let out. You could feel as his shoulders hunched and his face buried inside the crook of your neck sent shivers down your spine.

“Do you know how happy you have made?” He let out in a whisper, as close to your ear as he could. “I was so worried you didn’t think of me that way and I didn’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“Well…,” you let out a content sigh of your own. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore since I plan to be with you forever.” That was all the reassurance he needed as Genji tightened his hold on you, giving in to the warmth of your body and words. Oh, how the both of you wished that time could freeze and stay like this for hours on end.

Genji was the first one to step back a bit while his hands now rested on your forearms, rubbing at them gently. He glanced from one side to another then again at his surroundings, earning a confused look from you. His attention went back to you and he rubbed at your arms once again, this time, with a bit more force and a squeeze.

“Now that it has come to this… I think that it is about time I showed you what’s underneath the mask. I’m sure you’ve been waiting years for this,” the man let out a chuckle at his own statement.

How many times had you asked him in the past about what was underneath the mask? Anytime you would inquire about what was behind it, Genji always stated that it wasn’t anything pleasant to the eye, that the past hadn’t been so kind to him while leaving you with that vague explanation. Yet that never stopped your curiosity from exploring the possibilities of what his face could look like. With time, your questioning began to become less frequent, although he would let you in unto some details as to what had happened in the past. But now, Genji was ready to show his true self to you.

Pressing a few buttons at the back of his head with his digits, a small few hisses of air came out as he did so. He pressed unto the front of him and rid of it from himself, gently laying it behind him on the bench. Genji could only portray a sheepish grin at your direction as he studied your face for any kind of reaction.

“Oh Genji…,” you gawked as you laid your eyes on his; grey but with a gleam inside yet had a sharp look to them as if the story of his past could be told from them. His scars scattered throughout his whole face, but you had known this fact from him saying so before. Despite the anguish and harsh life that Genji’s eyes had stored for so many years, warmth could still be felt from. One that warmed you to your core.

He tilted his head at you, searching for you in your own orbs and hopefully bring you back to reality. What could you be thinking about is what preoccupied his mind.

“Your eyes are just… just so mesmerizing and beautiful,” you finally let out, earning a wide smile from the man before you. Of all the things you could have pointed out, you had decided to focus on his grey eyes. Genji really didn’t know what he was going to do with you from today onward.

Placing a careful hand behind the back of your head, he brought your forehead to rest on his in which he let himself drown into your own orbs. That wide smile of his still present on his face.

“Thank you. You’re just beyond wonderful, you know that?”

#genji x reader #genji shimada x reader #genji shimada #x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch scenario #overwatch fanfic

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loopy777 · 3 years

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RE: WIPs game: do I even want to know what Dicebenders is is it another scam how many times are the Gaang gonna get arrested for scamming

No, this time it's me scamming people. XD The dice in question are the RPG Dungeons & Dragons kind.

For a while I was doing a screencap webcomic in the style of "DM of the Rings" and "Darths & Droids" with another creative fan named Captain Boomerang. I was the scriptwriter and selected the screenshots for each panel, and Capt-BA would assemble the comics and improve my scripts (a process that did frustrate me a little, as I felt locked out of the revision process, but I did like the results. I just felt like I wasn't holding up my end of the partnership a bit). I wrote a story bible explaining the characters and storytelling rules, planned out the adaptation of the entire AtLA premiere, and had less detailed plans for the rest of the series, but we only got 6 comics in before Capt-BA went on a trip and never returned to the internet. I did manage to re-establish contact with her long enough to get permission to continue the comic, but the problem is that I have no image-editing skills whatsoever.

If I could find comic-making software that I know would do what I want and be easy to use, I wouldn't mind dropping some money on it, but everything I've looked at is trying to do lots of things I don't need. I only want a way to import existing pictures into comic grids, and then easily add dialogue bubbles. That's it. But the stuff I've found is more about image-editing than comic assembly, and it takes me an hour to put together a dialogue bubble that looks good. So I have 3 scripts that were never produced, which along with the planning docs are what's in that WIP folder, and I don't ever see myself going beyond that.

Besides, someone else already managed to complete something like this, and while I'm not a fan, I don't need to be. At this point, Dicebenders is dead. I'm glad I tried it, and it's a shame it didn't work out, but I'm happy with the other projects I've done instead.

I am squatting on an empty Tumblr for it, though.

Anyway, to share something new, here's the first section of the Story Bible I wrote to make sure Capt-BA and I were on the same page in terms of characterization. The rest of the bible details the plotlines for full series.

AVATAR: THE LAST DICEBENDER

BIBLE

Premise- A small group of players attempt to run a fantasy martial arts RPG that winds up essentially becoming the Avatar saga, or something very close. The main point of the series is comedy, based mostly on ridiculous links between Avatar and RPG's. Sometimes the humor will be in the vast difference between what happens in the comic, and what happens in the cartoon with the same screenshots. Other times, the funny will come from the unexpected ways they converge.

SPIRITUAL PREDECESSORS

DM of the Rings- The original, and my personal favorite. It's a good showcase of how to run a single quest together, while using narrative jumps to skip to the good bits.

Darths & Droids- A similar project, this stands out from its predecessor in two main ways. The players and GM are more friendly with each other, and are more or less having fun with each other. There is also a running, coherent storyline in both the game and in the lives of the players.

Benders & Brawlers- This is actually an existing attempt to do Darths & Droids with Avatar. This is helpful as an example of what we DON'T want to do, retell the Avatar story in a completely straightforward manner, with RPG players behind the characters.

CHARACTERS

None of the characters will be given real names. The players shall always be referred to by their character names, although this can be done in a teasing, ironic manner. When the characters are speaking, their dialogue bubble must always be attached to an image of the character.

The Gamemaster- The GM is a female in her early teens. She is a geek, and a bit of a social outcast for it. Nevertheless, she's trying to make that work for her, although she's not quite mature enough to make it happen yet. She has just discovered RPG's, and in her enthusiasm has gone all out in starting her own campaign. The only problem is that she doesn't know how to recruit players, so she ropes her best friend and little brother into playing with her. This is the GM's first campaign, so she'll a little in over her head. She knows the mechanics of play, and what she's supposed to be doing as GM, but doesn't have the fine skill in crafting an engaging RPG experience. Still, she wants to do her best, is willing to learn, and has a positive attitude about the whole thing. The GM has a strong crush on the Sokka player, but the only way she can express it is by having all the female NPC's flirt with the Sokka character.

Katara- Female in early teens, and the GM's best friend. Katara's player was friends with the GM from when they were both in grammar school, so while they have grown up into wildly different personality types, they are fully loyal to each other. Katara is popular, and outgoing, and doesn't care or know about geek stuff at all. She's only playing the game because the GM begged her to. At first, Katara is clueless about RPG's, and frequently questions or ridicules the mechanics of the game. She never quite gets into the idea of role-playing, but quickly takes to the idea of meta-gaming. She'll have her character act like a righteous do-gooder, because completing missions and fighting bad guys earns XP. She hoards items that will boost her stats. She'll advocate abandoning a mission/plot if it doesn't pay out enough rewards. Katara's player also can tend towards trying to Mary Sue her character, but this is inconsistent and usually shot down by everyone else.

Aang- Male in junior high, and the GM's little brother. He plays simply because his sister has cajoled him into it, and there are hints that he's getting some kind of reward or payment for it. He abuses his position by forcing the GM to give him what he wants in the game, even if it breaks the rules- access to the restricted Airbender class, the ability to bend all four elements, overloaded stats, an Avatar State that protects him from dying, a magic super flying cow ride, etc. However, it's important to note that Aang's player isn't a jerk. He's just immature, and like all kids, just always goes for what he wants via the easiest path, and doesn't realize that he may be causing trouble or hurting feelings. He's enthusiastic about trying out this RPG thing, but he has trouble coming up with any action beyond attacking or retreating. He's also hyper aware that the GM and Katara are girls. He is too old for cootie concerns, but thinks that girls are fundamentally different creatures with their own incomprehensible concerns. Having a big sister, he doesn't find this a big deal, just part of life. Aang's player is too young to be a geek. He likes cartoons and sports and fantasy and school-dramas. He also tends to follow whatever his sister likes.

Sokka- Male in late teens. This guy is your quintessential RPG player. He has is own top-quality dice, he's played campaigns and systems of all kinds, and knows the tropes of the hobby cold. He's a huge geek for all things geeky, but roleplay is easily his favorite. He's a social outcast, but he's made friends among his fellow geeks, and thinks life is just fine. Sokka's player joins when he meets the GM at the comic/games shop they both frequent. The GM was buying some sourcebooks and material to support the fantasy martial arts game she's running, and Sokka noticed, asked about it, liked what he heard, and got permission to join the game. What Sokka doesn't realize, because he is a geek and neither has experience with it or realizes it's even possible, is that the GM is sweet on him. This manifests in the character Sokka's canon luck with the ladies, only kicked up a notch. *Every single* female NPC flirts with him, whether it's appropriate or not. Sometimes player Sokka notices and tries to roleplay it, and sometimes he's just plain confused. Sokka has a few quirks. His best set of dice are his Lucky Red Dice, which always roll high when he needs it, but have been tested and proven to be fair dice. He also mandates that every character he plays use a boomerang; he was turned into a geek by the first video game he ever played, a Legend of Zelda title, and his favorite weapon from those games are the boomerang. Each of his characters has a unique, named boomerang.

Zuko- The GM's favorite NPC. She created him to be a compelling, dramatic character, with a complicated back story, moral struggles, badass loner personality, angst about his existence, a darkly noble quality, and a cool scar. The GM intended Katara to get to know Zuko, for her to try to woo him away from the side of evil, and perhaps to even have a romance with him. The PC's, however, couldn't care less about him. To them, he's just another mini-boss, and the fact that most of his character development is happening "off screen" means they don't realize that he's recruitable. A frequent gag is Zuko delivering a stirring monologue while no one pays attention.

Iroh- Background NPC. The GM tries to use him to give (ignored) hints to the players.

Toph- (tentative) A male munchkin gamer who picked a long list of weaknesses in order to get superbending. Toph's player is a friend of Sokka's player, brought in after an "incident" with his old group, and causes some initial resentment in the group when tries to show the n00bs how its done. Cowing Toph's player is a major victory for the GM.

Momo- NPC, but maybe make him a talking sidekick who gives the players hints when the GM is really exasperated?

Azula- the GM's best favorite villain. Azula is the GM unleashed, letting her take out frustrations on the players in both combat and harsh taunting. Eventually the GM comes to like the character so much, she retcons mental health issues into the character's backstory, and has her pet NPC, Zuko, spare her.

#dicbender #avatarpg

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fakeikemen · 4 years

Text

Anti-Kat/aang rant:

I had some leftover doubts since I recently joined the fandom, about if Kat/aangers had any points worth mentioning about why Kat/aang is a good ship or why Zutara is a bad ship. And the YouTube comment section of the soon-to-be-premiered video of Zutara relationship progression on the official ATLA Yt channel has convinced me that— No, they don't have any points at all. They actually invent excuses to hate on Zutara. And ridiculous excuses at that:

"Katara and Zuko have no chemistry. They are like siblings. Katara is the sister that Zuko never had."

Like I would've actually considered this theory if Zuko and Katara weren't so obviously romantically framed in the scenes they shared starting from "Crossroads of Destiny".

Somebody in the comments accepted that Zutara scenes were romantically framed but that didn't mean anything.

And I'm like: ?!?

This is animation we're talking about? Like anything that happens onscreen is because it was 100% intentionally put there, because it is drawn, coloured and animated. Even for a second worth of screen time, multiple frames have to be created.

Why would they put in that much hard work into making something if nothing was to come of it? Why would they frame those scenes romantically if Zuko and Katara were supposed to be siblings?!

Argument: Null and void.

"Zutara could never happen because Katara already had A/ang loving her and because Zuko had already M/ai as a lover."

Oh so fictional characters are strictly supposed to have only one possible love interest because anything else is illegal?? That's some bullshit right there.

And while we're at it, they talk about M/ai like she was perfect for Zuko but she was not? She treated him like trash? And Zuko literally forgot about her until she showed up in the last few minutes. Yeah, that's true love right there.

Argument: Null and void.

"Katara and A/ang have always been in love with each other from the start. Katara was ready to leave her village for A/ang after 5 mins of meeting him, obviously she was whipped. She was one who suggested that they kiss in Cave of two lovers and she blushed. She kissed A/ang on his cheek many times!! It's true love!! You're blind if you don't see that!!"

I—? Like, its clearly stated in canon that she wants to go with A/ang because this is her only shot at learning waterbending? They really think Katara exists as a character only to be A/ang's love interest, huh? That's sad.

She suggested that they kiss because they were trapped in a cave with no way out. There was a sculpture of two people kissing with ominous scriptures like: "Love will lead the way in the dark" (I don't exactly remember). This was evidently a "kiss or die" situation? Like it just shows that there is no other way Katara would've thought of kissing A/ang?? Seriously this is minus points for Kat/aang Idk why they even use this argument.

And why do they think the innocent cheek kisses are proof of Katara "not keeping her hands to herself"? Ugh. And if these kisses are romantic, why are we always shown that A/ang likes it but not the other way around, i.e.: Katara blushing after kissing A/ang's cheek?

Like Kat/aang's so called development is a joke. There are no two ways about it.

Argument: Null and void.

"Katara hated Zuko for 90% of the show and was kinda okay with him for the last few episodes."

Katara definitely didn't hate Zuko in Book 1 and 2. She was angry at him, yes, but she didn't outright hate him? Like if she did she wouldn't have bothered to offer to heal Iroh. She wouldn't have reached back to Zuko in the catacombs either. And she definitely wouldn't have offered to heal his scar.Her grudge against Zuko became personal only after Zuko betrayed her in Ba Sing Se.

For which he earned forgiveness from Katara fair and square and Katara forgave him at her own volition. No one forced Katara to forgive him.

And after being forgiven, Zuko and Katara were practically glued to each other. They really act like the episodes after TSR don't exist, huh?

Argument: Null and void.

"Zuko is abusive. He hurt Katara many times. He tortured Katara and her friends and tried to kill them."

Where? Seriously, where? Definitely not in canon.

Like, the narrative takes so much time to establish the fact that Zuko doesn't hurt people fatally under any circumstances. He is a victim of abuse: not an abuser himself. When did he hurt Katara? He pretty much saved her from a much, much worse fate in "The Waterbending Scroll" i.e.; the Pirates. He only knocks her unconscious at the North Pole and Katara returns the favour the next time she sees him. Combat is not physical abuse. Where did he torture them? He barely caught hold of them long enough to even actually say anything. Zuko literally got his face burned off for trying to prevent some soldiers from dying. This character would try to kill a 12 yo and his friends? Bullshit. He never tried to kill them. Other than the time he hired Combustion Man which was sooooo evidently wildly OOC for Zuko The worst of Zuko's behaviour paints him mostly as a brat and sometimes as a rude assh*le.

Saying that he was anything more is pretty much gross mis-characterization of Zuko. Like, its literally making up things that didn't happened.

Throwing around heavy words to make the opposing ship look bad is not woke at all.

Argument: Null and void.

"Zutara never kissed on the show, Kat/aang had 4-5 kisses."

Yes this is a real argument from their side.

Like yeah man, kisses = true love; why didn't I think of that before?

This is a new low.

Their first kiss is "kiss or die", the next kiss was in a daydream, the next two kisses were non-consensual and the last kiss featured an extremely OOC Katara.

The fact that Zutara has equal, if not more shippers even without any kisses just makes Zutara more powerful.

Argument: Null and void.

"Zutara makes no sense."

Oh but it does. It makes an awful lot of sense. A lot more sense than their ship.

Like their personal character arcs are so beautifully intertwined? They literally complete each others arcs? Them getting together would reinforce the main message of the show: healing and growth? They are both so alike yet different; they balance each other so perfectly? Zuko actively works toward improving Katara's mental health? Katara offers him endless support? They are so beautiful: I cry.

Argument: Null and void.

"Kat/aang is cAnOn!!!"

Do they have a better argument: No.

Like yeah, we know. We know that Kat/aang is canon. But we also know that the Zutara fanon is much better. And they know it too. That is literally why they feel the need to attack Zutara whenever they can. They can't even state valid points in their defense? And when you state logical points, they just— ignore it? It's almost like they harp about canon to remind themselves about it.

Argument: Even the arguer doesn't believe it.

Yes these are comments I saw with my own two eyes in the comments section. Is it just me or do Kat/aang shippers chose to remain wilfully ignorant about the context of the show?

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cheetahsprints · 4 years

Text

What You Needed to Hear

Summary: A late night visitor gives Catra a new perspective.

Rating: T (for mild suggestive themes)

Word Count: ~1.9k

Pairings: Catra/Adora, Minor Implied Glimmer/Bow

Additional Info: Catra’s POV, In-universe, Canon Compliant (ish), post-season 5, timey wimey magic wagic, camping, vague circumstances, fluff, mild angst, established relationship<3

If you like this, check out: Soulswap

It still feels like a dream that she expects to wake up from any moment. Adora leans on her as she laughs at some inside joke between her, Glimmer, and Bow. She pauses and shoots an anxious look at Catra. She merely smirks and glides her hand along Adora’s back to stroke her neck. The campfire crackles between them all, brushing Adora’s face with a flattering light. She’s long past her silly jealousy over Adora’s friends, because she has something with Adora they will never be privileged to have.

“Let’s hope the blanket monster isn’t stalking tonight,” Catra murmurs. Adora snorts and turns pink.

Glimmer gives Bow a questioning look, and he shrugs. They don’t ask. Catra rolls the memory in her mind - they’d been very young. She doesn’t quite remember what age. Adora was thrashing in her sleep, and she had kicked Catra, waking her up. In retaliation, Catra draped a blanket over her shoulders. She had called to Adora in a ghostly voice. As soon as she opened her eyes, Catra had stalked toward her, swaying from side to side.

Adora had released a blood-curdling scream that woke everyone up and made Shadow Weaver appear as though from thin air. They’d been harshly reprimanded, but it became a little joke Catra would occasionally use to cheer her up. It still amazed her how despite all the bad that truly happened during their days in the Horde, they could share somewhat fond memories.

Catra floats on the gentleness of the evening as idle conversation continues. She occasionally joins in with insight, but it’s mostly smart remarks - which serve another purpose of making Adora chuckle. It’s the kind of continuous moment that makes her take a mental step back to appreciate it all.

“Catra,” Adora says. Across from them, Glimmer has curled against Bow, and they’ve nodded off a bit. Bow is still semi-alert, Catra can tell by the way his muscles are tensed.

“Hmm?” Catra turns and realizes Adora is staring at her. Catra swallows thickly, captivated by steel blue eyes. “What are looking at, dummy?”

“Just you. I like looking at you.”

Catra feels herself flush. She starts to look down, but Adora softly grasps her chin. “Don’t do that.”

“What do you want from me? To thank you for - for -” Catra trails off, wincing at the harshness of her tone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re not used to it. But you don’t need to hide, got it?”

“Got it.”

Adora asks, “By the way why do you call me that? I know it isn’t to be mean. Dummy, I mean.”

“You’re my dummy,” Catra answers with a slight purr. “It’s an ironic endearment, I do think you tend to be a doofus, but in a good way.”

“Do - do you want me to call you anything aside from just your name?” Adora bites her lip. “I feel weird, not having something cute to call you, but I can’t think of anything clever. What am I supposed to call you? Smarty?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I like the sound of my name when you say it. But you can call me whatever... sweetie, darling, dearest, butt-head, sneezy, fuzzy pants - er - just not kitten. Coming from you anything else’s fine.”

“Sweetie...” The word is mumbled by Adora, who combs her fingers through Catra’s hair - it’s grown out a bit but still short - and settles her hands to cup behind Catra’s twitching ears. An anticipatory shiver travels up her spine.

Adora kisses her. Catra is jolted for a second before she relaxes and melts into the gesture. Despite being the one to initiate - well - everything - she continues to be taken aback by reciprocation. Catra deepens the kiss, and soon the fire isn’t the only thing that’s heated. Adora’s hand is trailing down her stomach, the other tightly gripping her thigh, when there’s a crashing noise and a pained grunt. Adora jerks away from her, glancing around wildly. Catra growls at the interruption. Her hearing keener, she adjusts an ear to pick up on a rustling noise. She whirls toward the sound.

“What’s the idea? Whoever you are, come out and face us coward,” Catra calls into the woods. A form materializes in the shadows. Catra can’t hold in a whimper. “Sh - Shadow -”

Adora - She Ra - steps in front of her, sword at the ready. Then, a familiar face appears - or rather mostly appears. Catra rubs her eyes - is she actually asleep? It’s her, but it’s not her. This façade has long hair, Horde garb, and half of her face and body are wrong - like some kind of glitch, like she’s being consumed by a void of space.

Hazy, contorted memories tickle the back of her mind. Glitch-Catra gazes at them with wide eyes. She whispers, “Where am I? What’s going on?”

Even her voice is distorted. Bow and Glimmer have woken up, and they’ve taken stances beside Adora. However, Adora relaxes. The She Ra persona disappears as Adora holds up placating hands. Glitch-Catra narrows her eyes and bares her teeth.

Glimmer questions, “What - what is this?!”

“My best guess would be a left over effect of the portal - it’s possible that during that time the Catra of the past briefly traveled forward in time before being yanked back. It was warping time and space, after all,” Bow states.

“You!” Glitch-Catra points at Adora. “What have you done to me?!”

Glitch-Catra makes to leap at her. Even though Adora is perfectly capable of defending herself, Catra jumps in front of her. She rests her right hand on Adora’s right shoulder and pushes her slightly back. Her other hand is unfurled menacingly, claws glinting in the moonlight.

“Don’t even think about it,” Catra hisses.

Glitch-Catra blinks at her. “Wh - you’re protecting her?”

Glimmer steps forward, hand aglow. Bow notches an arrow. Glitch-Catra’s ears and tail stand on end as she looks back and forth between them. Catra shakes her head. “Stand down, I’ll deal with this.”

To her shock, they listen. They vanish from her peripheral vision, presumably behind Adora now. Somehow, she has gained their trust and respect. Glitch-Catra looks around, and then she stares at her right arm and flexes the darkened fingers.

She rasps, “I - the portal. I really messed up didn’t I? Entrapta was right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me - what was I thinking?”

Having this reminder of her mistakes in front of her makes her insides painfully clench. She can’t help glancing back at Adora. Adora gently pushes her arm down and stands beside her. Catra takes a deep breath and slowly walks forward. Her hand is briefly caught by Adora’s and squeezed. Glitch-Catra raises her arms, claws out, as though to defend herself as Catra approaches.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“What... what about her?” Glitch-Catra peers over Catra’s shoulder, then their eyes meet again. Catra doesn’t answer. A memory, as sharp as a diamond and as frail as glass, pierces her mind. It’s disorienting, but she knows what she has to do.

She wraps her arms around Glitch-Catra’s shoulders and pulls her close. The memory overlaps with the present. Catra murmurs, “It’s okay, Catra. It’s all going to be okay. You’ll be okay. You’re not alone.”

She holds her past self tight and rocks her side to side a little. She poured all the love that the Horde, that Shadow Weaver, and most importantly herself never gave or truly showed her into those words. She can remember how it sounded to hear them herself. She can picture it, the way her eyes had widened, then closed - the tears that seeped into the shoulder of her - her then future self. She can picture her past self looking up to see Adora’s face, and the reassuring smile that graces her countenance.

Catra pulls away. She resumes her place at Adora’s side. Adora slips her hand into Catra’s and intertwines their fingers. Catra quietly sighs and wraps her tail around Adora’s leg. Glitch-Catra’s eyes slowly travel to a stop at their interlocked hands. Her mouth falls open slightly - at the time Catra had thought it was some kind of portal-induced fever dream. She’d written it off and gone after Adora in a state of uncontrollable rage and confusion. Seeing her past self, how angry and lost she looked, it gives her a swell of emotion.

Yet, even thinking it was a dream, it was part of what gave her the courage - to try to make everything right, to confess her feelings. The trees behind Glitch-Catra and the ground beneath her seems to warp. Then, she’s gone. Catra collapses into Adora and nuzzles her collarbone. She distantly hears the other two exchanging whispers, probably about what just occurred.

“I’m proud of you,” Adora says, kissing her forehead as she brings her free hand up to cup Catra’s jaw.

“Uh, for what?”

“Being kind to yourself.”

Catra scoffs. “It was destined. I was in her place once. This is kind of paradoxical if you think about it too hard... And - and you know I’m sorry right? I can’t believe I almost destroyed the whole world being a petty bi-”

Adora strokes her jaw. “Like you said, it’s okay. Or it will be - because you’re changing, you’re improving, and you’re not isolating yourself by pushing everyone - including your own conscience - away.”

Catra releases a shaky breath. She realizes she had begun to tear up.

“Maybe it was a dream the first time. Maybe you made it real,” Adora continues, “I think you told yourself what you needed to hear, what you wanted so desperately to hear... not from anyone else, but you needed to validate yourself.”

“Don’t be such a sap,” Catra remarks, but she’s grinning. “It was definitely just the way you smiled at me.”

“Catra.”

“Okay, okay, you’re kind of right! Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“Hmm... that’s not really the head I’m thinking of,” Adora whispers, lips brushing her ear. Catra’s tail unravels and twitches behind her. She cackles at that.

After a while, the fire is put out. Bow takes first watch, climbing up a nearby boulder because he knows better than to be in earshot. Catra wastes no time crawling into Adora’s sleeping bag beneath their tent, warm bodies pressing together and mouths fervently re-discovering each other. Hopefully, she can exhaust Adora enough that she won’t get kicked tonight.

When the sun rises, it brings the end of Catra’s shift. She sways on the spot for a moment before going to rouse everyone else. Her and Adora’s activities went on longer than expected, then Catra made the mistake of staying awake to look at Adora sleeping and think about the future. Once Adora is next to her, Catra goes limp. Adora catches her before she hits the ground.

Chuckling, Adora says, “Was your shift really that tiring? You look like you fought a battalion by yourself.”

“Haven’t slept, brain wouldn’t shut up,” Catra grumbles. “Carry me.”

“What, no -”

“Carryyy meee.”

“But Glimmer is going to teleport us to -”

“Please.” Catra opens her eyes to give Adora the most pleading look she can muster. She flicks Adora’s leg with her tail. “I won’t ask for anything else the rest of the day.”

“Oh, fine, but only because I love you.”

“Mmm... love you too.” Catra catches Adora’s smile before she closes her eyes again, and she smiles back. She doubts she’ll ever get tired of hearing that. There’s a flash of light past Catra’s closed eyelids, and she feels herself adjusted into a bridal carry. Gonna marry her, is the last thought Catra has before she loses consciousness in the security of Adora’s hold.

#catradora #spop #she-ra #she ra and the princesses of power #she-ra fanfic #my fic #self-worth issues /#self-love /#TFW a ship is canon and writing them in a relationship doesn't count as an AU #sdklfjdsklfds #considering most of my ships are non-canon rare pairs... heck yeah...#she-ra is spoon fed dopamine #... or is it serotonin?#eh w/e one of those

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winchester90210 · 4 years

Text

The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x20: Spring Training.

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

Chapter Summary: Alongside Brandon, you take a dive into the world of little league.

Word count: 2,000

Warnings: Swearing, brief mention of violence. Also... I know nothing about baseball.

A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this week’s episode! Took an extra week off to focus on my mental health and am feeling much better with everything now. I hope you guys are as excited as the next chapter as I am! It’s almost time for the spring dance :)

My work is to not be reposted/republished, and/or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is great and encouraged!!)

Feedback is very appreciated and encouraged!! :)

"With my dad laid up, we need all the help we can get. We’re practicing today if either of you want to join in on the festivities," Brandon persuades the two of you as you round the corner of the Peach Pit to sit at your usual booth. The familiar scent of pie crust and burgers fills the air, instantly putting your soul at ease.

"Thanks… but no thanks, slim," Dylan rejects him, sliding into the seat opposite of you while Brandon follows suit.

"Dylan, I thought you were a total baseball freak!" You tell him.

"I am, but listening to these parents berate their kids from the sidelines all day long," he shakes his head, cringing, "Brings back a whole slew of bad memories."

"But it shouldn't be about the parents!" Brandon protests, "It should be about being on a team, learning fundamentals, having a good time!"

"That's very noble, Brandon. But when I was playing? It was about winning at any cost necessary.” Dylan argues. Brandon sighs in defeat, looking to you.

"What about you, Y/N/N?"

"Not a chance,” you laugh.

"What? Why not?"

"Brandon… me and 20 kids, in an extremely competitive state? Did you learn nothing from the summer of '85?" You jest. Brandon chuckles at your extreme rejection, sliding a laminated menu your way.

"Wait… what happened in '85?" Dylan's eyes flicker cluelessly between the two of you, awaiting an explanation.

"Look, it was no big deal. Things got a little heated during one of Eric's little league games," you shrug dismissively, flipping through the Peach Pit's menu as if you didn't get the same thing every time.

"She beat up a nine-year-old,” Brandon quips.

“I didn’t beat up a—“ you pause, taking in a breath. “To put it simply I… put a kid back in his rightful place. He was picking on my brother, nothing happened that he didn't deserve."

“What’d you do, tackle him out on the field?” Dylan lifts his eyebrows, amused smile on his face.

“No, of course not!” You duck your head back into your menu, mumbling, “I went out there and hit him in the groin with his bat.”

The kids run out into the field, taking their positions with their needed equipment in hand. You lean back onto the warm metal fence, slipping a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to get a better look at Nat’s team. Without the glaring sun in your eyes.

“This is pathetic!” A young boy, adorned in a bright yellow Dukes uniform comes hurdling out from behind the fence to join Brandon and Steve. “They’re not even wearing uniforms!”

“So what?” Brandon shrugs, voice hardened, “It’s a practice game.” Steve leans into Brandon to whisper something to him, but since he lacks the levels of common decency that most people acquire by the age of five, he talks loud enough for the whole team to hear.

“They don’t look so good, Brandon.”

“It’s okay. They came to play, that’s the important thing.” Man… sometimes Brandon felt too good to be true. You’re convinced there has to be a catch at this point. Gorgeous, smart, great with kids. What’s next? He opens up an animal sanctuary for underprivileged strays? Buys a soup kitchen? “Listen up, you guys. The way you treat your competition is a direct comment on how you play the game. Good sportsmanship counts big time with me and my old man…” as he continues to ramble on, your thoughts begin to shift elsewhere. Like how good he looks. It’s purely criminal for anyone to look so hot in yellow. It’s an inherently unattractive color. Yet, there he is—coaching children in the blazing heat, instilling them with good sportsmanship, and all you want to do is to get him to yourself. That bastard. You shake it off, chalking it up to teenage hormones, and try to focus on the game.

“Hey doofus! You really eat toads!” The same kid whining about uniforms earlier is now directing all of his pent up privilege and ten-year-old angst towards the poor, sweet, small child from Nat's team, the Pitts, further solidifying your desire to never procreate.

“You’ll throw it better next time, Manny!” Nat encourages the little boy wholeheartedly, clapping for him as loudly as he can.

“Hey Corey! Throw it to the doofus, he’s a real toad!” Does this kid only know two insults? The smaller brunette, the less athletically gifted child hangs his head, kicking sand around the base plate in frustration. Brandon takes note of it, immediately bounding out into the middle of the game.

“Time out! Crawford, get in the game for Noah!” His voice is stern, and as he approaches the boy he’s in total coach mode. It’s kinda hot... Well, it’s not your fault baseball’s boring. Gotta keep yourself entertained somehow.

Steve stops Randy Crawford from going out from the fence with the back of his hand, and going after Brandon himself, sand slipping from under his shoes. You can’t hear what they're saying but you know it’s not the happiest conversation. Knowing them, you know exactly how this is playing out. You don’t even need to hear them. You can see Steve furrow his brows from the sidelines, and Brandon’s gesticulating with his hands wildly as they talk but can’t make out any words that are flying from their mouths. Brandon, the moral center of Los Angeles wants Noah out for being a little jerk. Steve, being Steve, would probably rather keep the better player in than save the self esteem of a little boy before it’s too late and it no longer exists. It’s not long until Brandon pats Steve hard on the shoulder, storming off the field in a blur of sand and sweat.

Well, that’s your cue to leave, isn't it? You go to follow Brandon out, but Steve stops you short.

“That boyfriend of yours is a total Boy Scout,” he spits.

“Well, someone’s gotta be," You scoff, eyes rolling, ”They’re just kids, Steve! This isn’t Major League Baseball. There’s no trophy, there’s no prize. There’s absolutely nothing at stake here. What they need to be doing is having fun, and while that snot-nosed little jerk is out there on the field, they’re all gonna be miserable.”

You flop down onto Dylan's couch, feet up on the armrest as he grabs a soda from the fridge and parks himself on the ottoman beside you. You exhale, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Rough day out with the little leaguers?"

"Rough day out with Steve," you snort. “I’m so used to being around Brandon I forget that people like Steve Sanders even exist.”

“Come on, Steve isn't that bad."

"Dylan, you're talking about the guy that got carjacked by a girl he was trying to hook up with, and still bailed her out of jail--despite the fact she robbed him justminutes before--in the hopes of getting laid, only for her to steal his wallet." Dylan's face screws in a mix of amusement and total disbelief.

"Okay, so he's that bad," Dylan laughs. "Sorry to break it to you, Y/N/N, but not everyone is a part of the illustrious Walsh family."

"Not everyone can be," you tease. He gently tosses you a throw pillow from the chair across the room, and you use it to prop up your head. "It’s a tragedy.”

“See, what did I tell you? Isn’t he sweet? Isn’t he great?” Brenda watches as you comb through the stray dog’s long gray fur. He really is cute… wet black nose, shaggy gray hair, big puppy dog eyes. But you can’t keep him. “I think he likes you!”

“Bren, as much as I’d love to take this puppy home, my parents would kill me!"

“Just take him for a trial run, and if you like him, keep him!”

“Bren—“

“Please?”

“Bren—“

“Come on!” She pleads.

“Fine! Okay, okay. I’ll see if we can take him in tomorrow night,” you concede, giving the dog one last pat on the head. Brenda squeals happily, a grin on her face as she wraps her arms around you.

“He’s great! You’ll love him!”

"Fine. See you later... Wally."

The four of you watch silently, perched up at the counter of the Peach Pit as Nat's baseball team chows down on slices of pepperoni pizza. We've got Nat to your far left, wondering how the hell they're going to survive against the team from Beverly Hills, then we've got Dylan to your left debating on whether to finally help Nat and shack up with the struggling team, Brandon to your right who hasn't lifted his hand from your upper thigh this whole time which is seriously distracting, and you, wondering how such little boys could devour so much pizza in so little time.

"You know the improvement from one week to the next is remarkable." You mumble.

"Oh yeah… the kids are showing a lot of promise." Brandon nods absentmindedly, bringing his cup to his lips.

"But…" Dylan begins, "you still need a pitcher that can put the ball over the plate."

"Yeah," Nat sighs, "but win or lose, the most important thing is how good the kids feel about themselves." He's trying to convince you, but the more he talks the more you know he's trying to convince himself.

"Absolutely." You agree.

"Totally." Brandon nods.

"Yeah, I mean, in the long run that's all that counts," Dylan shrugs, his voice coated with scepticism.

"Absolutely." Brandon concurs.

"Totally…” You say. “Y’know, I was talking to Andrea about this and she knows a pretty great player from the valley."

They all turn their heads, slowly, with Nat glancing from you to the phone. You roll your eyes at the boys, making your way over to the payphone. The group watches with bated breath behind you as you slip in the quarters and dial her number, waiting for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Andrea, hi! Listen, uh, do you remember the other day? You told me you knew some kid in the valley who was a major blue-chip little leaguer?"

"Oh, yeah! Avery?"

"Yeah… Avery." You twist your head back, giving them a smile and a thumbs up.

"What's Dylan doing? Bringing in a ringer?" Steve scoffs, twisting the metal bat in his hand as he cleans it. You exchange knowing smirks with Brandon as Dylan helps Avery get ready on the sidelines. She takes off her ball cap, releasing the foot of long brunette pony-tailed hair. Gasps are heard from center field, seemingly originating from Noah. Shocker.

"Oh my god! Dude, it's a girl!" He laughs out, adjusting his cap against the wind.

"Poor Dylan, he's really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?" Oh, if only you and that misogynistic head of yours knew, Steve-O. And surprise, surprise—Every pitch she's involved in ends up in a home run for the Pitts.

And little by little, much to your joy, Steve is getting progressively more aggravated— tapping feet, flaring nostrils, bugged-out eyes. You’re beginning to like baseball.

Eventually you make your way over to Brenda, off by the sidelines. You watch as they send Davey from the Dukes out, and Manny, the small, athletically challenged boy from the Pitts, isn’t far behind. Brandon perks up, calling a timeout to give what you can only assume is another one of his infamous Brandon talks to his team. After a moment the team breaks up, moving into their correct positions and as Manny chokes up on his bat ready to pitch. You cringe, hiding your face in your hand.

But it's nothing short of a miracle as Davey throws the ball. It makes contact with Manny's bat, soaring across the field as he jets off across the bases. The catcher from the Dukes runs for the ball, tripping over his own foot and skidding across the grass. The whole team erupts into ecstatic cheers, rushing out and lifting Manny onto their shoulders. You know that Davey blew the pitch for him, you’ve seen him pitch a hundred times. But seeing the joy on that little boy's face, you knew that it didn't matter.

"Poor kid," Brenda sighs, looking out to the opposite direction to Randy Crawford, the catcher that landed face-first into the grass. "I mean, he really gave it his best-- Wally!"

"Wally? Bren, what're you-- oh my god! That is Wally!" Off in the distance, you can see the gray ball of hair hurdling towards the baseball diamond.

"That's not Wally! That's Rupert! It's my dog, he's back!" Randy gasps, watching in amazement as his shaggy mutt runs across the crowds and into his open arms.

"Hey uh," Brandon comes to greet you, but is looking out into the field as well, "isn't that supposed to be your dog, Y/N/N?"

"No, Brandon," Brenda shakes her head, light smile lacing her lips. "I guess that's Randy's dog…" You sigh, but seeing the little boy giggle with glee as Wally-- er, Rupert, laps at his cheek, there's no troubling emotions to be found.

"I'm sorry, Y/N/N," Brandon laces his fingers with yours, grabbing your attention with a soft kiss to your temple.

"I'm not," you assure him. You smile, the sight of the boy reuniting with his long lost dog something straight out of a movie scene. One last look and you turn away from the boy, eyes meeting your boyfriend’s. “Hey, Brandon... have a date for that dance yet?”

Taglist: @be-patient-be-good @mpmarypoppins @bevelyhills90210 @blueoz @princess-ghost-alien @hueycat2004 @l4life @keepcalm-and-beyou @isthatabutterfly @rosy-pugs @thewalshess

#beverly hills 90210 #bh90210 #90210 #brandon walsh x reader #jason priestley x reader #beverly hills 90210 imagine #90210 imagine #brandon walsh #jason priestley #steve sanders #ian ziering #gif is mine #dylan mckay #luke perry #90s fanfiction #90s x reader

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jayxscripta · 3 years

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The Mahaigner - Chapter Seven

When you're not sure what to put but you want to put something:

hi :)

Madeline was jolted awake as the aircraft shuddered. And it took her more than a few frantic moments to realize that she was causing the turbulence.

Shooting up, she uncurled her left arm and leg. Both were buzzing like a television with no signal. Despite that, she guessed she hadn’t been asleep for long. “You okay?” Rogers called from across the jet. He was strapped in a seat—as was everyone else, she realized.

“I think so,” she replied, nodding. She rubbed her arm and avoided looking at them again. “That’s never happened before.” In all the times she’d known about her powers, they’d only ever manifested when she was awake. Assuming, of course, that she would know if she had used them in her sleep.

“That was you?” Ivanoff asked. She didn’t seem too surprised, just as if she wanted to confirm a suspicion. “Told you it wasn’t wind.”

“I don’t know if I should be relieved or more worried,” Wilson said. “Can you control it?”

Madeline considered her options: lie or confess that there was a strong chance she might drag them right out of the sky. “It’s touch and go,” she settled.

Ivanoff’s brows lifted. “We’ll have to work on that. But we’re almost there, so hopefully that one was just a fluke.”

Madeline blinked, her curiosity piqued. “How do you control your powers?”

The ex-Avenger hesitated. “It’s complicated,” she said finally, “A combination of things. I’ve been practicing keeping them down for so long it’s second nature and using them doesn’t require a lot of work. But it’s like a part of me is always concentrating on them, even if I’m not actively thinking about them at all.”

“Do you ever slip?”

She nodded briefly. “Yeah. When I’m really cold, or sick. Or pissed off—” her eyes flickered to Loki “—that can affect them. At least a little.”

“Would it ease your mind if I stopped breathing?” Loki asked, a blasé edge laced into the rhetorical proposition. Apparently, he had also noticed Ivanoff’s side-eye.

“No, it would just give me guilt, unfortunately,” she said matter-of-factly. “But tell me, did the last person you tried to kill forgive you so quickly?”

“My brother has the gift of being incredibly forgiving and also stupid at the same. So yes, I suppose,” Loki answered, his bored tone wavering.

“Yours is a strange family.”

Wilson snorted, evidently paying closer attention to the conversation than Madeline had previously thought. “Says the woman who faked her own death to avoid being imprisoned by her cousin,” he said, sounding unfittingly amused.

Ivanoff looked almost affronted. “Excuse me. I did almost die. It’s not my fault that him and everyone else thought I actually did,” she returned. Wilson stifled another laugh.

“Could’ve called him. He has that old ass phone Steve gave him,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Steve,” she declared, pointing to Rogers, “could just have easily told him I was alive in that letter.”

Rogers sighed, quite loudly, head buried in a tablet. “Please, leave me out of this.” He sounded less than thrilled. Judging by the nature of the conversation, it seemed to be one they had had many, many times before.

Madeline got the distinct feeling this was usually how the topic was shut down. There was a nagging voice inside her head saying that Ivanoff was wrong—she was dodging the issue, as if she thought Stark didn’t care. Or that she thought he shouldn’t know she was still alive. That if he had known she was alive he would never stop trying to throw her into some maximum-security prison.

She didn’t have much experience with these types of family problems, but Madeline could recognize regret when she saw it.

Somehow, though, this didn’t seem the time or place to say such a thing. Ivanoff may have deserved to know, but she probably didn’t want to. So, despite her better judgement, Madeline muted her conscience and turned her gaze away to a nearby wall that was suddenly looking a lot more interesting.

“When we land, I’ll let Shuri know to have a look at you,” Ivanoff said, changing the topic. “Make sure they didn’t do any permanent damage. They looked like a different version than what I’ve worn.”

“Well, upgrades and such,” Madeline murmured, shaking out her arm one last time. Finally, the tingling was gone.

Rogers looked up from his work. “Are we close, Sam?”

“A minute, according to these coordinates. You sure about this? Crashing a plane into the side of a mountain isn’t really how I want to go,” he answered, staring suspiciously at the forest in front of them. Madeline gulped and strapped herself in, feeling as though she were in some sort of game, racing against a clock. Quick! Fasten your seatbelts before you crash into the hillside!

“I have to say, I agree,” Loki commented. “This doesn’t seem all too safe.”

Rogers stared out the cockpit window stoically. “Just wait.”

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut in nervous anticipation as the jet neared the hillside. But the impact never came, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a futuristic city nestled in a valley instead of a bright white light.

“This is Wakanda?” she asked, astonished. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

Ivanoff smiled a little. “It never gets old.”

“I’ll speak to T’Challa, explain the situation, since they were only expecting us to bring Loki,” Rogers spoke, directing his statement at to his companions. “Make sure her powers are handled as quickly as you can, just in case.”

“Let’s take her to Shuri’s lab, then,” Ivanoff responded, but she didn’t sound extraordinarily concerned. Madeline hoped her powers wouldn’t manifest and knock somebody out again before that. The last thing she needed was to be arrested again.

The jet banked ever so slightly in response to Ivanoff’s words. Madeline had a good guess where she was going now.

There was barely a shudder from the plane as they touched down. The ramp lowered, and the sun blazed into her eyes. She squinted and fumbled with the release to her seatbelt straps. Was that sunrise or sunset? Probably sunset, but regardless, the jet lag would follow.

“We’re here,” Ivanoff said, breaking into her thoughts. “You’re ready, I hope.”

Madeline rose from her seat and looked cautiously out the door—she always knew, deep down, she’d end up in a laboratory eventually. “Should I be worried?”

Ivanoff shrugged. “Probably not.”

They exited the jet, the laboratory looming before her. It reminded her more of a monument than anything—an architectural feat, a unique work of some type of metal, rising like a dagger into the golden sky.

A stiff breeze lifted Madeline’s hair off of her shoulders and into her eyes, and she had to peel it away from her face just to see the ground beneath her feet. What exactly awaited her inside? She was staking most of her hope for safety on the assumption that the ex-Avengers wouldn’t lock her in a prison or lab out of fear that she was evil or dangerous. Given their history with superpowers, she didn’t think they would. But she figured she had every right to doubt.

After navigating the bright hallways of the building, they entered what she assumed was the laboratory. No sooner had they stepped foot inside then they were greeted with a cheery voice. “And what do you bring me this time, Miss Ivanoff?”

“Hello to you to,” Ivanoff said, rolling her eyes in a way that was somehow playful, as opposed to the usual condescending way Madeline had picked up on. She presented Madeline with a small flourish. “I bring you another broken white girl.”

“I appreciate the challenge.”

Ivanoff bumped fists with the young girl who stood waiting for them. “I think every time I come, I bring some new project, Shuri. But if you’re okay with it—”

“Okay with it?” Shuri echoed. “I love it. Gives me reason to look forward to your visits.”

“Ouch,” Ivanoff said, feigning hurt, though it didn’t last very long. The corner of her lip quirked up and she passed the power cuffs off to Shuri. “You’ll have fun with this one.”

She examined the cuffs closely. “Are these what I think they are?”

“Yep. Power draining cuffs.”

“Better than the ones they put on you,” she nodded to Ivanoff, “they’ve improved the quality since then. But they’re still too dangerous.”

“I noticed. I passed out just a few minutes after they put them on,” said Madeline.

“That makes sense. But it isn’t a side effect of your powers going away. Think of all the times Tori used drugs to suppress her powers and never had any lasting effects.”

“Except for the withdraw,” Ivanoff reminded.

“Yes, except for that.”

“So, then what made me pass out?” Madeline asked, puzzled.

“These cuffs are designed to slow your heart rate and put you in a sort of comatose state, so you’re physically unable to use your powers,” Shuri explained. “It’s beyond dangerous for long term use, as we’ve seen before,” she nodded again to Ivanoff. “Unfortunately, the UN is perfectly okay with killing enhanced people if it means they can’t use their powers.”

“That sounds about right.”

“After Siberia, when Captain Rogers brought her here, I was able to take the cuffs they used on her and adapt them into a prototype so that they work without killing the person they’re on. But if you’re okay with waiting a little longer, I’d like to make some adjustments as needed. I’m sure Tori’s abilities and yours are very different.”

“Wildly,” Madeline muttered.

“What can you do, exactly?”

Madeline shrugged. “Pull the souls out of people?”

Ivanoff stopped short. “What?”

“I’m not entirely sure how it works, that’s just how Dr. Strange explained it to me. And I can’t control it—it just happens.”

“How many times has it happened?”

She mentally recounted the incidents. “Three, now. But it’s gotten more frequent.”

“And on the quinjet? What happened there?”

Madeline’s memory flickered back to her last day at the compound. “I think that I can animate things. Mostly jets, it seems.”

Shuri sifted through the various items lying on her worktable, brows furrowed. “Like psychokinesis?”

She shook her head slowly. “I think it’s different than that.”

Shuri directed her towards a chair, holding her selected equipment. Madeline eyed it critically. A thermometer? A blood pressure monitor? This was starting to seem more like a doctor’s visit than anything. “Not gonna lie, I was expecting something a little more…” she hesitated, “probey.”

“Later we can run more extensive tests,” Shuri assured her, eyes bright, “MRIs, blood tests, cellular evaluation. But right now, you need to rest. And there are many ways to detect enhanced abilities. Even through something as simple as your heartrate.”

Shuri pressed the cold end of the thermometer, which looked more like a tiny handgun than anything, against her forehead. After a few seconds it beeped, and the young girl scribbled something on a chart that was on the table. As she was taking her blood pressure, Madeline took the opportunity to look around the lab.

Though the walls were mostly dark, and the windows peered into a dimly lit cave, the laboratory was still bright. But not in the harsh way she would have imagined a lab would like. This seemed more… welcoming, with a clutter of projects spread across the various workbenches. She made a mental note to ask Shuri all about them next time she was in the laboratory.

She was startled out of her admiring by an insistent beep. She looked down to her arm, but it wasn’t the blood pressure monitor. It was Ivanoff’s pager, and by the look on her face, it was something important. “That was Steve—he says we have to get back. Now.”

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takaraphoenix · 4 years

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This may or may not be a touchy question (I guess it depends?), but how do you deal with hate with people who don't particularly like your work or the pairings you like? Because I've seen a fair amount of people stop creating content they want to make because of the backlash or hate they get simply for shipping something, so I do wonder... How do you do it? After all these years, how are you still standing, head held up high? – Much love! <3

I suppose a huge part in that is... personality? I mean, what type of person one is. Some people are very sensitive and negativity gets to them heavily.

Which, is ironic, because I am normally that type of person. I always overthink what other people may think of me and in real life I am easily deterred.

But something about the internet changes the dynamic for me.

If it’s in person? If someone looks me in the eye and criticizes the things I like? That has me fuming. But ain’t nothing more unpersonal than getting an anon and having this round fella with the sunglasses stare at you, or having a “guest” on AO3 comment something nasty.

Because they’re cowards. And the cowardice of the other party tells me that, so a certain degree, they themselves know they’re full of shit. Because if they were confident in what they’re saying, if they knew they were right with whatever they’re claiming, there’s no need to go anon. They could tell me “to my face” - as much as the internet allows that; by being logged in and starting a dialogue.

But someone who hides behind the grey round fella with the sunglasses to tell me I’m morally wrong? Makes me genuinely laugh. Because if I were, you had no reason to hide.

(At this point, I’d like to add, since you’re on anon too, that there’s different reasons for going on anon. Sometimes, it’s shyness. But if you think yourself morally superior to someone and want to ring the bell of shame behind them, you can’t hide behind anonymity. That’s different.)

I just really can’t take people seriously who hide in the shadows of anonymity to scream at me about how wrong I am. You’d do that with confidence if you knew you were right. But they’re wrong and full of shit. Because they are.

There is no “right” or “wrong” about taste. A ship ain’t only valid for being morally upstanding, pure, canon, whatever. And a person ain’t inherently vile for shipping something that’s unleathy, or toxic, or whatever buzzword they throw around.

Which is another part. I just... absolutely can not take anyone seriously who throws buzzwords around wildly and with no foundation, because they lack any common sense.

Yeah, they’re brothers and it’s incest, what do I care, they’re also fictional characters, I ain’t telling two real life brothers to bang and get married, what’s wrong with the people who can’t tell fiction apart from reality. That’s just pitiful.

I’ve also seen the other side of that. I’ve seen antis ship the exact thing that they’re judging, insulting and harrassing other shippers for. From incest to abuse apologism to just plain toxic canon dynamics. All the things they find a justification to harrass others about, but they ship things of that kind themselves. But their ships are ““different”“ from the ones they hate.

It all boils down to taste and it boils down to a bunch of morons who can’t grasp the concept of “taste” and the fact that... you can like something without it being pure and you can dislike something without it being every shade of morally corrupt.

They bend over backward to find justifications for why the ships they dislike are inherently bad, while they also bend over backward to justify why the exact same things they judge other ships for are actually wholesome and pure in the ships they like.

And at that point, I just genuinely feel bad for those people and am terrified for them. Because I am fully aware of what I ship. I know every deprived nook and cranny of my ships. I know the exact level of toxicity of the canon dynamics. I’m just also aware that they’re fictional characters. But the moment you start reaching to justify why abuse isn’t technically abuse, that’s when it becomes worrisome. And that’s what they do, to justify their own ships.

Now, I’m not gonna lie, this isn’t an attitude I always had and it’s not something I just woke up with one day.

I’ve been in fandom for 15 years now. I’ve seen a lot and I’ve dealt with a lot. I’ve seen when shipwars were primarily reserved to the canon straight love triangles. I’ve seen it devolve into “your ship isn’t valid the gays are getting in the way of the CANON STRAIGHTS”. I’ve seen the number of canon gays grow in media and how it affected these ship wars, invalidating ships where a canon gay ship was split up. And now this shit-show of antis.

My attitude grew out of seeing and experiencing a lot. I was lucky to be “raised” in a safe fandom environment, where the fandom olds took us youngsters under their wings and guided us, taught us how to improve our writing, helped us establish connections in a community.

And that last part, that’s important. Important in dealing with hate. Maybe the most important part, really. You have to find your community. Don’t let yourself be sucked into a circle of hate. Find the people who love the same things as you - the same show, the same characters, the same ships. Form friendships, find that community of positivity.

Fandom is what you make it. Even when other people try to make it something else, try to turn it into a hateful, gross place filled with harrassment and fear and moral policing. Regardless of how hard they try; your fandom is up to you.

Find the people who bring the positivity, who will come into your fics and leave reviews of love and positivity. And weed out the bad. Block them. Block the antis in your fandom, avoid them. Sometimes, preemtively going into an anti tag and just going on a block-spree can be really helpful already. You can block anons on tumblr too! Granted, only their ID, but at one point they’re gonna run out of devices to post anon hate from.

That much to my personal attitude toward it. Now to the act of actually dealing with it.

Many adivse, rightfully so, to ignore it. AO3 allows you to delete comments. On tumlr, you can just delete an anon and not answer it. Especially when you’re the type who is affected by it, not engaging is the best solution.

Personally, I like arguing with people. Everyone who ever talked to me might have noticed that. I live for a good argument. And I’m really bad at letting something just stand. So I usually argue back. I do that, because I am very bad at keeping my mouth shut, but also because it brings me a certain amount of glee to mock their nonsense.

I do it here. I have my “Dear Anonymous Shithead” tag where I address anon bullshit and anon hate from FFNet and AO3 - because FFNet doesn’t let you answer to anons. And then I delete the original comments on my fics, because I don’t like shitstains on my fics.

I call that approach meeting them on your own terms. Because they think they are doing something grand somehow by publicly leaving their vile comments on your fics. Delete them, take their voice away. Put it somewhere else to argue their nonsense on your own terms, mock them if you want, it’s fun. Fight your battle, the way you want to fight it - and that does include just deleting them and not engaging at all; that’s not running away, that’s self-care.

Like I said, my attitude’s not always been like that. It got me before too. Way, way back - and I really do mean way back, it’s been surely over five years ago - there was a tumblr account on here that spent an unreasonable amount of time openly hating on me. It’s the reason I avoided getting a tumblr, because back then I was not in a mental state to openly engage with such a hateful place.

And it’s still a hateful place; all those anti communities here. People proudly proclaiming they’re antis in their biography. People taking screenshots of other tumblrs or artists to mock them and make fun of them. The thing that changed isn’t tumblr, it’s me. I waited to engage with this place until I was ready to engage with it. I got my tumblr account when I already had the attitude of scoffing at anon hate.

I do think that only getting actively involved in a website when you are ready for it is another important part. The thing you mention in your ask, the people who stopped creating because of anon hate. It breaks my heart, it absolutely does, and I hate losing creators to it, but I do think that if those creators made that judgment call for themselves and their own mental health because they knew they couldn’t handle the harrassment, then they did the right thing. Even if they themselves may hate it, because they want to create. But sometimes, taking a step back is the right thing to do. I do hope that they will find it in themselves to overcome this and come back stronger, but constant harrassment and bullying can have severe consequences on a person and removing yourself from that kind of environment can sometimes be a last resort that needs to be taken.

I’ll also admit that I’ve been calculating what fandom to interact with to what degree ever since I got a tumblr account and started to see just how deep the hatred goes. Some things I might have created for, but I saw just how nasty the antis in the fandom were and... it wasn’t worth the fight for me.

Percy Jackson and Shadowhunters are my loves. My ride-or-die fandoms. I can, and will, fight for them. No one will chase me out of these fandoms, regardless of what kinds of insults and bullshit they throw at me. I’ve been here years longer than most of these newbie antis and I will be here long after they moved on to other things.

New things that I don’t have attachment to, I will weight if my level of interest in the thing will be worth engaging with the fandom nonsense with. Sometimes, it’s not, sometimes I make the judgment call for myself to step a way from a thing.

I admit, that happend with Teen Wolf too. Back when I did my last rewatch and enthusiastically engaged with it on here on tumblr, live posting about my rewatch and it... showed me startling, ugly sides of this fandom that I hadn’t known before, back when all my engagement had been to read fics and to write that one fic I had. That rewatch could have dragged me back into the deep end - but the brand of hate I encountered here... genuinely got to me. It really messed with my head, a lot, I’ve never been threatened before, I’ve never been insulted and constantly harrassed to such a degree. It was the first time I ever turned off anon on here, it put me into a sense of dread for just coming online for a while. I didn’t expect that, neither that it’d happen nor the extend of it or that it’d get to me like this. I still love Sterek to bits and pieces, it’ll be one of those ships I will always be attached to, but that experience with the bad side of the fandom made me recoil from getting involved with Teen Wolf again.

But in the Percy Jackson fandom? I’ve stood here for ten years now. I’ve gotten shit thrown at me about pretty much anything. I’ve also created over five hundred works for this fandom. I have received love and excitement in comments. I have received fanarts. I have received fanfiction to my fics. I’ve gotten fics dedicated to me by people who liked my work and wanted to write something nice for me. I’ve met one of my best friends and I’ve met my girlfriend in this fandom. Sure, I’ve been called names and been mocked, but I also know what I have.

I know I’m a damn good writer. I may not have much self-esteem, but what little self-esteem I have is located here, in the very thing they think they can attack. The thing is, I have no insecurities in this. This is the one area where you can’t attack me. And on top of that, I have that community of amazing people who love the same things as I do. I have the support, the friends, the shared hype. What do I care about some pitiful little fool hiding behind anonymity to whine about how wrong and gross I am? Their opinion weights nothing compared to that of the people who leave me anon love, who leave me squealy and excited comments.

To sum it all up:

Someone who has to hide behind anonymity is aware they don’t have the moral high ground.

Their definition of the “moral high ground” is so pitiful that it makes me feel bad for them.

I know the difference between fiction and reality and I pity the fools who don’t.

Find a positive fandom space for yourself and claim it.

Either delete anon hate, or meet it on your own terms.

Sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes, I lose and the hate does get to me.

You need to make the judgment call for yourself, if you can mentally handle a situation or not, and do what is best for you.

#About Me #Fandom Life #How To Handle Antis #Fandom Discourse #and how to handle that #Phoe Giving Advise #Anonymous

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avatar-the-last-jerkbender · 4 years

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Shatter: An OiKage Fic

Of all the things he expected to see in his kitchen, his former senpai was not one of them. Yet there Oikawa was, cheeks flushed with alcohol and beer bottle in hand, throwing his head back to laugh at some joke his friend made.

“Say, Hinata,” Kageyama asked, trying to keep his voice level while he mentally screamed and ripped out all his hair, “What is Oikawa-san doing in my apartment?”

His orange haired companion laughed. “I invited him, obviously!”

Kageyama knew the two of them met up in South America (he had seen the selfie Hinata posted, bitterness creeping up his throat as he scrolled through the social media feed) but hadn't known they were close enough for party invitations. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a ‘small get together’ anyways?” Kageyama asked, head still reeling at the sheer amount of people in the space and the appearance of Oikawa.

Hinata had come back from Brazil a few weeks ago, sporting a farmer’s tan and a wild grin on his face. He was staying with Kageyama for the time being and had decided to get back into the swing of things by throwing a party.

While convincing the setter, he had called it a ‘small get together’. “Just to get back in touch with people and meet some new ones,” Hinata said. “It’ll be fun.”

It was not fun. When Kageyama had left to get snacks it was just their old Karasuno teammates and a few of his national team friends. The conversation was pleasant and the setter had thought that maybe this was a good idea after all. But once he returned with the boxes of Hot Pockets from their local conbini, it was chaos. He had to fight his way through hordes of strangers with the bass of some shitty pop song thrumming throughout the apartment.

It was a wonder the neighbors hadn’t complained about the noise yet, Kageyama had despaired before finally spotting Hinata’s wild hair and making a beeline for it.

He was going to murder that midget.

Hinata smacked him aggressively on the back, letting out a laugh. “Relax Bakageyama! Just have a drink-” a red solo cup full of sloshing liquid was pushed into his free hand- “and enjoy yourself for once.”

For a moment Kageyama considered it. He had just experienced a particularly rough training session today, the blue-eyed setter reasoned. He put the cup to his lips and was ready to drink, when Oikawa’s chocolate eyes flickered to his.

Kageyama hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at the other man all this while. For a moment their gazes held, and his stomach somersaulted aggressively. But then he saw the mirth on Oikawa’s face leak away, replaced by an expression he couldn’t understand. Suddenly, the buzz of chatter and laughter hit him, seeming to weigh him down and drain what was left of his energy.

“Okay, nope,” he declared, setting the bag of Hot Pocket boxes down on a counter and pushing the cup back towards Hinata. “We need to talk. Now.”

Ignoring the shorter boy’s squawk of protest, he grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the bathroom.

Once they were inside, Kageyama slammed the door, locked it, and sat down heavily on the toilet seat. “Help.”

“With what?” Half the cup's contents had sloshed onto Hinata’s shirt, Kageyama noticed distantly. The rest of his head was filled with whirring white noise, and thoughts of OikawaOikawaOikawa.

“With him, dumbass!” He couldn’t stop the note of panic from entering his voice.

He didn’t have to state the name- Hinata knew. Yet for someone who could practically read Kageyama’s mind, the orange-haired spiker was incredibly dense. “Maybe I shouldn’t have invited Oikawa…” he mumbled, staring contemplatively into the depths of the cup.

“Yeah, no shit!” A knock came at the bathroom door and the duo shouted “Occupied!” before returning to the conversation at hand.

“You could just ignore him. You seemed to be having fun before you realized he was here,” Hinata said.

Kageyama shook his head, leaning his back against the cool porcelain. “I… can’t do that.” Oikawa was like a magnet, he thought. Pulling everyone in and wrapping them around his finger while Kageyama had the charisma of a dead rat. Yet despite their seething rivalry and the way Oikawa seemed to make it his mission to make the younger volleyball player suffer, Kageyama respected him. How could he hate the person who shaped the way he trained, the way he played? “I think he hates me,” he mumbled, pulling up his knees to rest his chin on them.

Hinata aggressively shook his head. “You two might have trouble getting over your teenage beef but I guarantee, Oikawa does not hate you.”

This was news. “What?”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hinata repeated, taking a swig of what was left of the drink. “I’ve heard him talk about you. Did you know he looks up to you?” he added abruptly.

Kageyama felt dizzy. He pressed the heels of his hands hard enough into his eyelids to see spots before responding. “He what?”

“You’re very articulate today, aren’t you?” the spiker chortled, before quailing under Kageyama’s glare. “Sorry, sorry. But Oikawa told me he’s seen your professional games and I think he even mentioned how you’ve improved once or twice.”

“When did you become such good friends? Why didn’t I know about this before?” Kageyama’s voice felt as though it was coming from miles away. He spotted a hole in the knee of his black jeans and began picking at the threads around it, trying to absorb everything.

“I told you he’d mellowed out. And I didn’t think it was important.” Hinata shrugged, eyes slightly unfocused.

“You didn’t think it was important that he-” the setter gesticulated wildly in the air, unsure how to convey his feelings towards his idol, his rival, his he-didn’t-even-know-what anymore “-was talking about me?”

“Nope! I didn’t think either of you cared this much” Hinata plastered a dopey grin on his face, before sliding down against the wall onto the floor. “Although in hindsight I guess you guys do.”

“So now what?” Kageyama groaned.

“You’re probably going to kill me for saying this but… have you considered maybe talking to him?”

Kageyama didn’t shoot a death glare at his friend this time and actually considered, thinking of a nose that crinkled during a smile, and of hair that seemed to defy the laws of physics and sweating. He also considered the rage simmering behind tawny irises and a pale hand seconds away from striking him. He made the hole in his pants slightly larger, threads tensing and snapping under his finger. “Pass.”

Hinata stretched languidly against the wall, cracking his neck. “If you’re worried about him hitting you again, I don’t think he will. He was just a kid, Yamayama. And so were you. It might be time to move past that.”

“He can talk to me then,” Kageyama complained, not noticing the way his friend rolled his eyes. This went beyond him almost getting smacked as a first year at Kitagawa Daiichi.

“You know he’s as stubborn as you are. He’s probably afraid too.” Hinata was surprisingly lucid and gentle, considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed. “One of you has to stop being a child eventually.”

“You know what? You’re right.” The setter got up, steeling his nerves. He and Oikawa were still officially at one win, one loss. Every moment between them was a contest, every word, gesture, action part of a plan to come out on top. This conversation would just be one more of those encounters.

“Go get ‘em, King.” Hinata once again clapped his friend on the back, before getting up and exiting the bathroom himself.

Kageyama exhaled, finally getting past the doorway just to be pushed aside by Nishinoya making a bolt for the toilet.

He made his way to the center of the party, following Hinata. Kageyama thought he was ready. He thought he was prepared for closure. Yet when he saw Oikawa walk past him, his heart leapt into his throat, choking him.

“O-Oikawa-san,” he managed to squeeze out around the sudden lump. He wanted to tell the other setter everything. He wanted to spill his guts until there was nothing left, until Oikawa finally understood all the ways he made Kageyama’s head spin.

If the older volleyball player heard his voice, there was no indication- Oikawa continued stalking towards the front door, jaw set a little tighter and eyes focused forward.

As Kageyama stared holes into the other setter’s back, he swore he heard something inside both of them shatter.

cross-posted on AO3

#oikage #oikawa tooru #kageyama tobio #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#oikage fanfiction #reposting sorry #ramblingraccoon writes

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

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Chapter 8, Memory

Final part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series, started under the Untamed Spring Fest 2020 event:

Please see the reblogged version of this under the my-writing and songxiao-fix-it-series tags on my blog - will be a pinned post for the next little while - for links to previous chapters/the Ao3 version!

4,134 Words

“Remember your assignment, Xiao-daozhang!” Wen Qionglin said good-naturedly, although Song Lan knew that undertone well, the one that softly implied an or else if the kindly reminder wasn’t heeded.

And with a soft nod from Xingchen, and the requisite farewell bows, Wen Qionglin had gone.

The farm was quiet.

For the first time since Xingchen had awoken in Cloud Recesses, the two were truly alone.

It had been Wei Wuxian’s idea.

“You know,” he had said, chewing thoughtfully on a particularly tough piece of pork, “Lan Zhan tells me that your guqin playing has gotten pretty good, Song-daozhang. Right, Lan Zhan?”

Hanguang-Jun, apparently long resigned to his husband’s insistence on starting conversations not only during meal times, but mid-bite, nodded.

“I wonder if… now that you don’t usually even need an interpreter… if you two might want some… alone time?”

To Song Lan’s relief, Xingchen (having completely missed the combination of Wei Wuxian’s suggestive eyebrow raise and Hanguang-Jun’s silent mouthing of Wei Ying!, and the sudden flush Song Lan could feel rushing to his face) was able to, quite innocently, consider the idea, “Hmm… I mean, if you two don’t mind us being here alone, then it might be nice… I mean… it might be good to test how well this works, just the two of us… if we are to… to travel alone again.” Xingchen’s voice faded out, and Song Lan felt his heart quicken. They had not yet discussed what might follow their time at the farm. For months, it had seemed enough to imagine that where they were might as well have been where they always were, where they would forever be, even though both knew there had been a beginning and so there would be an end.

But now… Xingchen’s mental state had seemed to be improving steadily as of late. There were still nightmares, still outbursts. But they were more controlled. Xingchen seemed to be getting more comfortable with the idea that these emotions would rise from time to time, and, at least out loud, did not chastise himself so much for them.

“What do you think, Zichen?” and with this offer of a future, of a something that came next, of a return to something that looked like the normal of his life twenty years ago, of course, Song Lan caught the other’s hand and squeezed a quick, enthusiastic, Yes.

And so, after seeking Wen Qionglin’s approval of the suggestion, the date was set for the cessation of Wen Qionglin, Wei Wuxian, and Hanguang-Jun’s rotating visits. Letters were sent to the Juniors, who were liable to pop by at a moment’s notice, that the farm would be off limits until and unless Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen decided otherwise.

It would be just the peace and quiet that the two had wanted, had deserved, for so long. Just the right way to ease back into the peace and quiet on the road that so clearly characterized Song Lan’s favourite memories - the two of them alone, side by side.

Or so Song Lan had thought.

Barely five weeks in, he began to feel restless. He and Xingchen went about the daily chores, took boat rides, had picnics, cooked, cleaned, took walks, explored. But the farm was starting to feel exceptionally small without the ever-rotating collection of friends (did Song Lan dare acknowledge them as family?) to distract from the sameness of the scenery, the sameness of the limited range of activities. Fuxue seemed to whine at his back, Shuanghua humming comfortingly, but Song Lan felt that it too wondered, why, now that they were not held here by obligations to friends and family, they were not pursuing far more important matters.

But it was also Shuanghua that brought echoing words of Wen Qionglin back to Song Lan, words that reminded him that there was still work to be done. Here. Now. Work that needed this quiet alone time to work itself out.

Why does Song-daozhang still carry Shuanghua for you?

Remember your assignment!

Song Lan wondered what that assignment might be, but never dared intervene or ask about Xingchen’s solo sessions with Wen Qionglin. It had hurt at first, to be suddenly excluded from the meetings, but he had soon recalled what his early sessions had been like, and flinched at the thought of Xingchen being there. He had been grateful even then that he had been using sign language at the time. He didn’t even have to worry about Xingchen overhearing anything in a moment of lucidity from the spirit pouch that had never left his side.

If Wen Qionglin had taken the time to remind Xingchen of the assignment as he left, it must have been important. He was sure Xingchen had not forgotten, but knowing Wen Qionglin, it wouldn’t be anything easy.

It was clear Xingchen was working hard on his recovery. Song Lan did not think Xingchen realized how light a sleeper he was now, but every morning Song Lan watched, as Xingchen reached for the blade. He saw that, every morning, he flinched away. A full arm’s length still between his fingers and Shuanghua. He watched how Xingchen steadied himself before standing back up, seeming to conclude that today, again, was not the day. Xingchen would sigh, unconsciously letting his fingers brush the raised scar, the only spot on Xingchen that Song Lan tried to avoid looking at, before lying back in bed.

Xingchen would then let a hand drift over to Song Lan - maybe to his hair, his waist, his arm - before apparently falling asleep so the two of them would seem to wake up together just a little later (Song Lan always making a show of stretching not long after this morning ritual, Xingchen mirroring with a sleepy yawn, both doing their best so that the other didn’t realize they had been awake for quite some time by then).

But Shuanghua was not the assignment. At least, Song Lan didn’t think so. Instead, the hints came at the quietest of moments. While the soup bubbled. While they dozed in the sun on a nearby hill. When Song Lan stopped rowing for a while and let the stream carry them lazily downriver. Xingchen would sit up, maybe open his mouth, maybe raise an arm to meet Song Lan’s. Sometimes, he would even seem to start to say the words, “Zichen, I…” or “I need to…” before pivoting suddenly to something wildly different than his tone had originally implied, “…am hungry. Let’s go make dinner” or “…tell you this terrible joke Wei-gongzi told me.”

Song Lan’s heart ached for him. He was clearly trying, so hard. Xingchen was tired. His face drawn, strength returning but fortitude slipping. And there was nothing Song Lan could do except to play, over and over again, the chords, I’m listening.

It had been three months that they had spent alone at the farm. Xingchen knew he was running out of excuses. And while the excuses ran out, and his ability to resist weakened, the pressure within him mounted. There were nights where he couldn’t sleep, torn between his desire to just let go, and his fear of turning out to be too much for Zichen after all. He knew Zichen wouldn’t leave, but in a way, that made it worse.

But the peaceful days went on. And Zichen seemed only to get sadder. The notes of the guqin not intrusive, but still imploring.

I need to tell him. But I can’t. He had said.

You want to tell him. And you can. Wen Qionglin had corrected.

But what if he does not want to know? Xingchen had asked.

What would you want him to hide from you?

And even though it had taken months, and the pressure building to near unbearable levels, for Xingchen to realize, he finally understood that Wen Qionglin was, as always, right.

“Zichen… I need to… no, I want to… talk to you about, about Yi City.”

The words had come out of him in a rush. Xingchen honestly couldn’t believe he had finally said it. But there the words hung, heavy. Finally escaped from his lungs, his heart, unretractable.

A long, unbearable silence followed, and Xingchen heard the sound of urgent shuffling, the guqin being dragged closer to Zichen. The instrument had apparently been left with wheelbarrow as they dug up fresh potatoes. Xingchen heard a faint clapping sound, Zichen ever unwilling to let a speck of dirt touch the smooth surface of the instrument.

And the chords which finally came, ones so familiar, so commonplace, brought tears to Xingchen’s eyes when he heard them answer. I’m listening. But this time, they were followed by something more. No matter what.

And so Xingchen began.

Song Lan had known, or at least suspected, most of this.

He remembered vividly the way Xingchen had laughed when Xue Yang had teased him, had seen the quiet little home those three had shared. He also had heard directly from the now, thankfully, dead man what brutal manipulations had been imposed on Xingchen. And Song Lan knew only too well, though most of his other memories as Xue Yang’s puppet were dull and distant, what revelation had been Xingchen’s breaking point, remembered this moment clearly. Song Lan had internally screamed out, realizing only then that there would never be a way for him to break out of the control the needles in his neck imposed. Because if Xingchen’s grief torn face, his gut-wrenching scream wouldn’t let him do anything more than turn his head just ever so slightly towards his beloved, nothing would.

But he listened. Of course he listened. And Xingchen clearly needed to speak. He tensed, but was not surprised at the guilt Xingchen carried, at the I should’ve knowns, all the I’m sorrys, every if only I hads. Each one a punch to Song Lan’s gut, hearing the weight Xingchen had been carrying, but bearable in that Xingchen was clearly letting off some of the pressure that Song Lan had watched Xingchen undeservingly endure since he had awoken. Had felt this man turn on himself even as far back as when he first felt the squirms of a reassembling soul in the pouch he had carried.

A hand on his thigh, “Zichen.”

Song Lan looked up, startled out of the trance Xingchen’s words had put him under. He realized Xingchen had been silent for a few moments, waiting anxiously for Song Lan’s response.

Song Lan reached for the hand, carefully slotting his fingers between Xingchen’s and holding tight. Xingchen smiled, a smile which finally seemed to light up his face the way it should. And something, a pressure Song Lan hadn’t noticed until now, burst inside him as well. Tears flowed freely from his - from Xingchen’s - eyes.

Song Lan thought of the young girl Xingchen had described, that he himself had met so briefly. He thought of Xingchen’s soft smiles at the younger visiting cultivators, and Song Lan wondered, as Xingchen must have, how A-Qing would have gotten along with them if she had truly had the chance.

He thought of loneliness and grief, how they could each inspire such compassion, such horror, or both. He thought of life, death, renewal. Baoshan Sanren, Yi City, Baixue Temple.

He thought of all the ridiculous thoughts that had crossed his mind over the long twenty years they had spent apart. That Xingchen must hate him. That Xingchen must blame him. That what had happened to Xingchen was his fault. He had fought these thoughts for years. Wen Qionglin supporting him, then Hanguang-Jun, now Xingchen. But until now, until hearing the same thoughts mirrored in Xingchen’s voice: that Xingchen, Xingchen thought he could ever be hated? That Song Lan could ever truly think any of this was Xingchen’s fault? Only now did Song Lan truly understand how ridiculous he must have sounded, similarly taking on all the blame.

Wen Qionglin had had regrets. Hanguang-Jun had had regrets. Each of them had demonstrated to Song Lan that your darkest moments, your biggest mistakes, your worst actions, did not have to define you. They had shown him that forgiving yourself could sometimes be a selfless act. If absolving himself for actions he’d taken under another’s control, if acknowledging his own growth past lashing out at Baixue Temple, could present the possibility to Xingchen that he could forgive himself? If Song Lan telling himself that no matter what he had done - willingly at Baixue Temple, unwillingly as a puppet - he was still worthy of living a life with the ones he cared for and who cared for him, if that made it any more likely that Xingchen understood that he deserved at least the same? Then suddenly any further moral quandry dissipated.

But he had to say something. He reached for his guqin, wondering just how to explain this to his partner. Instead, what came out was a question that had haunted him since the moment Shuanghua had pierced his chest.

I have sometimes thought… what if I hadn’t found you? Would you be happier? If you had never known… who he was?

He braced himself for these notes to fall heavily on their mood, for Xingchen to freeze, withdraw, think that Song Lan wasn’t as easy a confidante as he’d thought.

“No.” That was all Xingchen said. A simple word, and a gentle laugh.

So Song Lan was instead the one who froze, surprised. After a few moments, Xingchen heard the volumes Song Lan’s stillness spoke.

Xingchen sighed, “The truth is important. I still missed you all those years apart, even if there were others, trustworthy or no, with whom I could temporarily relieve that feeling once in a while.” Xingchen leaned a cheek on his hand, tapping it thoughtfully, “I don’t even know for sure if I didn’t suspect even then that something was wrong with the man who turned out to be… to be Xue Yang…” Xingchen raced through the end of the sentence, the name hard to say even now, “I just didn’t realize… no, never mind.”

Please. Simple, not forceful. Enough.

Xingchen smiled weakly, “I know now this wouldn’t excuse anything, and it’s still a pretty silly conclusion to come to but… I suppose I just didn’t realize, didn’t even consider, that if this person wasn’t to be trusted, that if he was by my side, that he could still hurt people that weren’t ah… you know.”

That he could hurt people who weren’t you. Song Lan understood, and didn’t need to hear Xingchen say so, or guess the end of the sentence through the guqin to confirm. An easy temptation, to think that saving others could be as simple as sacrificing oneself. It was one they had each fallen into at some point, but one that, hopefully, they were finally learning to leave behind.

Xingchen rested a hand on Song Lan’s shoulder, inviting, warm. And Song Lan responded in kind, pulling Xingchen close. There would be no more gardening today.

The sun went down over fields that had only recently seemed so confining. The fields now seemed almost endless, comforting in their depth. The two cultivators lay side by side, enjoying the shade as they leaned against the trunk of an ancient tree. The warm pinks and oranges painted across the sky reminded Song Lan of the campfires the two of them had fallen asleep next to on so many nights, back when they were still dancing around the now obvious fact that they wanted to remain at each other’s sides for as long as they were able.

Song Lan absent-mindedly strummed the guqin, describing for Xingchen the swirls of fading light, the way the last bursts of sunbeams painted the leaves of the peach grove below them. He had been thinking of new ways to adapt some of his poetry into this auditory language, and realized with a smile he might just be getting it. He looked down at Xingchen, who was resting his head on Song Lan’s shoulder, breathing slowly, evenly. Xingchen shifted, the delicate features settling into a faint smile. Song Lan’s smile reflected Xingchen’s without a thought. There was no contest between the sunset and Xingchen’s peaceful expression. Song Lan knew from experience that not even thousands of sunsets could match the latter.

“Song Zichen,” Xingchen said, the use of his full name taking Song Lan aback for a moment, but his tone was still drowsy, if sombre, “I need you to know that I will never put you through anything like that ever again. I cannot change the past but I cannot, will not cause any more suffering. Not on anyone, but not on you especially.”

Song Lan’s answer came through powerfully, louder chords than those he had been playing until now coming through naturally, an effortless translation of his own feelings on the matter, And I need you to know that if you do, I will be there to help you fix it. Because I cannot allow suffering for you any more than you can for me.

“Zichen, Zichen. Always one upping me with your words,” Xingchen laughed, losing the serious tone he had held moments before, “Just you wait until I can spar again. Then we will truly have some justice.” Xingchen yawned and snuggled closer into Zichen’s side. Song Lan returned to his softer, melodic descriptions of the landscape. Xingchen fell quickly into a gentle sleep, one that Song Lan hoped to be a well-deserved deep and peaceful one.

Song Lan blinked his eyes open, the pale light confusing until he realized - it was the sunrise. Xingchen’s arms were wrapped around him, the other man sleeping later than Song Lan for the first time in a long while. Song Lan had no intention of moving, of risking rousing him, and in the moment, failed to see the problem with staying here forever.

Something tugged at his mind, though, a feeling that he was missing something important, something obvious. Not quite as urgent as the feelings he often had on the battlefield, those ones which had saved his, and sometimes Xingchen’s, life on more than one occasion, but something important nonetheless.

He blinked lazily, doing a quick sweep of the surroundings.

The garden tools still rested in the wheelbarrow, the remains of their late lunch turned dinner packed neatly in the basket nearby. The fields were empty. Fuxue rested on his back.

That was it. Fuxue.

Or rather, Fuxue’s near constant companion.

Having sat by the tree with the initial intention that it would only be a quick break, Song Lan had not bothered to remove the swords from his back. And now Song Lan realized that at some point in the night, as Xingchen’s arms had snaked around Song Lan’s waist, as Xingchen had pulled him closer, a hand must have landed inadvertently on a certain blade.

And though the sword was still sheathed, though the hand was nowhere near the handle on which it belonged, Song Lan thought he heard, clear as the early morning birds taking stock of their nesting grounds, Shuanghua sing.

And so the days passed, boredom slipped away as they found each other again, easily, even if slowly, now that the final walls had fallen between them. The nightmares became rarer, and the past more historical fact than vengeful ghost.

They were sitting on the edge of the bed, side by side, contemplating the same spot near the corner of the room.

“I think I will this time,” Xingchen said, smiling, sure, not needing Song Lan’s answer, just stating this as the truth.

And in that moment, Song Lan believed him, of course he did. Before Xingchen even stood up, Song Lan had seen him cross the room, grab Shuanghua by the hilt, wield it, stand ready to protect as many as he could, to vanquish evil where he must. Song Lan knew he would be there by his side. He knew that at the end of a journey, they would come back, to a place like this, but a place far less quiet, one full of people who needed and loved them and who one day the world would need and love.

The nightmares of the past may be rarer, but the dreams for the future were becoming far more haunting.

The Xingchen of the present finally did lift Shuanghua from the stand, and, even if somewhat more hesitantly than Song Lan’s mind had presented it, Xingchen once again stood, truly united with his sword. Watching Xingchen, but mind still racing weeks, years, decades ahead, Song Lan knew the first chords he played should have been congratulatory, celebratory, awestruck. But instead, the chords his fingers danced over without a thought were instead, We should start talking about our sect again.

And if the mere thought of Xingchen reconnecting with Shuanghua, had been dazzling, then the sight of Xingchen turning, laughing, sword in hand and exuberant agreement lighting up his whole face? The sight almost made Song Lan need to shield his eyes from the brightness. Almost. But then, how could he forgive himself if he missed even a moment?

There were more talks, more walks, more cooking, boat rides, gardening. A tension had been relieved, worries still lurking but temporarily eased, more nuisance than threat. And soon, the farm came to feel too small again, like a cozy sickroom occupied just a bit too long after the fever had passed.

They spoke of the sect they would build.

“Zichen, I was thinking… if you think it would be right, we could set our sect up where…”

At Baixue Temple, came the quick set of chords. And Xingchen had grinned, nodding. They could not bring back or replace what was lost, but they could certainly keep their memories close by as they rebuilt their lives and reclaimed the dreams they had long believed forever out of reach.

When Wen Ning appeared, months after he’d left, arms laden with carefully chosen gifts and treats from the various villages where his patients lived, he came upon a sight that brought an immediate smile to his face, a glow of pride to his chest.

The clashing of swords, sweeping robes, elegant but powerful leaps through the air. The Distant Moon and Gentle Breeze. The Distant Snow and Cold Frost. Swirling, dancing together in playful combat, like snow flurries on a winter’s day. Shuanghua in one’s hand, Fuxue in the other. And if there was still a hesitation in one’s step, unwilling to take an opening he had clearly noticed, or if the other sometimes struck a bit more gently than the teasing, taunting voice challenged him to, to Wen Ning, this was still success.

And weeks later, after the proper festivities were had, after Xiao Xingchen asked to see Jin Ling’s dog and Wei Wuxian accused him of high treason, after Ouyang Zizhen spent half a day in silence, before breaking and realizing if he was going to be remembered in stories or song, it would not be as a Song Lan or Hanguang-Jun silent type. After Sizhui taught Song Lan the word for “adorable” and Xiao Xingchen’s cheeks remained flushed the rest of the evening once Hanguang-Jun translated the chord for him, if after all that Song Lan held Xingchen’s hand, and Xingchen understood that that meant it was time. If Xingchen asked if Song Lan was sure, and if Song Lan made out the chords for Yes. If Xingchen said, “To Baixue Temple?” and Song Lan replied, “They would want us to rebuild.”

If after all that, as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji watched the two cultivators set off, they felt a little stirring of nostalgia for the moment they had first detected whispers that they might have what they had now? If those two cultivators left side by side, one in white, one in black, a sword draped over each one’s back, and felt a feeling of rightness descend over them in a way it hadn’t for decades? Well, that wouldn’t mean that everything was back to how it was, or even that the world was as those two deserved it to be. But perhaps it meant it didn’t matter. That for them, it was enough to have each other, their dream, and an open road ahead of them. That the road behind, arduous as it had been, could be left as something only ever behind them. Always there, maybe having left a stain of dirt on robes or shoes so that it could not be readily forgotten, but not nearly as present as the road under their feet now.

And certainly never more important than the one they each had forever by their side.

[END]

Thank you so much if you've kept up with/read this whole thing! This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and just thinking of anyone having read so many words I wrote is both terrifying but so nice <3

Thank you again so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this journey!!

#songxiao #the untamed #cql #xiao xingchen #song lan #songxiao fix it series #mdzs #my writing

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cindylouwho-2 · 4 years

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RECENT NEWS, RESOURCES & STUDIES, August 19, 2020

Welcome to my latest summary of recent ecommerce news, resources & studies including search, analytics, content marketing, social media & Etsy! This covers articles, podcasts, videos and infographics I came across since the late July report, although some may be older than that.

Please note I am taking the next week off, starting tomorrow (Aug. 19), so I might be a little slow in replying to any comments.