#my own fault for going there I guess because generic fandom tags have always been the worst

[blockgamepirate]

If I'm entirely honest, even if I get that all fandoms love angst, I find it kinda tiring, especially when it comes to MCRP, because I got into MCRP partly to get away from the angsty shit. And that's still what I tend to want from it, and it feels like the perfect medium for more lighthearted and tongue-in-cheek stuff, because it's so inherently goofy lbr, but I guess people just love angst so much that they just gotta make everything about the angst

Not that I can't appreciate the angst too, sometimes, but there's been so much of it on QSMP lately. This is what frustrated me about DSMP too, when it just kept getting angstier and angstier and bleaker and bleaker...

I mean it's not that I think ALL MCRP has to be lighthearted, I would never wanna arbitrarily limit any medium like that, it's mostly just me being frustrated with the general tendency where I get into some series because it's funny and lighthearted but also has a cool story going on, and then inevitably it ALWAYS seems to get super angsty and often lose the things that made it appealing to me in the first place. I used to get this a lot with webcomics and now I'm getting it with MCRP

Jungryeok's introduction yesterday was a breath of fresh air tbh, didn't need to worry about any of the angst for several hours, just people chilling and having fun (even tho I was kind of overwhelmed too lol)

I'd like to enjoy Phil's streams the same way, and he does generally do his best to keep things lighthearted (even when it's his own angst he tends to not take it very seriously), but the angsty storylines keep intruding on his chill vibes too, you can't chill when you know what's actually going on in other POVs

(also the FOMO is too strong, I ended up watching Bagi and Tubbo instead of Phil yesterday because I wanted to know what happened and then I also kept checking in on Bad's POV when I realised he was live etc. I know that's my own fault, I should just not watch them when they're being angsty if I don't want angst but I still care about the characters and the story orz)

(And I want to check the tags on Tumblr and I want to see what other people are posting about QSMP, but the angst is even more impossible to avoid in fandom spaces, also it makes you very conscious about how people feel about Phil and his character so then you're even more stressed out when you watch his streams because any time he says something because he doesn't know any better or because he's assuming that the server is primarily meant for fun and not to be taken overly seriously, you know people are gonna rant about it, and then you have to once again quarantine yourself from the fandom to avoid being annoyed, which is boring)

It's the same problems I had with DSMP...

This is why I should become a Hermitcraft main again tbh

But at the same time I can't get the multilingual experience on Hermitcraft, I remember the other day seeing Iskall and Keralis talk and I found myself wondering for a second why they weren't speaking Swedish to each other (dw I did realise it very quickly lol) because I'd gotten so used to seeing people switching languages based on who they were talking to

The language stuff is 100% what I would miss the most if I dropped QSMP

I mean I would miss the roleplay too, I do enjoy the roleplay. And the eggs. And the characters in general. But yknow, there's other roleplay series out there, the multilingual aspect is harder to find

[jokeringcutio]

hiii

was wondering if i could request for arthur, like maybe you ended a friendship or relationship with him on the worst possible terms a few years back and saw eachother for the first time again in london

idk if that made sense but it’s just an idea 🫶🫶

Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi AN: Sure thing! Here's a drabble :) Enjoy

Fandom: Joker (2019) Pairing: Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader Rating: General/Teen Tags: Friendship, Moving abroad, Dark undertones. -- We Meet Again--

“Excuse me, miss,” a low nasal voice, but one you would recognize anywhere.

Arthur?

But it could not possibly be him, could it? He lived all the way back home in America. Why would he have come to London?

But when you turned around to face the owner of the voice, there was no mistaking. You’d recognize him anywhere.

“Oh my God, Arthur? Is that you?”

He looked so thin, so pale. But Arthur’s eyes still were as green as ever. They glistened with unshed tears and were bright with a mixture of emotions as if a hurricane of feelings had been trapped inside.

“You look great,” he said, voice nearly a stammer. But somehow he seemed to have recomposed himself as he spoke. You saw how his left hand clenched to form a fist and how he straightened his spine to stand a little straighter. Something in his eyes shifted. There was a confidence in them you had not seen in him before.

“You,” you started, but now it was you who stammered. Not Arthur. It always used to be the other way around. Your cheeks flushed and you brought a hand up to your lips, watched as he followed the movement with his own eyes, and saw how his lips parted in a silent sigh of longing.

Of course. After all these years. He still craved you.

You weren’t dumb, and neither were you blind. You could clearly see it in his eyes, how his pupils dilated with lust. You had known it before when you’d been friends. “You’re here,” you finally said, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m here,” Arthur confirmed in that nasal voice of his. A faint whiff of nicotine passed by. He still smoked then? Some things never changed.

“Cool,” you said, slightly at a loss for words because Arthur was here. Your Arthur. Your friend. Here.

“What are you doing in London?”

His eyes darkened and the corners of his lips twisted downward, displeased almost. But your question had been genuine interest, no refute. “Are you here for work?” You carefully asked when you saw the change in his expression. “Or to see a show?” You were near the musical theatres, so it was a proper guess.

“Such a coincidence, right?” Arthur said, not quite answering your question. Perhaps he didn’t want to share what he came to do here, you thought. Perhaps he was here with his family, or visiting a girlfriend. You knew your thoughts should not wander like that, but you still felt a pang of jealousy in your heart when you thought about him moving on. Things hadn’t been official between the two of you. You’d just been friends. But still….

You watched him as he flashed you a toothy smile. It wasn’t a gentle one, you noticed, but rather reminded you of those pictures of a shark grinning. “Remember how much fun we used to have?” he then asked, and you suddenly understood why he carried the smile he was.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling guilty for having ended things as abruptly and as suddenly as you had. You were very much aware that Arthur had trouble striking up friendships, even back then. Whether it was due to his condition or his shyness when around others, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t scared you away.

Sometimes you wished he had.

He had made you intensely aware that you were one of his only friends back then, perhaps the only one he fully trusted, and then you had ghosted on him. Not even told him you were going to leave.

Truth be said, it wasn’t entirely your fault. Your parents had talked so often about making the move to the UK that you’d not believed it was going to happen until it was. And once it had become real, telling Arthur seemed to become impossible. You knew how he would react. He would feel as if you left him alone.

Which was in the end exactly what you had done.

Just a note that said you and your parents moved abroad.

Just a hurriedly scribbled note.

And Arthur couldn’t even properly read.

What had you been thinking?

“I never stopped thinking about you,” something in his voice was thick, as if clouded with emotion. He swallowed, audibly, then finally allowed his eyes to come and rest upon your face. You saw that the harshness disappeared from his eyes and that the shark-like smile fell from his lips until it was just him again. Just your friendly Arthur. The man who had made you feel less lonely and who had made you feel understood so many years ago.

“I missed you,” you finally admitted. You were glad he was standing here, unexpected and improbable as it was. Your hand reached for the lapel of his coat, gently taking hold of it while you watched his face for his expression. His eyes widened slightly, but there was no sign of gesture for you to stop. And so you stepped closer to him and inhaled his scent. You closed your eyes while you drew a breath, and opened them with a smile curving your lips.

Arthur was looking down at you, eyes intense. His jaw was chiseled, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was such concentration upon his face, even as he brought his hand up to your face and brushed a knuckle gently past your cheek.

We should get a drink, you wanted to say. I want to meet you again, get to know you, who you are now. What changed? What remained the same? How was your life when I was gone? But you didn’t say any of that.

Instead, you leaned into his gentle caressing touch and parted your lips in a soft whimper. It felt good, the warmth of his palm on your skin.

You were friends. Nothing more than that. But you knew he wanted it to be more. He always had. And by the sight of it, he still did. “Did you miss me too?” you asked, voice small, as if you were scared to hear the answer.

But you knew it deep down inside. The way his eyes softened and his lashes fluttered, the way he stood close to you and caressed your cheek. How his other hand now circled around you, found the back of your neck and drew you close.

You hoped he could forgive you for having left the way you had. You hoped he still wanted you as much as he did then, because this time you were older, wiser, and smarter. This time, you knew you wanted him too.

“Did you miss me too?” you’d asked.

“You have no idea, love,” Arthur said, something dark sparked within his eyes. His grip on you became more possessive, tighter. “You truly have no idea.” ~

AN: Of course we have an Arthur who turned Joker here and deliberately came to seek our dear Reader out now that he has the means to, because why not? You think he’s gonna forget about you just like that? Na- ah! 👀

Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi

#Arthur Fleck #Reader insert #Arthur Fleck x Reader #Anon Answered #Arthur Fleck x You #Joker x you #drabble

[archaic-grey]

an apology? kind of?

okay . wow. so! i recently made a post asking why a lot of jasico shippers were adults and it kind of . blew up in my face. a bit. and a lot of people made some very good points!! so i am going to address all of it cause i'd feel bad just. ignoring it? and also to explain a bit of my internal thoughts relating to . all of it. just for more clarity.

so. i think the biggest issue people had with what i was saying was that i was uncomfortable with adults shipping minor characters. that has not changed. that is still something that is a bit weird to me. however, that wasn't me trying to outright imply they were pedos????? that is. a very serious accusation and not something i would throw around lightly, especially in this context. like. i get why you would think that. but that was in no way what i was trying to say there. its just something that is weird to me. & im sorry that i wasn't clear enough while expressing that.

i am a minor, which is probably evident by now, and adults in fandom spaces are FINE. i will always support their right to interact with the fans of medias they enjoy. while i personally don't really feel comfortable with them interacting with me, esp in the context of shipping, i am fine with their existence. they can do whatever they want within reason obviously.

also, my intent with my original post was in NO WAY to start discourse or arguments or make anyone feel attacked or uncomfortable. it was just a phenomenon i had noticed and wanted to make like . a bit of a joke about. i seriously did not expect this many people to see it & react the way they did. however i get why you all got defensive, i would have felt the same if i was in your place.

some people seemed almost confused as to why i thought all jasico shippers were adults. um . again that phrasing was mostly a joke. but clearly i do not interact with you guys that much & most of the jasico shippers i have interacted with have been adults . so yk. i generalized you guys a bit. which was entirely my fault & has to do with my own flaws and issues that i am working on. and i am sorry !!!!!!!

to continue on with how my own flaws & issues have impacted this whole . situation: i like having reasons for things. i like it when people can explain their reasoning behind things and i like to be able to explain why i feel a certain way or had a certain opinion so like . idk i guess part of why i cant let myself just not like jasico is because of that. cause nothing is Wrong with jasico. and i know that, so i don't understand why i don't like it??? so like . im trying to find reasons and stuff to explain it to myself and others. if that makes sense??? its like . a really shitty explanation but i am genuinely sorry that my own issues resulted in this whole mess.

anyways . hope that sufficiently gave a bit of explanation for this whole thing? i would like to politely ask that anyone who wishes to continue discussing this either send me an ask or pm me, i don't really want to start any more drama or anything in my reblogs haha.

and once again, i'm really sorry. i'll be deleting my original posts in a couple hours just because this is stressing me out a bit & i don't want them to continue to be a breeding ground for discourse.

thank you all!

(will be tagging everyone who has reblogged or commented here just so they can see this. apologies if you are uncomfortable with being tagged in discourse.)

@paddooo @i-am-triple-a @elvirie @evergardenwall @iamonlyatiger @via-rant @my-apollo-gies (love your username btw) @hammyletto @seulgishaku @jinxed-lemon @decemebercircus @yonemurishiroku

#so yeah. #my thoughts on all of this #i am. just done with this situation at this point & i hope you guys are like. okay with me being ready for it to end #again PLEASE PM ME / SEND ME AN ASK if you would like to keep discussing this #do not argue with me in the reblogs . thank you #apology #also sorry if this doesnt flow well . just trying to get all my thoughts out in a way that hopefully makes sense

[onewomancitadel]

Thank you for the reply. However I realize I should have worded that better. I never said that I personally had a problem with what had been done to Emerald or Neo. I was pointing out the hypocrisy of the people I was arguing against. They were ok with those things(as was I) but when it comes to Knightfall Pyrrha's death is a problem. This little ask box is so small I have to pick and choose the words I use and its not always the right ones. So thats my fault. Sorry for that mixup.

(Context).

Longer asks have been implemented but I think they're only available if you have a Tumblr account, so that's informing my assumption of how much information an anon is supplying. I'm not a mind reader and can only make assumptions, I don't know who you are or what your background is lol. Thanks for clearing that up though.

If you want to use the new ask style, 1. Get a Tumblr account, 2. go to the dashboard view of my blog (if you're on computer), if you're on mobile it will be the only option available.

I was pointing out the hypocrisy of the people I was arguing against. They were ok with those things(as was I) but when it comes to Knightfall Pyrrha's death is a problem.

Yes, I discuss Cinder killing Pyrrha frequently on my blog, so it's a complicated topic that interests me, and the double standard is everywhere (including for the fact I think Pyrrha's death is more interesting and more 'just' than her other kills, because it's effectively Huntress vs. Huntress to the death). Lol

I have to be honest I don't find the people you're describing terribly interesting, their arguments aren't interesting or anything with meat to them, but I guess what you're looking for is reassurance. If it makes you feel better I've written extensively on the topic of Pyrrha connecting Jaune and Cinder's characters and what Jaune's role in Penny's death means for narrative empathy, I'm sure you can find those posts under my Knightfall tag somewhere.

But yes, when you're in fandom you're going to have to get used to hypocrisy. As I said, you're not having the argument you think you're having, people will make up excuses for why something isn't canonically appropriate because it doesn't cater to their personal desires or they just plain don't like it and can't articulate why and aren't grown up enough to do so.

The reality is that Jaune and Cinder are both polarising characters for their own reasons, so you're never going to have an easy time with Knightfall in fantatic spaces full of people who have a problem with canon. It's possible that the General Audience opinion will change, such as with more sympathy to Cinder and somewhat more understanding of her actual character, though, and that may well happen with Jaune.

#seraphina's asks #user: anonymouse #knightfall

[memoriesofatimetocome]

It's 2021 and people are still putting pictures of Benedict in the Sherlock tag

#my own fault for going there I guess because generic fandom tags have always been the worst #but still #y'all are doing the same thing my grandma used to do when she just assumed I was into Benedict Cumberbatch because I was a Sherlock fan #no. I'm a lesbian #I have nothing against Benedict and obviously he gave me my favorite character so I'm forever in his debt but #I have no desire to see random pictures of his face. thanks

[chicgeekgirl89]

The House in the Pines Where the Road Ends

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Andrea Reyes, Gabriel Reyes, The Reyes Family

Rating: K

Summary: Four sisters. Nine nieces and nephews. Dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Carlos has a big, loud, over-the-top family, and T.K. is about to meet all of them at the annual Reyes Family Barbecue. It's a day that promises food, fun, and lots of nosy questions. All T.K. wants is to make a good impression and all Carlos wants is for his family not to scare off his boyfriend. When a stray baseball ruins the fun, both T.K. and Carlos will discover that neither of them ever needed to worry.

A/N: I am so happy to FINALLY introduce you to my version of the Reyes family. They have become a character all their own and I love them very dearly. Get ready to see and hear more about them in upcoming fics! I cannot say enough thank you's to @bluenet13​ who has read this fic approximately a billion times in all its different stages, has beta'ed the heck out of it, and still wants to be friends with me.

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt: Sports Injury

Read on Ao3

“Wait, but are you sure this shirt is okay?” T.K. asked, twisting around in front of the mirror to look at it from every possible angle.

“Do you really think my family is going to decide whether or not they like you based on your shirt?” Carlos asked with a laugh.

“It’s their first impression of me,” T.K. said, fussing with the hemline, trying to get it to lay exactly right. “I just want it to be good.”

Carlos came up behind him, wrapping his arms around T.K.’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “They are going to love you.” He pressed a kiss to T.K.’s cheek.

T.K. turned in his arms so they were face to face, anxiety trickling through his veins. “I love you,” he said.

“I know,” Carlos told him. “I love you too.”

“Your family is important to you and I guess I can’t help feeling like…there’s a chance that if they don’t like me…”

“T.K…” Carlos sent him a look of fond exasperation.

“I know!” T.K. said quickly. “I know it’s ridiculous. But if they don’t like me, I don’t know where we go next.”

“I don’t think we need to borrow trouble like that,” Carlos said. “You already know my parents love you. And so do Elena and Elías.”

They’d had dinner at Carlos’ second eldest sister’s home a few weeks back. It had been fun to meet her and her husband along with their daughter, Carolina, and twins, Marco and Diego. Marco was rambunctious and spunky while Diego was more mild mannered and T.K. had enjoyed watching Carlos chase them around the backyard, playing baseball, tag, and wrestling.

But meeting one sister and her family was completely different from attending the annual Reyes Family Barbecue where there would be hundreds of aunts, uncles, and cousins to try and remember.

“Trust me,” Carlos said. “Elena will have spread the word and you’ll already have pre-approval before we even get there.”

“What if I call someone the wrong name?” T.K. asked. “I still think you should have written up a family tree like I asked you to.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “There’s no point. We’re adding to it like every day there are so many of us. You’ll never be able to remember. If you’re not sure just call them Gabriel or Valentina. There’s a forty percent chance you’ll be right.”

“This isn’t fair,” T.K. said, burying his face in Carlos’ shirt. “I have like, four family members. The playing field is so uneven I don’t even have a chance.”

Carlos kissed his forehead. “Just relax and enjoy the food. That’s all anyone expects of you.”

“I seriously doubt that,” T.K. grumbled.

“Listen, if anybody should be concerned in this situation, it’s me,” Carlos said.

“You?” T.K. raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“You just said, you come from a small family. My family is big and loud and all up in each other’s business. Francesca alone might be enough to make you run all the way back to New York.”

Carlos had talked before about his wild child fourth sister, Francesca. Apparently she was a force to be reckoned with and had caused quite a bit of trouble as a kid. According to Carlos every time he’d gotten in trouble, it had actually been Francesca’s fault. Well Francesca and Adriana, Carlos’ cousin who was more like a fifth sister. She and Francesca had been born within weeks of each other and been an inseparable duo ever since.

“New York is a pretty long way to run,” T.K. said. “And I’ve gotten kind of used to sleeping with you. I don’t really want to have to break in a new mattress. Oh, and for all I know you’ve gotten kind used to having my exercise bike in your dining room and I would have to buy a new one of those, plus moving costs are out of sight and I am on a civil servant’s salary here.”

Carlos kissed him again. “Come on. We’re already late and if we don’t get there soon then I will be in trouble.”

T.K. had already visited the Reyes family ranch a handful of times, but he had never seen it quite like this. Cars lined every inch of the drive up to the house, from pick-up trucks to mini-vans and everything in between. “Is this a family barbecue or a Lady Gaga concert?” T.K. asked as they got out of the car.

Carlos laughed and reached for his hand. “I told you.”

“Yeah I hoped maybe you were exaggerating a little bit,” T.K. said as they walked toward the driveway. As if he hadn’t been nervous already, now he felt overwhelmed. He was generally charming and good with people, but this was…a lot.

Carlos tensed. “Come this way,” he said, voice low as he tugged T.K. more to the side of the driveway, where a row of cars hid them from view of the house.

“What are we doing?” T.K. asked in confusion.

“We’re—”

“Carlitos don’t you even try! We see you over there!” a feminine voice called.

Carlos winced and looked at T.K. “I’m just going to say ahead of time that I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Two women came around the line of cars, each of them holding a drink. “You weren’t trying to hide from us were you?” the taller of the two asked.

“No I was just trying to get T.K. inside without the third degree first,” Carlos said, giving each of them a pointed look.

“Carlitos we’re not going to give him the third degree,” the second woman said, her many earrings flashing in the sunlight. “We’re just going to try and prepare him for what he’s about to face.”

“You don’t need to prepare him,” Carlos said with a sigh of long suffering. “There’s nothing to prepare for.”

“Oh my god Carlos, you cannot just drag him in here without some proper preparation,” the first woman said, turning to look at T.K. “So, you’re the firefighter stripper, huh?”

T.K.’s eyes went wide and he looked to Carlos who had closed his eyes and was shaking his head. “For the last time, he’s a paramedic now and he has never been a stripper.” He opened his eyes and took a breath in a clear attempt to calm himself down. “T.K. I would like you to meet my sister Francesca.”

“His youngest older sister,” Francesca clarified looking T.K. up and down. “You’re hot enough to be a stripper.”

“And my cousin Adriana,” Carlos said loudly in an attempt to stop his sister’s comments. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” T.K. said with a smile, hoping to diffuse some of the awkwardness. “Carlos has told me a lot about you.”

“Is it about how we were always getting him in trouble when he was a kid? Because that’s a lie,” Adriana said. 

“Total lie,” Francesca echoed. “So, how has it been, living in sin with my brother?”

“Oh my god Francesca can you just let us get through the door first?” Carlos cried.

She shook her head and grinned. “Nope. This is way more fun. Besides, Adriana got to know about him first, so I wanted to meet him before everyone else.”

“Did Carlos tell you not to tell Tía Maria you’re living together?” Adriana asked.

“Um, no, he didn’t mention that,” T.K. said, looking once again to his boyfriend.

“I didn’t really think it was necessary,” Carlos said.

“Tía Maria has strong religious opinions,” Francesca said.

“Oh is she not…” T.K. began to pull his hand from Carlos’ but his boyfriend held on firmly.

“Tía Maria is fine with the gay, she’s just not all right with fornication,” Adriana said with a grin, eyeing T.K. for his reaction.

“Oh my god, forget it, we’re going home,” Carlos said, trying to turn around, but Francesca grabbed his other arm.

“Nuh uh hermano,” she said sweetly. “Mom and Dad are expecting you. I already texted them and told them you’re here.”

“Wait hold on, I’m confused,” T.K. said, feeling slightly panicked as the conversation moved so quickly around him. “What do I need to know about Tía Maria?”

“Tía Maria is very against pre-marital sex,” Francesca said.

“In her mind we’re all pure, sweet, innocent little virgins, waiting to give up our virtue to our husbands on our wedding nights,” Adriana said, her face suggesting that she’d rather throw up than submit to that particular lifestyle. “Little does she know that ship has sailed.”

“Under the bleachers with Jake Thompson in the eleventh grade,” Francesca said.

“In Mike Kowalski’s backseat…”

“After prom with Sebastian Chavez…”

“Okay that’s enough of the sexcapades thank you,” Carlos said, looking disgusted.

“You didn’t think I needed to know this?” T.K. said looking at Carlos.

“I am not ashamed of us living together,” Carlos told him. “I don’t care if Tía Maria knows.”

“Ugh barf,” Francesca said. “God I wanted to be mad at you for caving and leaving us all alone at the singles table but you’re so grossly in love I don’t even want you there anymore.”

“Can we go in now?” Carlos asked. “Is this little interrogation over with?”

“Oh you can go in, but it’s far from over,” Adriana said, wrenching T.K.’s arm away from Carlos and tucking it into her own as she walked him toward the house. “So, T.K. What can we get you to drink? Beer? Margarita? Or are you a wine snob? You look like you could be a wine snob.”

“He’s from New York, they’re all wine snobs there,” Francesca said.

“T.K. doesn’t drink,” Carlos called from behind him. “You already know that.”

Adriana nodded. “Just checking. That’s cool. I did the sober thing for like six months once. My skin was so great.”

“Okay, I’m taking T.K. inside now,” Carlos said, rescuing his arm from Adriana’s grip. “You two can go back to wherever it is you came from. I’m going to guess…the gates of hell?”

“So rude Carlos,” Francesca said with a roll of her eyes.

“Come on Cesca, I need another margarita,” Adriana said, pulling her toward the back of the house.

“But I have more questions!”

“Questions later! Margarita now!”

They disappeared around the side of the house, leaving Carlos looking embarrassed and T.K. feeling like he’d just been through a whirlwind. “You can literally ignore everything about them,” Carlos said as he opened the door. “Just pretend they don’t exist. That’s what the rest of us do when they get like this.”

T.K. had a feeling neither Francesca nor Adriana liked to be ignored, but Andrea greeted them immediately as they walked inside, leaving him no opportunity for further questions or conversation. “T.K.! Carlitos! Welcome!”

There were a few other people milling around inside, but it seemed like most of the family was in the backyard. T.K. could hear music playing and the smell of barbecue wafted through the glass slider doors that led to the oversized back patio.

“Sorry we’re late Mama,” Carlos said, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s my fault,” T.K. said. “I had a shift and it ran over.”

“No apologies necessary,” Andrea said, waving a hand. “I understand the important work you boys do. I’m just sorry your dad couldn’t make it T.K.”

“He said to tell you hello and that he will be here for sure next time,” T.K. told her with a smile.

It had been a huge relief to find out that the party was scheduled while his dad was on shift. The last thing he needed was one more thing to give him anxiety about meeting Carlos’ family.

Andrea caught his face in both hands. “We are so glad you’re here T.K.” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Now, let’s get you something to drink. I’ve got lots of that fancy water you like.”

The back slider opened as Andrea pulled a water from the refrigerator for T.K. “Boys! Bienvenidos!” Gabriel boomed as he stepped inside, bringing the scent of barbecue with him.

“Gabriel close that door before the air conditioning gets out,” Andrea scolded.

“Of course mi amor,” he said. “I was just looking for another set of tongs. Daniel is going to help with the second grill.”

“They’re in the pantry,” Andrea said. “Where they always are.”

Gabriel paused to kiss her on the cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve?” Carlos suggested with a cheeky smile as he grabbed a grape off the counter and popped it in his mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “Probably.”

“All right now you two, head on outside and join the party,” Andrea said. “You don’t want to be stuck in here with me.”

“Are you sure?’ Carlos asked. “We can stay and help.”

“No, no,” Andrea said quickly. “Gloria will be back in a minute. Go! Enjoy! Introduce T.K. to the family.” She lowered her voice. “But don’t tell Tía Maria that you live together. You know how she gets and I do not need another lecture on how I raised my children with loose morals.”

“Yes, for everyone’s sanity, please keep that to yourselves,” Gabriel said, reappearing with the tongs in hand. “No need for my sister to know that you are breaking the commandments.”

T.K. turned and looked at his boyfriend. “Everyone seems very concerned about this.”

Carlos shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Everyone is overreacting. Tía Maria isn’t that scary.” He kissed T.K. on the side of his head and grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Besides, there are so many people here, we might not even see Tía Maria.”

They stepped out the door into the backyard. To the left was a play set that dozens of children were taking advantage of. To the right were several grills, all smoking away, the tables next to them already piled high with food and drink. And underneath sprawling oak trees dozens of picnic tables and lawn chairs had been set up, all of them full of people talking, laughing, and eating together. 

“I knew you should have made that family tree for me,” T.K. said, starting to feel really nervous now as he saw exactly how many people had scattered across the backyard.

They made it about four feet before they were accosted by well meaning relatives. Cousins, aunts, uncles, everyone seemed to want to meet Carlos’ new boyfriend. T.K. smiled and nodded and tried in vain to remember everyone’s names. Carlos hadn’t been exaggerating, there were a lot of Gabriels and Valentinas.

“Ay, okay, leave the boys alone,” a woman finally said, interrupting the melée. She sported a longer version of Carlos’ curls and T.K. remembered her face from some of the family photos. “Shame on all of you, they haven’t even eaten anything.”

She turned a warm smile on them as the crowd dispersed and went back to their merriment. “Hola T.K. I’m Teresa.”

Carlos’ oldest sister. She and her husband Javier lived in San Diego with their four kids, Valentina, Eva, Gabriel, and Bianca. Their visit to town was the reason the barbecue had been scheduled for this particular weekend. 

“Nice to meet you,” T.K. said, immediately feeling the same warmth and comfort radiate from her that he did from Carlos. 

She turned and pulled her brother in for a hug, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh. “Come on. You can sit with us. I’ll fend off the nosy relatives,” she told them.

“Thank you,” Carlos said in relief. “I didn’t think it would be quite this bad.”

“You never do,” she said with a smile as she led them to the picnic table where her husband Javier was sitting with another couple that T.K. thought he recognized. 

“T.K. this is my husband Javier. And have you met Lucía and Justin yet?” Teresa asked.

Ah, Lucía. Carlos’ third oldest sister. She and Justin lived with their kids in McKinney and had driven up for the weekend. They had been set to attend the dinner with Elena and Elías but one of the boys had ended up in a soccer championship so they’d had to cancel. 

“So T.K. I hear you’re from New York? Nice to have another East Coaster join the party,” Justin said.

“Oh yeah, Carlos said you’re from Philly right?” T.K. asked.

“Born and bred,” Justin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t cheer for the Giants do you?”

T.K. smiled. “I’m more of a Mets fan actually. Football’s not really my thing.”

“Well that means I don’t have to hate you, but don’t say that too loud in Texas. Football is life here,” Justin told him.

“So I’ve noticed,” T.K. replied.

“Tío Carlos!” a gaggle of kids ran up to the table all of them clamoring for Carlos. 

“Tío Carlos I got on my soccer team at school!”

“Can you come play baseball!”

“Did you know my tooth is falling out?”

“Is that your boyfriend?”

Everyone talked at once and Carlos seemed to take it in stride, giving hugs and ruffling hair, looking at loose teeth, and promising to come and play in a minute.

“Hey, all of you, adiós,” Elena said. “Leave Tío Carlos alone. He’ll play with you later.”

It took a few more admonishments from their parents, but eventually the children dispersed to different corners of the ranch. “We’re doing you a favor T.K.,” Lucía told him, rocking baby Nicolás back and forth. “Once Carlos goes with the children he doesn’t come back.”

“He’s their favorite uncle,” Justin explained.

“And for good reason,” Javier added. “His knees are young and spry.”

“You guys are exaggerating. The kids love everybody,” Carlos said with a roll of his eyes.

Teresa shook her head. “It’s okay to admit that you’re their favorite Carlos. You’ve earned the honor.” She looked at T.K. “Carlos is too modest.”

“So I’ve noticed,” T.K. said fondly and he could see Carlos blush a little bit.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Carlos said. “We’ve been here half an hour and no one has offered me any food. What has happened to this family?”

The situation was fixed immediately and T.K. found himself with more food than one person could possibly hope to consume, sitting and listening to the Reyes siblings recount stories from their childhood.

T.K. felt the bench next to him shift and turned to find Francesca and Adriana joining them.

“Did Carlos tell you about the time he ran away from home?” Teresa asked.

Carlos groaned. “No, do we have to tell this story every time?”

“Yes, because it’s hilarious,” Elena said. “He was what, about six at the time?”

“I was sixteen so yes,” Teresa said. “Carlitos was mad because all of us sisters got to go to a movie and he didn’t. So he wrote a note saying he was running away and never coming back.”

“And then he disappeared for seven hours,” Lucía chimed in. “Mom was beside herself. They checked the entire house, called all his friends, she was sure he’d been eaten by a coyote.”

“Well I was the one who found him,” Teresa said with a smile. “Up in that tree,” she pointed several feet to the left, “crying because he’d climbed up too high and couldn’t get down.”

“We had to call the fire department to come and get him,” Francesca said with a smirk.

“And when they got him down, did he get in trouble?” Elena asked. “Nope. Because Mama was all—“

“My baby!” all four women chorused together. 

“Carlitos never gets in trouble,” Adriana said. “Ever. All he has to do is bat his eyelashes at Tía Andrea and she starts talking about how innocent and sweet he is and how he could never start a fight or break a window…”

Carlos had put a hand to his forehead and looked like he was in physical pain. “Are you done now?” he asked.

“No way,” Lucía piped up. “We still have to tell T.K. about the time you drove the tractor into the pond.”

“The pedal was stuck!” Carlos cried.

“That’s what he says every time,” Francesca told T.K. “It’s a lie.”

Carlos burst forth in a tirade of Spanish, likely exonerating himself from the tractor-pond fiasco and all of the women immediately began to contradict him. T.K. wasn’t sure whether to smile or intervene as they all talked over each other. His high school level Spanish could only pick up the occasional word. 

“This happens every time,” Elías said. “They’ll calm down in a minute.”

“A minute?” Javier said. “Forget a minute. We can all leave, they’ll be at it for at least half an hour now.”

Things really came to a head when Francesca stood, slammed her hands against the table, and shouted, “I did not put that goat in Lucí’s bed, that was Elena!”

“I watched you do it!” Carlos yelled back.

“Well then your brain is broken because that is not what happened!” Francesca said, pointing a finger at him.

The argument was broken up by the arrival of Andrea, followed closely by another woman T.K. didn’t recognize. “Girls! Ya basta! Qué esta pasando? Arguing in front of our guests, what is wrong with you?” she said, setting a large plate of taquitos in front of them.

“Disculpa Mama,” they all muttered, but T.K. caught Francesca giving Carlos the finger under the table and then she jumped a second later when he pinched her leg.

“Honestly,” she scoffed at them. “I am ashamed of all of you. T.K. I apologize on behalf of my daughters. I did not raise them to be like this.”

“See?” Lucía said with a roll of her eyes. “We’re all in trouble, but Carlitos is completely innocent.”

“Of course he’s innocent, he would never argue in front of guests,” Andrea said. “Did you all say hello to Tía Maria?”

“Hola Tía,” they all chorused.

“And Maria, this is T.K., Carlos’ boyfriend,” Andrea said with a smile.

T.K. felt himself stiffen under the intense gaze of Carlos’ infamous aunt. But he smiled and waved a hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she said. She turned and looked at Teresa and Javier. “Cuándo será la primera comunión de Marco y Diego?"

T.K. caught a glimpse of Francesca who smiled at him and raised her eyebrows in an “I told you so” kind of way. 

“Later this summer,” Elena said smoothly. “We will send you an invitation of course.”

“They are a bit behind, no? Why the delay in this important milestone?”

“Tía, with Covid and everything it all just got pushed back. Don’t worry,” Elena told her.

“You’d better get a move on,” Adriana said. “We wouldn’t want them to miss out on all the blessings of the Lord.”

Tía Maria’s eyes narrowed as she picked up on Adriana’s sarcasm. “Is there something wrong with wanting my nephews to grow up properly in the church?”

“Of course not,” Andrea said quickly. “And they are Maria. Very good, pious little boys.”

T.K. saw the mischievous glint in Francesca’s eye as she opened her mouth. “So T.K., you live with your dad?” 

Everyone at the table froze and turned to look daggers in her direction. “Ah Maria! The watermelon! We forgot it inside, come on,” Andrea said quickly, glaring at her daughter over her shoulder as she ushered Maria away.

“Cesca!” Teresa chastised as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I was just trying to take the pressure off of Elena,” Francesca said innocently, taking a sip of her mojito.

“You were trying to stir up trouble,” Lucía said as the baby began to fuss. 

“Well someone has to keep things fun around here!”

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Marco and Diego ran toward them, kicking up dirt as they skidded to a stop by the table and interrupted the conversation. 

“Mom can I have another cookie?” Marco asked.

“I want a drink but Carolina said I can’t have a soda, but can I?” Diego asked.

“And Tía Teresa, Gabriel wants to know, can he get his Switch out of the car now, because he said you said he could get it later and now it’s later,” Marco spoke up on behalf of his cousin.

“Okay, hold on, everybody take a breath,” Teresa said.

The group momentarily broke up as everyone went to tend to their children’s needs and make sure they had eaten something besides cookies and chips. 

“So, are you ready to run back to New York yet?” Carlos asked when they were the only two left at the table.

“I think I’m holding my own all right,” T.K. said. “You were right about Francesca though. She’s…something.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not that actually was her being on her better behavior. I swear you’d never know she was working on a masters in biochemistry.”

“She’s fun,” T.K. said. “And she and Adriana clearly have the most dirt on Carlitos.”

“Maybe we should leave now,” Carlos said with a groan. “They’ll keep at it as long as you’ll listen.”

“I like it,” T.K. said, taking a sip of his mineral water. “It’s fun seeing you like this. Baby brother Carlos is a whole new side of you.”

Carlos blushed a little bit. “The way they’d talk you’d think we were all still kids.”

“It’s sweet. They adore you.”

“I—”

Carlos was interrupted by Valentina, Teresa and Javier’s youngest, who came running over, crying so hard she was hiccuping instead of breathing. “Tío Carlos!”

“Valentina, qué pasó?” Carlos asked worriedly, gathering her into his arms and sitting her on his lap.

“Marco me dijo que no podía jugar pelota con él,” she sobbed, her little heart so clearly broken over her cousin’s refusal to let her play ball with him.

"Lo siento, Valen. That's not very nice." Carlos hugged her close and kissed her hair. "Pero no le hagas caso. What if we get you a cookie, will that help?”

She shook her head, lip stuck out in an adorable pout, fresh tears threatening to spill over.

“Two cookies?”

She held up three little fingers and Carlos opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. “Tres?! Ay Dios mío.” He shook his head. “Come with me, pero no le digas a mamá.”

He slid Valentina off his lap and offered her his hand, which she grabbed onto eagerly. He looked at T.K. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” T.K. said, watching them walk over to one of the tables. 

Carlos pointed to several different options, Valentina shaking her head at each one until he found the kind of cookie she liked best.

T.K. felt a presence next to him and turned to find Francesca had returned. She had a strange look on her face. “You know he’s never brought anyone home before. Not like this.”

T.K.’s breath caught in his chest. “I didn’t know that.”

“He’s happy,” Francesca said. “Happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.” She turned and looked at him. “You make him happy.”

“I do my best,” T.K. said. “He makes me happy too.”

“Yeah.” She looked at her brother again, adding some fruit to Valentina’s plate. “He wants kids. You know that right?”

“I do,” T.K. said. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re good with that?”

T.K. looked at his boyfriend who was tenderly wiping the last of the tears from Valentina’s cheeks. They had talked about it of course. A few times. In passing. He knew where Carlos stood. And he knew that he wasn’t sure what kind of dad he would be, but also that he would do anything to make Carlos happy; including facing his own fears about being a father. “He’ll be a great dad,” was his answer.

She squinted at him, then squared her shoulders. “I’m only going to say this once and if you ever tell anyone I will deny it and shove your balls so far up your ass you won’t know how to get them out again. Carlos is special. And I know you’re all city boy, New York, squeaky clean, firefighter paramedic, or whatever.”

“But if I hurt him you’ll kill me?” T.K. asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” she looked at him like he was crazy. “Teresa will. She’s like his second mom. She’ll take you down so fast you’ll never even see it coming.”

T.K. laughed. “I have no intention of ever breaking his heart. I promise.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.” She cocked her head the way Carlos did when he was about to say something he knew was funny. “You’re pretty great for a stripper.”

“Okay, one more time. Not that there is anything wrong with sex work, but I have never been, and have no intention of being, a stripper,” T.K. said firmly.

“That’s what they all say!” she tossed over her shoulder as she got to her feet and flounced away to find Adriana. 

“What was my sister telling you?” Carlos asked as he returned, Valentina now seated happily with some other cousins at a kid sized picnic table. “Oh god, was she talking about the time I got arrested for skinny dipping in the lake because there is so much more to that story than the way she tells it.”

“No,” T.K. said, raising his eyebrows, “but now I want to hear the rest of that. No she was just…being a good big sister. You’re lucky to have so many people watching out for you.”

Carlos softened, his hand seeking T.K.’s. “And now I have you too.”

T.K. squeezed gently. “Yes, you do.”

                                       XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All in all the day was going well. T.K. had handled every nosy question, every argument, every weird thing his sisters or relatives did with his usual charm and self-confidence. He fit in. 

All Carlos had really wanted was for T.K. to like his family, but seeing them like him right back…it was doing strange things to his heart. He hadn’t known until this moment how much it meant to gain his family’s approval of his relationship. He’d convinced himself that he was fine either way, and he probably would have been. But seeing them all joke and talk and laugh together was beyond his wildest dreams. And it was making him think some pretty crazy things about the future.

They’d chatted some more with his siblings and a few other family members who’d stopped by the table. But now Lucía had gone to put the baby down for a nap, and Teresa and Elena had been pressed into kitchen duty with his mother, while the men of the group had been enticed inside by a game on TV. Which left only Adriana and Francesca at the table. 

“So, T.K., now that the boring adults are gone, tell us everything,” Francesca said, a sneaky smile on her face.

“Ooh yes,” Adriana said, getting comfortable on the picnic bench. “Tell us all your dirty secrets T.K. You lived in New York so do you actually work for the mob? And how hard was it for you to learn to put gas in a car at such an advanced age?”

“Unfortunately no mob connections, although that probably pays better than firefighting or being a paramedic,” T.K. said with a laugh. “And the learning curve on driving was actually pretty quick. We have to fuel the engines, even in New York.”

“Well that’s boring,” Francesca said as she picked up a tamale. “Come on, you have to be more exciting than that. Any secret lovers you’re keeping back there on the side?”

“Cesca!” Carlos said sharply.

“I’m watching out for you!” Francesca cried. “I mean if you two have an open relationship or something that’s your business, but if he—”

“No,” T.K. said quickly. He looked at Carlos. “There’s no one in New York. Or anywhere else.”

Adriana and Francesca both wrinkled their noses, but Carlos hardly noticed, too busy looking at T.K. who was gazing at him with so much tenderness and love. He was taking it all in stride, the insanity, the prying. Questions that might have set him off a year or two ago he now brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Ugh, come on!” Adriana said. “There has to be something. You basically grew up on the set of Gossip Girl. You have to know at least one Kardashian or something.”

“Yes, how many private helicopter rides have there been?” Francesca asked eagerly. “Or penthouse ragers? You have to have been to a penthouse rager of someone famous!”

T.K. shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Adriana pouted. “So boring. Not one secret?”

“Oh, I have secrets,” T.K. said with a grin. He laced his hand through Carlos’. “But only Carlos gets to know them.”

“You play dirty, Strand,” Francesca told him with an approving smile. 

Carlos had had enough. “Come on,” he said, pulling T.K. to his feet and away from the women without a backward glance or apology. 

“Where are we going?” T.K. asked and Carlos wished the answer was a dark corner somewhere that he could kiss his boyfriend’s face off and show him how much he appreciated his efforts today. But that would not be happening anywhere on the premises. Francesca and Adriana could sniff out a couple having a quickie from a mile away. They’d caught Teresa and Javier in a Sunday School classroom during Elena and Elías’ wedding and had never let them forget it. Although Bianca had been born nine months later so apparently getting caught hadn’t been too much of a turn off. He definitely wasn’t risking it though. 

He pulled T.K. over to the patio where the music had cranked up to an all time high now that his cousin Rafael had arrived and was playing DJ.

“Okay,” T.K. said, looking nervous all over again. “You know I can’t really dance right? That first night at the bar, that was all just to get in your pants, you know that right?”

“What?” Carlos feigned surprise and then rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. And considering that you managed to get into my pants about half an hour later, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

“Not the point Carlos.”

“I’ve seen you dance. You’re fine,” Carlos told him.

“Yes in the club!” T.K. told him, eyes wide as he took in the way some of Carlos’ relatives were dancing around them. “This is like something out of Grease! Did you all rehearse this before you got here?”

“Look, Justin’s dancing.” Carlos nodded to where Lucí had managed to get a moment free from her children and pulled her husband onto the impromptu dance floor. 

“Justin’s been in your family for five years. He’s had practice.”

“You’re just going to follow my lead,” Carlos told him confidently as he pulled T.K. close. “Relax.”

“I can’t relax. Your Tía Maria looks like she’s about to come over here and remind us to leave room for the Holy Spirit,” T.K. hissed.

“Like I said earlier, I don’t care what Tía Maria thinks. I haven’t for a long time. I just want to dance with you.” He cocked his head and turned on his most charming smile, eyes pleading a little bit.

T.K. rolled his eyes and groaned. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Exactly,” Carlos allowed himself a full on smirk.

He put one hand on T.K.’s shoulder, the other on his hip and gave a comforting little squeeze. “And now you just follow my lead.”

He took a half a step forward, slowly, not following the music at all, encouraging T.K. to step back with his opposite foot. They managed fine for about three beats until T.K. stepped wrong and they stumbled over one another’s feet. “Sorry,” he said, face going slightly pink. “I told you.”

“You’re tense,” Carlos said. “You can’t dance when you’re tense. Relax. It’s all in the hips.”

“I’m from New York. I barely have hips at all, let alone beautiful, sexy, latin caderas like yours.”

Carlos laughed and bumped up against T.K. with said caderas. “You like my caderas?”

“You know I love your hips and normally I wouldn’t complain about anything you do with them, but everyone is staring at us.”

“They are not.” Carlos took a quick glance around the area and found that indeed, many of his relatives were staring, and he could read wedding bells going off in their eyes. “Okay they are but that’s because they’re nosy, not because of your dancing. Don’t worry about them. Focus on me.”

“Just don’t blame me if I break your toes,” T.K. said nervously.

“I think I’ll survive,” Carlos told him. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I like it.”

“Like what?”

“Completely off your game,” Carlos told him. “You never approach anything with less than one hundred percent confidence and charm.”

“Well I only do things I’m one hundred percent confident in,” T.K. said. “That way I never have to look like I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Ahhh, now it all makes sense,” Carlos said with a laugh.

The music changed and Carlos shifted so that they were closer together, one hand entwined with T.K.’s, the other on his lower back. “So. Tell me the truth. How glad are you that your dad didn’t come today?”

T.K. laughed. “Oh god so glad. You know how he is. He and your sisters would have spent the entire day trying to one up each other on embarrassing stories about us. And he might have won.”

“Oh I doubt that. We’ve got about two more hours until my sisters bring up the bathtub incident.”

T.K.’s eyes widened. “The bathtub incident?”

“Let’s just say it was very expensive and mostly Francesca’s fault.”

“You know, your sisters seem to take a lot of the blame in these stories even though you have a starring role in all of them. I’m starting to wonder who’s really telling the truth here.”

“Shh,” Carlos said, pulling him a little closer. “I’m a cop. I’m very trustworthy.”

“Uh huh.” T.K. looked amused.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

Carlos leaned forward so his lips were touching T.K.’s ear. “You’re dancing.”

And indeed he was, their bodies swaying back and forth, T.K. following all of Carlos’ movements without any trouble. T.K. opened his mouth to respond but he was interrupted by the reappearance of Adriana. “I take it back,” she said, causing them both to pause their movement.

“Take what back?” Carlos asked in confusion.

“There’s no way he’s a stripper. Not with dance moves like that. Yikes.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted,” T.K. said.

“Good,” she said, giving him a mischievous wink. “I like to keep people guessing. Now step aside gringo and let us show you how it’s done.”

She grabbed Carlos’ hand and before he could protest she’d pulled him out to the center of the dance floor, yelling at Rafael to put on something they could really move to. Rafael smoothly transitioned into a song Carlos recognized and Adriana grinned as she began to salsa, clearly expecting him to partner her. He rolled his eyes, but obliged, catching her around the waist and moving back and forth in time with her.

“We approve,” she said as he spun her back and forth.

“Of my dancing?” Carlos asked.

“No, of T.K.,” she said with a smile. “We really like him. Me and all your sisters.”

It should not have warmed his soul so much to hear the words, but it did anyway. “Good,” Carlos said. “Is that why you pulled me out here? To tell me you like him?”

“No, I pulled you out here so he could check out your ass while you dance,” she said, looking over his shoulder, her grin widening. “Which he totally is by the way.”

“Adriana, shut up,” Carlos said, but he smiled anyway and dipped her, really letting loose as the music hit the chorus. Because apparently he was not above showing off for his boyfriend.

By the time the song ended he was sweating and breathless and so was Adriana. “You’ve still got it cousin,” she said. “Now go on. Go over there and take a victory lap with your boyfriend and his puppy dog eyes.”

Carlos looked over to find T.K. looking suitably impressed at the edge of the patio. Carlos shook his head, a blush rising to his cheeks as he walked over. “Well someone’s been holding out on me,” T.K. said when Carlos got close.

“It’s just dancing,” Carlos said.

“Just dancing? Carlos that looked like…I don’t even know, but it was freaking amazing!” T.K. said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know you could dance like that. Why are you over here dancing with me?”

Carlos rolled his eyes and pulled T.K. close to him. “Trust me, Adriana might be a state champion in Salsa, but I prefer dancing with you any day.”

“She’s a state champion?” T.K. asked in surprise.

“Yep,” Carlos said, pulling him back onto the dance floor. “Three years in a row.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, Adriana is good at pretty much anything she decides to be good at. It’s a little ridiculous.”

“That doesn’t explain where your dance moves came from,” T.K. said, looking expectant.

“I um,” Carlos thought for a half second about lying before he decided to give in and tell the truth. “I may have partnered her for a few years.”

“How long is a few?”

Carlos sighed and squeezed his eyes closed. “Like fourth through seventh grade.”

T.K.’s jaw dropped. He pointed a finger at Carlos’ chest. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me that!”

“Well it’s not like it’s relevant to everyday conversation! When would it have ever come up?”

“I don’t know!” T.K. shook his head. “What made you stop?”

Carlos shrugged. “I’m good, but I’m not championship level good. And I was getting into baseball. And Adriana is…really difficult to work with.”

“Carlos! T.K.!” They both turned to find a very welcome presence interrupting their conversation.

“Tía Luci,” Carlos said, pulling back from T.K. so he could give her a hug. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“Well you know I had a date querido. T.K. mi amor! It’s so good to see you!” The many bracelets she was wearing jangled loudly as she hugged T.K. with equal fervor. 

T.K. had been to several Sunday dinners at this point and Tía Luci had accepted him exactly the way Carlos hoped she would, with nothing less than complete and total love. She’d always encouraged Carlos to be exactly who he was and love whoever he desired. It helped of course that she’d had four husbands of her own and was currently single and dating with astonishing frequency.

“It’s good to see you too Tía Luci,” T.K. said with a smile.

“I thought mom said you had a pottery class,” Carlos said.

“I had a date at pottery class,” she said and then leaned closer. “And the clay wasn’t the only thing that got handled, if you catch my meaning.”

Carlos’ cheeks burned as T.K. laughed. His aunt was a free spirit and that meant she was pretty free with most things. Including her sex life. And while Carlos didn’t judge, he definitely didn’t always need all the…details she provided.

“Oh don’t look so scandalized,” she admonished, squeezing his arm. “It’s not like you’re a saint either, sobrino. With a boyfriend like this you must get up to all kinds of nonsense. And if you’re not you should start. You’re only young once!” Someone caught her attention and she waved. “I must go see Alejandro, but you two have fun dancing.”

“How about we run away to New York together?” Carlos asked as she floated away.

“You love her,” T.K. said knowingly.

“I do. But I don’t need to know every detail of her dating life. And no matter how many times I tell her that she doesn’t quite seem to get the message.”

“Seems like Francesca and Adriana come by it honestly,” T.K. said. “Oversharing runs in the gene pool.”

“Yes along with nosiness, a strong desire to meddle, and a life long obsession with the Astros,” Carlos said with a roll of his eyes.

“And yet somehow you have none of those qualities,” T.K. said, raising his eyebrows in a way that suggested he was being sarcastic.

“Me?” Carlos said. “What are you talking about? I don’t do any of those things.”

“Maybe not so overtly. But when you found out Mateo’s house had blown up, you organized all those donations to help out him and his roommates.”

“Because it was the right thing to do!”

“Of course it was. But it was also meddling. Kind meddling. But meddling. And we’ve talked about the cow eyes.”

“What do the cow eyes have to do with anything?” Carlos asked, slightly annoyed.

“When you want to know something that I don’t want to share, you waste no time turning them on. And you know that neither I, nor anyone else can resist. Nosiness.”

“That’s not nosy! It’s…digging for information.”

“Information your chosen suspect may or may not want to share. The suspect being me. Admit it Carlos. You’re more like your family than you’d like to believe.”

“I—“ Carlos struggled to come up with a reply. “I don’t like that you’re siding with my sisters. That was not the point of bringing you here. You’re supposed to back me up.”

“Oh I will never speak to your sisters about this,” T.K. told him. “I’ve got your back. I just want you to know that I know.”

Carlos opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a small body hurtling into his legs so hard he almost fell over. “Tío Carlos!” Marco practically yelled. “You said you would come in an hour. It’s been more than an hour. Will you pleeeeeeeeeeeease come throw the ball with me? You promised!”

Carlos looked a T.K. who smiled and nodded toward Marco. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure I want to leave you alone with my sisters after what you just said. I’m scared about what other things they might put into your head.”

T.K. laughed and gave him a little push. “Go. I’ll try not to be swayed further to their side.”

“You heard him! Go! Go!” Marco pushed Carlos from behind over toward the grassy area past the picnic tables.

“Marco, Marco, relax,” Carlos said, breaking away from his nephew’s aggressive pushing. 

“I waited all day,” Marco told him with a glare.

“And you’re going to wait longer if you’re not polite,” Carlos told him.

Marco looked only slightly chastened. “Sorry.”

“Mhmm.” Carlos tried not to roll his eyes. “Do you have a ball and a glove?”

“Yes!” Marco ran ahead and grabbed them off a picnic table. “Here. This one’s yours. Abuelo got it out of the garage for me.”

Sure enough it was Carlos’ high school mitt. It was beyond worn out, but it would do for a quick round of catch before he rescued his boyfriend from the clutches of whichever sister had decided to grill him next. 

“Okay you go over there and I’ll go over here,” Marco said excitedly, running several yards away, ball clutched in his hand.

His first throw took Carlos by surprise. “Whoa! You’re getting really good at that,” Carlos said as he tossed it back.

“Dad says I might make the travel team this year,” Marco said excitedly as he delivered another throw that made Carlos’ palm sting.

“Yeah I think you’ve got a good shot at it,” Carlos told him. “How’s your fast ball?”

“So good! But I have to work on my curve ball. It doesn’t always go the right way.”

“Ah, I’ve got a trick for that. Let me show you.”

It didn’t take long for all of Carlos’ nieces and nephews to realize he had left the adult table and was available for fun. After he finished with Marco, a game of tag was requested by his other nephews. Then Bianca and Elena wanted to show him the crafts they’d been working on and make him a friendship bracelet which he immediately put around his wrist. 

Nearly an hour had gone by and Carlos began to look around for his boyfriend, feeling guilty for having left him alone for so long. But just as he began making his way back to the picnic tables, Carolina found him and wanted to tell him all about a school project she’d finished recently.

One minute he was chatting with her about orca whales and the next something was colliding with his skull, hard and fast. He felt his head snap to the side, fingers automatically going to touch the spot directly behind his ear.

Carolina had frozen her eyes wide. “Tío Carlos? Estás bien?” she asked tentatively.

The world seemed to tilt and he sank down slowly onto a picnic bench, fingers fumbling against the weathered wood as he tried to aim successfully and not miss and fall to the ground instead. “Sorry!” Marco called, running over. 

Oh. The baseball. That’s what had hit him. That explained the extreme throbbing that had started and why he could already feel a knot growing at the site of impact.

“You hit Tío Carlos right in the head!” Carolina scolded.

“I didn’t mean to!” Marco protested back. “I just threw it, that’s all! I was working on my curveball! It wasn’t my fault!”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Carlos said calmly, even though his vision was starting to blur at the corners. “It was an accident.”

“See? It’s fine!” Marco told her. 

“I’m telling Mom!”

“No you’re not!”

The two continued to squabble and Carlos closed his eyes as their raised voices cut through his skull like a knife. “Carolina,” he interrupted finally. “Can you go find T.K. for me? Tell him I need to ask him something.”

“Yeah.” She narrowed her eyes at Marco. “I’m still telling mom,” she hissed, causing him to take off after her as she ran away.

Carlos swallowed against the sudden queasiness in his stomach. He was regretting the number of tamales he’d eaten now.

The sunlight was really starting to hammer into his skull so he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through his nose, trying to keep his stomach from becoming violent. A hand on his knee startled him. “Carlos?” T.K.’s voice was quiet and concerned. 

Carlos opened his eyes and found his boyfriend or rather, several blurry versions of his boyfriend, looking up at him. “Hey,” he said quietly. Even talking seemed to hurt his rattled brain.

“Are you okay? Carolina said something about a baseball.”

“It was an accident,” Carlos said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Okay,” T.K. said slowly, clearly trying to gauge the situation and read between the lines of what his boyfriend wasn’t telling him. “Where did it hit you?”

Carlos took another slow breath in through his nose as his stomach clenched. “Behind my ear.”

“Which side, this side?” T.K. asked, lifting a hand and gently probing at Carlos’s skull.

His fingers found the knot almost immediately and even though his touch was gentle it sent a stab of pain shooting through Carlos and his stomach lurched. He jerked away, unsuccessful in suppressing a tight lipped moan.

“Okay, hey I need you to talk to me, all right?” T.K. said, his voice going serious as his fingers instinctively sought the pulse point on Carlos’ wrist. “How bad is your pain?”

Carlos had had concussions before; you couldn’t play varsity baseball without the occasional injury. This was ten times worse than he remembered. “Like a seven?” His voice was shaky and opening his mouth at all felt like a huge risk given the discontent happening in his stomach. “And there are about four of you right now.”

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

Carlos squinted at him. “Are you really asking me that?”

“Answer please,” T.K. said, eyes serious.

“Carlos Nicolás Reyes Moreno.”

“And where are we?” 

“My parents’ ranch.”

“Good. And what’s your badge number?”

Carlos opened his mouth and found his mind strangely blank. “I—”

“You can’t remember?” T.K. asked.

“I—no.” He felt panic start to well up in his throat. “T.K…”

“It’s okay,” T.K. said calmly, gently cupping the non-injured side of his face. “You’re going to be all right. But we need to go to the hospital, okay?”

“Oh god,” Carlos groaned partly from pain and queasiness and partly from panic. “Any chance we can sneak out of here without telling my family?”

“Oh, babe, I think that ship has sailed,” T.K. said sympathetically.

“Carlitos? What happened?” Andrea approached at a rapid pace, the Reyes sisters flanking her along with Adriana, Tía Maria, and Tía Luci. He was sure his father wasn’t far behind.

Even as pain clawed at the inside of his skull Carlos tried to assuage their fears. “I’m fine, just a little accident,” he managed.

“Carolina said Marco hit you in the head,” Elena said worriedly. 

“Head injuries are very serious,” Tía Luci told them. “I once dated a tennis player who got a concussion.”

“He got hit with a tennis ball?” Elena asked.

“No, we got a little overly enthusiastic in the bedroom. No half assed sex from that one!”

Carlos heard Tía Maria start muttering a prayer.

“Andrea! What’s going on? Is he all right?” Predictably Gabriel had caught up with the group, a large grill spatula still in his hand.

“Let’s just give him a little room to breathe,” T.K. said calmly, holding up a hand to keep them from coming in closer to smother him with concern. “Francesca if you could go get me some ice and a towel please.”

She disappeared in an instant toward the back of the house.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Teresa asked.

“I am fine,” Carlos insisted again, squeezing his eyes closed as another wave of nausea and dizziness swept over him. He would be. As soon as he was away from his coddling family and in his bed at home.

“Carlitos you be quiet and listen to your boyfriend. He is a professional,” Andrea scolded, worry coloring the sharpness of her tone.

“Yes, T.K., what does he need?” Gabriel asked.

“We’re going to get some ice on here and go from there,” T.K. said. “I don’t think an ambulance is necessary at this point.”

Francesca returned with ice and a towel. “Thank you,” T.K. said, wrapping the ice up tightly and then ever so gently pressing it against Carlos’ head.

He hissed in pain, knuckles gripping the edge of the picnic bench so hard he felt splinters of wood begin to dig into his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” T.K. murmured sympathetically. “We need to try and get the swelling down.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos said through gritted teeth. He hadn’t thought it was possible for his head to hurt more, but the added coldness of the ice was proving to be too much and he felt the tight hold he had on his composure starting to slip. He wanted to leave, he wanted to lie down and sleep, he wanted T.K. to hold him while he cried like a baby because everything hurt like a motherfucker and he was embarrassed as hell about it. 

His family was still carrying on around him, he could hear them asking questions and making plans, but all he focused on was T.K.’s free hand, the one that wasn’t pressing ice to his skull. That hand was resting comfortingly on his knee, thumb moving slowly back and forth. Thank god T.K. was here to mitigate the chaos.

He didn’t realize he was starting to drift away until T.K.’s hand squeezed his knee more tightly and then moved up to his shoulder, keeping him upright. “Hey, hey, no, don’t go to sleep,” he said urgently.

Right. Sleep was not a good idea. Carlos forced his eyes open and tried to focus on his boyfriend’s worried face, but it swam in front of him and made his stomach churn. “T.K…”

“I’ve got you,” T.K. said firmly. He turned and looked up at Andrea and Gabriel who had come to hover a little closer. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

“I’ll drive you,” Andrea said immediately.

“You’re entertaining all these guests mi amor,” Gabriel said. “You stay, I’ll take the boys.”

“We’re all coming,” Lucía said immediately.

Carlos felt his heart rate quicken at the thought of his entire family standing around in the hospital waiting room and the kind of chaos that would cause. He didn’t need to worry though. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” T.K. said quickly. “There’s no reason to believe this is anything more serious than a concussion. It will be quick, not worth everyone coming out.”

“I will update you the entire time,” Gabriel promised.

“Text messages every five minutes,” Andrea ordered.

“Can you stand?” T.K. asked and Carlos nodded his affirmative, immediately regretting the motion when the throbbing in his skull increased.

T.K. took his arm and Carlos got up on wobbly legs. He made it about two steps before his knees began to give out and he felt his father grab his other arm. “Steady mijo,” Gabriel said.

It seemed like an eternity before they passed through the house and into the front driveway. Out of sight of his family Carlos felt the last of his control slip away. The blood drained from his face and he gagged. 

“Whoa!” T.K. said, quickly lowering him to the ground as he began to heave out the contents of his stomach onto the concrete.

By the time it was over Carlos’ pain had ratcheted up to somewhere in the nines and he heard himself letting out a pathetic whimper as his brain exploded inside of his skull. “Easy Carlitos, easy,” his father said, the words barely registering as he and T.K. lifted Carlos back onto his feet and basically carried him the rest of the way to his dad’s truck.

He ended up with his head in T.K.’s lap, his boyfriend continuing to hold ice against his head with one hand, while the other ran soothingly up and down his arm. “Stay awake for me, all right?” he said.

“Trying,” Carlos said, his voice sounding cracked and broken. Mostly he was trying to breathe because he really didn’t want to throw up again. Every bump in the road, every touch of the breaks, sent pain ricocheting through his head. “It really hurts.”

“I know, I’m so sorry. We’re almost there,” T.K. said softly. “You’re all right, keep breathing, okay?”

Gabriel pulled directly up to the ER doors and he and T.K. helped Carlos into a wheelchair. If he’d been in any less pain he would have found the entire thing humiliating, but every bit of his energy was currently being spent on staying awake and not vomiting all over the floor.

“I’ll park the car and meet you inside,” Gabriel said as T.K. pushed him through the doors.

The next few hours were a hellish blur. They ran a battery of tests including an MRI and a CT scan, asked him dozens of questions, all of which he was able to answer thank god.

Despite his best efforts, he threw up twice more, T.K. holding a basin in front of his face each time, then rubbing his back comfortingly as he curled into a ball, knives stabbing through his head after such violent movement.

He hated being reduced to a shaking, moaning mess, especially in front of his father, but there was no help for it. The pain was only growing worse and there was no relief in sight, not until the tests came back.

“Breathe,” T.K. said, running a thumb back and forth over Carlos’ hand. “Carlos you have to breathe and try to relax.”

“I can’t.” The words came out on a whimper. “It hurts.”

“Carlitos, you have to try,” his dad said, sounding beyond concerned. “The more tense you are the worse it will feel.”

Tears slid down his cheeks as the pounding in his head beat on relentlessly. It had been hours and there was never any relief to the waves of pain, just a constant throbbing, knifelike agony. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself, ragged, stuttering breaths tearing from his chest.

“I’m going to go find the nurse,” Gabriel said. “My wife and daughters might be better at nagging, but I’m sure I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

He disappeared out the door and the next thing Carlos knew the bed was shifting as T.K. climbed in with him, wrapping his arms tightly around Carlos’ body. “What are you doing?” Carlos choked out.

“Taking care of you,” he said, his lips by Carlos’ ear. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Breathe. Just a little bit longer and we’ll get you some medication. I promise.”

T.K.’s fingers stroked up and down his arm and he continued to murmur soothing words into Carlos’ ear. Carlos felt his muscles slowly begin to unclench one at a time. The agony in his skull began to ease, just enough that he could breathe easier and think a little more clearly.

His dad must have given someone a piece of his mind because within fifteen minutes the doctor had returned. “Okay, Mr. Reyes we are looking at a grade two concussion here. All your scans came back clear so while painful, your recovery should be pretty easy.”

“No brain bleed?” T.K. asked.

“No. No brain bleed, no skull fracture.”

He could see T.K. and his father sag in relief. They were both putting on a good front, trying to be strong for him, but in that moment the worry in the room finally lifted off like a cloud, dissipating into calm.

“We’re going to keep you for a little bit, start you on some strong Tylenol to help manage the pain. I’ll come check on you in an hour okay?”

It was another two hours before they were finally able to go home, Gabriel dropping them off with promises to bring Carlos’ car over in the morning.

He was more steady on his feet now and the medication had helped both his headache and the nausea, so with T.K.’s help he was able to manage the stairs without too much difficulty.

T.K. sat him on the bed and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I can do it,” Carlos said, but his boyfriend gave him a stern look and continued. 

This behavior persisted until Carlos was settled in bed, an extra pillow behind his head, a glass of water on the nightstand along with additional Tylenol. “Better?” T.K. asked as Carlos leaned back against the pillows with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Carlos told him. The lights were dim, causing his splitting headache to dull to a throbbing one instead. 

He heard his phone buzz for the thousandth time in the last few hours. “Do you want to see who that is?”

He couldn’t look at the screen without feeling like someone had stabbed a knife through his eyes. Hopefully that would pass quickly. It was only a grade two concussion and most of his pain was coming from the actual injury itself, not his brain rattling around in his skull.

T.K. punched in Carlos’ passcode and then scrolled through. “You have forty seven unread texts. Most of them are from your sisters. A few from your mom and aunts. And one reminding you to vote next week.”

Carlos groaned. “You’d think I was dying. This isn’t even as bad as the time Elías flipped the four wheeler over while we were on vacation. He broke his leg in two places and had to have surgery and nobody was all over him.”

“Oh, the texts aren’t about you,” T.K. said, eyes lighting up with mirth.

Carlos squinted at him. “I’m confused then.”

T.K. cleared his throat. “You listen to T.K. and do what he says. That one is from Teresa.” He scrolled a little further. “Congratulations on picking someone who’s not a dick. He actually comes in handy, that’s Adriana.” He snorted. “And this one from Francesca just says, ‘Remember not to fuck again until your brain is better.’”

“You know, Tía Maria campaigned pretty hard to send her to a convent when she was a teenager. Some days I think we should have let her,” Carlos said.

“The rest are variations on how great I am and how you need to eat a lot of soup and get a lot of rest. And I have a text from your mom.”

Carlos cracked one eye to look at him. “Are you going to share?”

“Mm…I’m not sure you can handle this one.”

T.K. was grinning from ear to ear, clearly beyond proud of himself and delighted to have information Carlos didn’t. 

“T.K. just read it. I can see that smug look on your face.”

He cleared his throat. “T.K. thank you for taking care of our Carlitos. You are such a blessing to our family.” T.K. grinned. “They like me.”

“Of course they like you.”

“They really like me.”

“Yes, T.K. My family loves you. Just like I always knew they would.”

“Well I appreciate that. But you really didn’t have to get hit in the head with a baseball just so I could endear them to me with my paramedic skills.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Marco,” Carlos said. “He’s the one with an arm like a Major League baseball player.”

“Yeah he can really throw huh?” T.K. said, brushing a gentle hand through Carlo’s curls, careful to avoid the area the ball had struck. “How’s your pain?”

“Tolerable,” Carlos said. 

“And the nausea?”

“Better,” Carlos said. 

“Good.” T.K. seemed relieved. “Listen, next time you want to get out of a family activity, you can just tell me. You don’t need to give yourself a grade two concussion. Just say the word and I will fake an emergency and get us out of there.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t fake an emergency after hour one,” Carlos said. “Thank you for today. You getting along with my family it…” Tears threatened to close his throat and he forced them back because he really wanted T.K. to know what he was feeling. “It means everything.”

“They’re easy to get along with,” T.K. said. “And we have a lot in common.”

“Oh?”

“We all love you.”

#911 Lone Star #911 LS #Tarlos #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Andrea Reyes #Gabriel Reyes #The Reyes Family #Soft boys #Whump #Sports injury #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Carlos whump #Headache #Concussion #Hospital trip #Tarlos Fanfic #Soft Tarlos #Sweet Tarlos #Carlos Reyes needs a hug #And for his family to stop asking questions #Long fic

[peanut-in-the-goal]

could u write something like remus is out running errands or something and he gets recognized by an nhl fan who’s homophobic and shitty and he goes home and sirius comforts him and it’s cute and fluffy

I KIND OF WENT ON A RANT IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS IM SO SORRY

ALSO I LOST SPEAKING PRIVILEGES WITH @kielemarie because of this. IM SORRY MARIE PLEASE ANSWER MY ASKS

@candy--floss--kid you asked to be tagged when i finished so here ya go

@lumosinlove thank you for this fandom that is sweater weather

also here’s the last thing I wrote because I'm proud of it please I thrive on validation

---

Remus was walking down one of the aisles in the store, looking for a baking mix. He figured that he’d finally take up the challenge of teaching Sirius how to bake. 

He found a simple recipe. Yellow cupcake mix, how could he mess it up? Remus thought to himself. He placed it in the cart before he felt someone forcefully slam into his shoulder. 

He stumbled, his hand immediately going to his scar from Grayback. He looked up slowly, dreading who he might see. 

His eyes locked with the dark green ones in front of him. The tall man’s eyes matched the Slytherin Jersey he wore. Riddle was in bold letters on the back. Which was bad, but not the worst thing that could have happened.

He allowed himself to breathe, it’s not Fenrir, he let the relief of it wash over him. 

“Sorry,” Remus said. He knew it wasn’t his fault but didn’t want to start any drama or conflict when there was no need for it. Especially with a Snakes fan,

He tried to just walk away. He had everything he needed for just a lazy day at home, but the man stepped in front of him. 

Remus looked up confused. Leo has told him about Karen’s doing this sort of stuff. Something that Gen Z came up with or whatever, but he wasn’t sure if he entirely grasped the concept. Suddenly the man started laughing. A deep menacing, laugh that had no humor behind it. 

His eyes were hard as he stared at Remus. 

“It’s not right you know.” He said. His voice was deep and loud, everyone else in the aisle turning to look. “You’re just a bunch of sinners.”

Remus realized what he was referring to in a heartbeat. He was taken aback at first, he knew people felt this way but he had yet to have anyone come and say it to his face so plainly.

He took a step back moving the cart to go around the man, “Excuse me,” he gritted out. He started pushing the cart before a hand reached out and grabbed it.

Remus raked a hand through his hair, sighing he looked up at the man. The green-eyed man was smirking at him, holding onto the front of the cart. The letters stood out in the harsh lighting of the store, glimmering every time he moved.

ALWAYS, PURE, HOCKEY.

The words were printed underneath the symbol, the green snake. It made him sick, he felt bad for all the people who were drafted to that team, stuck without a chance of escaping on their own.

The queasiness in his stomach turned into anger. He used that.

“Was there something you wanted?” Remus asked, generally annoyed now. 

“I want you to know that it’s not fucking right.” The man stepped closer, Remus stayed where he was. 

“Noted, now if you don’t mind I think I’m going to go home to my boyfriend.”

One of the people next to him snorted and tried to hide their laughter at the affronted look on the green-eyed man's face. 

“How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?” The man sniped. 

“Easily, knowing that a homophobic git who can’t keep their nose in their own business isn’t looking back.”

More people laughed, Remus smirked. The man seemed to be getting angrier and angrier, which was just fine. 

“You’re broken.” The man pursed his lips.

“How original.”

Remus pushes the cart again, managing to make the man dislodge his fingers. He started towards the checkout, wanting to get out of there as soon as he could. 

It wasn’t his first time he heard these things. That was all he heard when he was in the media and the pictures had just come out. But Sirius had suffered through most of the face to face stuff, while Remus saw all of it online.

It didn’t make the impact of the words any easier.

It disgusted him that people still thought this way, that they didn’t like that he was able to find love with someone that wasn’t accepted. So what, oh no, they have the same genitals, obviously, it isn’t right. Fuck them for thinking that, honestly. 

It’s sad that they’re so limited to that type of mindset. Where only one thing is right and everything else is wrong in their eyes.

He huffed, walking down the aisle with his head held high. 

Stand your ground, don’t let him win. You got this.

The man followed him, yelling slurs from where he was trailing behind him. 

Don’t let him see, it’s okay. Just a little longer than you can go home to Sirius and everything will be alright.

He finally makes it to the front of the store, but of course, there’s a line. He stands waiting for self check out, it’s the shortest.

“It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” Remus didn’t even raise his head to look at the idiot.

Just ignore it, don’t give him the time of day. Keep your head up.

“How am I disgusting?”

“You’re limiting people to only live by your standards and your viewpoints on what’s normal rather than letting them be happy and live how they want. It’s gross really, that you’re so closed-minded about these things for fucks sake.“

“I’m saying what’s right!” The man spluttered.

“How is it right? How is any of that right?” Remus snapped his head up to look at him, his eyes were hard. “You’re telling me that I’m not allowed to live my life or be happy because it doesn’t see fit to you?” He shook his head in outrage.

The man opened his mouth to speak but Reus didn’t let him.

“Ever hear of John Locke. Our three natural rights that we’re all born with? One of them being the Pursuit of Happiness. I’m not hurting you am I? Me happening to like other men does not affect you, it affects me. It makes me happy and you’re really going to come out here and fucking tell me that I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

The man was at a loss for words, scrambling to grab onto anything to say but he couldn’t.

“It’s still not right.” He said gruffly.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

The man glared at him before huffing and walking away. Remus sighed in relief. 

He walked up to the check out that had just opened, swiping his items before getting a bag and rushing out of the store. 

Some people smiled at him in encouragement, but he was so drained and just wanted to be home at the moment.

He threw the bag in the passenger seat, climbing into the car to drive. He sat there for a minute.

In for four, hold for six, out for eight. Repeat. It’s okay.

He shuffled his playlist, smiling softly and humming along to the tune of Free Fallin by Tom Petty. He was definitely free falling when he fell in love with Sirius.

The drive home was short, luckily they lived close by.

He pulled up into the driveway and quickly scrambled out of the car. His chest felt tight and there was a lump forming in his throat. He jiggled the key in the lock, difficult because of how shaky his hands were.

Finally, he heard a soft click and stepped inside.

“Baby?” Remus called through the house, his voice cracked slightly. He could hear the dull noise of the TV in the other room, then some shuffling, before Sirius’ goofy grin popped around the corner. Slowly, it morphed to one of concern.

“Re?” Sirius took in his red face, and trembling lips, before pulling him into a hug. Remus sagged against him, letting Sirius support his weight and dropping his head against his shoulder.

“Vas tu bien, mon Loup?” Remus nodded his head slowly against Sirius’ neck because though he might not actually be okay, he felt safe in Sirius’ arms. He held on tighter when Sirius went to let go.

“Mon loup? What’s wrong?” Sirius asked. He pulled back just enough to be able to look at his face. 

Remus stuttered for a moment.”There uh…” Sirius rubbed his side soothingly. “There was this idiot at the store, h-he said it wasn’t right?” His voice came out as a question. He bit his lip hard against the tears welling up.

God, why did he feel like crying? It’s not like he hasn’t heard all of this before because he has. But having someone saying it to his face like that in the middle of a store where he’d never had problems before was like a punch in the gut. Was this how it was going to be from now on?

Was he going to get stopped on the streets or in the stores and restaurants just because he was gay? Because he chose love over being what everyone else wanted him to be?

As long as he got Sirius it would be worth it in the end. It had to be.

“Wasn’t right?” Sirius furrowed his brow. “Oh.” The realization dawned on his face.

“No, no, Remus, non.  He’s wrong, He—”

“I know.” Remus looked at him. “I know. Just… Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Are people always going to look at us like we’re different j-just because we love each other?”

Sirius made a sad almost whine like noise. “I’m sorry Re…”

Remus sighed, dropping his forehead to rest against Sirius’s shoulder again. “At least I have you.” His words were muffled but Sirius still understood.

He smiled softly at his boyfriend. “I could say the same thing. Come on.”

Sirius led Remus back to their living room, the TV playing some cooking show that started when Sirius’ had ended. Sirius sat on the couch, pulling Remus to lay down with him.

“Has it always been this bad for you?” Remus murmured, his eyes were already shut. He cuddled further into Sirius.

“I guess. I don’t know, I stopped listening to that stuff, they’re all wrong anyway.” He grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the couch and draped it over them both.

“I’m sorry, I love you.” Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of Remus’ hairs.

“I love you too,” but Remus was already softly snoring away.

---

Remus’s eyes fluttered open sometime later. He was curled on the couch with Sirius. It was dark outside, the stars shining through the leaves of the tree that stood outside their window.

He shifted to rub at his eyes, yawning.

“You’re cute.” 

Remus snorted. “I just woke up.”

“You’re still cute.” Sirius laughed softly, brushing some stray strands of hair from Remus’ face.

Remus yawned again. “What time is it?”

Sirius grabbed his attention phone from where it was laying next to him. “7:30, you’ve been asleep for a while.”

Remus huffed, sitting up all the way. 

“I was going to teach you how to bake a cake,” he pouted. 

“I know how to bake a cake!” Sirius exasperated, “I also stand by my statement of you’re cute.”

Remus huffed out a laugh.  He stood up, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! Celeste taught me.”

“She taught you or she tried to teach you, there’s a difference.” Remus raised his eyebrow,

“Fine, she tried.” 

“Then I will conquer the impossible.” He said it boldly, standing up at the same time, making them both laugh. 

“I’m not impossible.” 

“Teaching you is,” Remus smirked, tugging Sirius’ hand to make him get off the couch.

He felt so much lighter now. Being around Sirius tended to have that effect on him. He made him forget what he was worried about, and made him feel safe and loved. The man from the store was still in the back of his mind nagging at him but at this moment that didn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two of them. And wasn’t that wonderful?

“I am not impossible to teach,” Sirius whined. Remus laughed, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes, you are baby,” Remus shook his head fondly, looking for the bag from the shop. He didn’t see it. “I think I left the stuff in the car, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll get it!” Sirius grabbed the keys before Remus could, a dopey grin on his face.

“Must everything be a competition?” There was no bite behind his words, watching Sirius fling the door open. The cold air from outside drifted into the heated house, Remus shivered.

The door shut and Sirius was back in front of him, bag in hand.

“Ready to show you that I can learn!”

“Did you lock the door?” Sirius hesitated for a moment. Remus had to bite back a laugh, “I’ll go lock it,” he pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cheek.

“Now we’re ready,” He pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cold nose this time.

He took out what he bought, vanilla extract, a boxes of cake mix, sugar, and sprinkles.

“Okay so…” He held one of the boxes, reading the recipe on the back. “Can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees, baby?” He asked. Sirius looked at him before walking over to the oven. “Or, do you want me to do it?” 

“I can do it.” Remus laughed.

“Sorry.” Sirius batted Remus’s hands away. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Uh, we have to make the batter. Can you get the eggs out please?”

“Mhm,” he got the eggs from the refrigerator, placing them gently on the island. 

“Alright wait, we need 3 eggs, ½ a cup of oil, a cup of water, and this.” He held up the mix for emphasis. 

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” he smiled at Sirius. He owed one heck of a lot to that idiot. His idiot.

“Easy,” Sirius dragged out his words and laughed.

“See you say that now, but something has to go wrong I swear.”

Sirius grumbled as he went to crack the eggs into the bowl for the electric mixer. Remus laughed again, going back to reading the instructions, making sure that they were doing it right.

“Oops.” Remus snapped his head up.

“Oops? What do you mean oops?” He leaned over to look at the bowl. Half an eggshell laid on its side in a bowl, on top of the already broken up egg.

“Told you something would go wrong,” Remus laughed, carefully picking it out to throw away.

They worked on making the batter, Remus telling Sirius what to do. Finally, everything was in the bowl and they just had to mix it.

“Okay, you can turn on the — hey wait!” 

Sirius pulled the little switch on the side of the mixer. All the way.

 “No! Sius don’t.” But it was too late, the powder from the cake mix flew everywhere. Finally Remus was able to hit the switch back, turning it off.

They looked around, but the mix had covered the counter tops and ground in a sheet of what looked like dust. 

A startled laugh came from him, Sirius following right after. Their shoulders shook with mirth.

“Well that was a bust.”

“And we still haven’t even started on the frosting yet.”

#gg writes #coops #wolfstar #homophobia #homophobic language #Fuck the snakes #hurt/comfort #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Sirius cannot bake a cake to save his life #I cannot write fluff to save myself #we're both doomed

[k-s-morgan]

I have a question.

Is there a difference for you in terms of properly representing a selective group of people, whether that be race, ethnicity, identity and sexuality V.S. Survivors are of trauma, assault, psychological damage, mental illness and otherwise?

I know that you don’t mind people who romanticize dark events like rape, Stockholm syndrome or like incest (I’m not sure about that last one)Like do you not mind when people romanize rape or racism?

For me personally. I don’t mind people writing about dark elements of society. That is because it brings awareness to these serious issues in our society. I’m not so sure though about painting them in rose colored lenses or portraying it as something that is good. (Unless it usually from the victim’s warped perception)

I think a lot of things are interesting. Like your own stories. To me they don’t give out a message. Like yes this is an amazing relationship go do the same thing or this is something you should look for in a relationship/person! But some of the stories that are darker and portray like pedophilia and rape make it seem like ‘oh they really wanted it’ or ‘it’s okay, it’s not that bad’

I think those are dangerous messages to give out. Whether to children or adults. Because there is a thing like when you start off by put off by it, but the more you read things like that the more accustom to it and it becomes not as bad as a thing. Ya know.

That’s how like a lot of serial killers, rapists and other people start on the path to do those horrible things. It’s because they become accustomed to the message that it’s alright to do what they want.

Sorry for the long ask. But just wanted to ask your opinion on the matter because I see both sides of the argument and I want to find a middle ground. Ya know.

Hello! This will get a bit long, but I’d like to start with asking everyone: please don’t send me asks about the morality of fiction. While I can write essays on it, it’s not the topic that interests me and I don’t want to spend my time on it, no matter how genuine and respectful you are. I’m going to say everything I think about this subject in this reply, and that’s it.

Anon: I indeed don't mind romanization of such things as rape, age difference, incest, violence, and so on in fiction. These kinds of stories exist for adults only, and it's expected that adults can tell the right from wrong without having everything spelled out for them. In an ideal world, children shouldn't have access to fiction like this, but they are curious and easily bypass restrictions. In this case, the responsibility is on them and/or their parents. When I was about 11, I discovered the world of fanfiction. There were no tags then, and I readily clicked on "I'm 18" warnings to read the content I wanted. Some of it affected me badly - I still vividly remember the story where my favorite character was graphically raped, and it left me terrified and upset. With time, I learned how to recognize and filter such content, and it's especially easy now, when tagging has become commonplace.

There are indeed stories that portray very problematic things in a fluffy and positive way, though I'd say they are a minority. I read *a lot* of stuff and I probably saw just a few of them over my whole life. Even then, though, it is expected that adults read such content. And adults, along with most teenagers, won't decide that if one or even ten stories showed a fucked up relationship very positively, then it must be a good thing in real life. People are surrounded by parents, relatives, friends and their families, classmates, folks on the streets: this influence is far more profound than a story they might have read.  

Fiction can reflect the society, but it doesn't direct it. Every day, we see the normalization of smoking, drinking, toxic masculinity, heteronormativity, and racism in movies, TV shows, cartoons, etc. But they are there because the society is like this. These things existed long before fiction as we know it started developing. At the same time, murders aren't normalized in the society at all no matter how many action, thriller, and horror movies we all see. And murders are shown much more often than incest, minor/adults, and abuse portrayed in positive light. So if nothing happened with the former, nothing will definitely happen with the latter. 

Fiction can indeed have a small positive impact by normalizing things like equality. For example, it's natural for random female characters to kiss a male character. It's present even in 'Hannibal', where Chiyoh kisses Will and Bedelia kisses Hannibal out of blue, with nothing to really justify it. But it's almost unheard of male characters to do the same: if they do kiss other male characters randomly, it's usually within the "ewww, gross!" joking context. If things were to change, as they are slowly doing, if characters were allowed to interact equally regardless of their gender, then it could make an impact on the society. But fiction alone could never be responsible for it: same-sex marriages are being legalized. Punishments for homophobia start being enhanced. There are changes happening in the real world, and fiction is just a nice addition that helps solidify them.

There should be more diversity and more representation in fiction because it could aid in the positive practices that are already happening. But no matter how many stories feature romantization of violence, it's not and won't be accepted in the society because people have a general understanding of what is right and what is wrong.

There is also a big difference between fandom content and mainstream content. Someone's fanfic about romantic rape won't re-write the morals of a person. It's a work published for free and you can never guess what motivated the writer to create it. Mainstream fiction, on the other hand, is expected to show a little more care because millions are being poured into it and it has a far wider reach. POC and LGBTQ people already suffer from discrimination. If fiction further contributes to it, it's bad. If it chooses to contribute to the positive changes that take place, it's great. But everything still and always goes back to the real world.  

Finally, serial killers don't become killers because they saw a message about it being okay in fiction. They were already fucked up and considering it, and they just wanted to find a justification. What you see in real life has a far bigger influence than anything you experience in fiction, and the numbers don't change. It's been decades from the moment violence started being glamourized, and the majority of population don't think it's okay to beat someone up. 80% of women have rape fantasies, but most people don't think they actually want to be raped. The same principle applies to every type of fiction out there. People with unstable minds, people who cannot differentiate between the real and the made-up, people who are easily triggered by dark material should not be consuming fiction of this type. If they do, the fault for that doesn’t fall on the shoulders of the creator, just like it cannot fall on producer of peanut cookies if a person with peanut allergy decided to eat them. 

#personal #shipping #fiction #antis

[humandisasterskywalker]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) -

All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Torture, Whump, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, No Beta We Die Like Clones Series:

Part 1 of Whumptober 2021

Summary:

Whumptober 2021 Day 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You’ll have to let go” / barbed wire / bound

Anakin was used to being captured. The way his master was determined to spring every trap had resulted in it being a common occurrence in their apprenticeship. 

He was confident Obi Wan would come to rescue him. After all, he always had. The Force Suppression cuffs however, they were new. 

If he was honest with himself, Anakin had got used to being captured by this point. Obi Wans mantra that the best way to negotiate a trap was to spring it had gotten the two of them into this kind of situation too many times before. It had happened too many times to be a novelty.

Obi Wan would be along to break him out soon. He always did. He wasn’t worried.

The Force Suppression cuffs clasped around his wrists though, he was not used to them.

He didn’t know if a new scientist had joined the separatist cause and developed the technology, or someone had defected from the order bringing it with them. It couldn’t be Dooku. If he had wanted to use them surely he would have introduced them when the war had first started. Anakin stared at the blank walls of the cell.

He hoped Obi Wan wouldn’t take too long to reach him. Experience had proved that lone captivity was nothing if not boring.

***

His captors seemed intent on ignoring him. The only real contact he was getting with any sentient being was with the guard that brought his rare meals. He never talked. Never responded to Anakins attempts to engage him, whether through his brand of humour or insults to prompt him into a fight. Nothing worked. He was craving some kind of human interaction. Anything that could add interest to his day.

Anakin had no windows in the cell. He couldn’t tell exactly how much time had past but counting meals made him think it had been at least a standard week. Maybe more. His arms were hurting from the cuffs, his shoulders stiff from holding them in the same position. What was keeping Obi Wan? He had never taken more than a few days to come after him before. 

Doubt crossed his mind. Maybe Obi Wan was only willing to come after him when he was his Padawan. Maybe now he had been Knighted he didn’t think it was worth it. He wasn’t his responsibility anymore…

No! Anakin thought. He would come. He was just spiralling from the lack of conversation. He never could deal well being left alone with his thoughts Obi Wan would come. 

He would. 

He had to.

A clanking sound echoed outside the room. Anakin scurried towards the hatch in the door. Maybe today would be the day the guard would crack. The Dura-steel slid back to reveal two mechanical arms.

Roger Roger!” The droid droned before withdrawing.

Anakins heart dropped. There went any hopes of a conversation.

***

If you asked Anakin the whole charade was his captor’s fault.

It was them who had decided to leave him alone for so long. He could only be trusted for a short amount of time before he came out with some kind of scheme.

The problem was that his well planned escape attempt had not worked. 

Not in the slightest. 

He hadn’t made even two corridors until he had run into a patrol. He had not realised how much he had come to rely on his connection to the force. It had covered up holes in his plans before.

Not that the quality of the plan was his fault. It was the separatists. The ones who had left him alone with nothing to do but think. And Obi Wan. For leaving him here.

The droids that dragged him back through the hallways of the ship didn’t seem interested in whose blame it was though. They didn’t seem interested in his comfort either. His legs had given out after the injuries he had suffered in his recapture had got the better of him. But the droids didn’t slow, continuing to drag him along the floor 

They weren’t heading back to his cell Anakin thought. These corridors were different. Darker. They were going deeper into the ship. Where could they be taking him? Maybe at last he would be able to work out exactly why he was being held here. At least that would mean he got some answers.

The door slid open before him with a mechanical beep revealing a bed surrounded by mechanical equipment.

The whole room had a disconcerting hum. As if it was alive with electricity. He was sure if he could feel the force it would have felt dark.

He subconscious reached for his bond, feeling a deep pang of loneliness when he found nothing in its place.

He was wrestled into the bed and strapped down

This was not going to be good.

*** 

Electric shocks jolted into his body. 

“Tell us,” the masked man growled. “The plans for the defence of Christophsis !”

The jolts stopped and Anakin felt his body sag.

He hurt. All over. He desperately tried to conceal it. He ran over the Jedi code in his head. He couldn’t let his emotions show. 

He was serene.

 He was peaceful. 

He felt no pain.

Except he did. He really, really did.

He kept his mouth shut. He was not going to risk his troopers lives by revealing anything. And Obi Wan. His master was due on Christophsis. He wouldn’t condemn him by telling them anything. Even though he hadn’t come for him.

He wasn’t coming Anakin realised. He was going to be left here alone. He’d probably die here.

“Very well,” The man said. His mouth contorted into a smile through the mask. “We will have to do this the hard way.”

He jolted the switch down and Anakins body ignited. 

He couldn’t see. 

He couldn’t hear. 

He couldn’t feel anything apart from the pain coursing through him. 

His mouth was open but he couldn’t even hear himself scream. 

The world was white. The world was pain. 

Let me die he begged to himself just let me die rather than live through this. 

The electricity shut off and the world slowly returned to him. 

The man was hunched over him now. His face was barely above his.

“Christophsis Jedi. Tell us about Christophsis and this will all be over.”

I don’t know!” Anakin sobbed. “I don’t know anything about Christophsis. I didn’t even know you were interested in it .”

The man’s smile seemed to get even crueller. 

“I don’t believe you Jedi. See we have sources that suggest you are one of the key Generals for the Christosphis campaign. I guess I must try harder to break you.”

Sources Anakin thought distantly was their a spy in the order. But before he had the chance to swell on it further his world became pain again.

Why didn’t you come? He thought desperately before he lost his grasp on consciousness. Obi Wan, why did you chose to leave me here?

***

Anakin didn’t look up when the door opened. The door opening only resulted in pain now. Maybe if he pretended to not look the door wouldn’t have opened.

That his torture wasn’t about to resume.

Not that he wasn’t in pain now. Ever since his escape attempt, he had been restrained even within the room, his hands cuffed on the wall above his head. 

His arms hurt. The only break they ever got was when he was taken away to that chamber, if you could even call that rest. He was so tired. His hopes of rescue had almost completely gone.

He still had faith in his Master. He had to. It was the only thing he had left. He just wanted it all to be over.

He could see an electric blue light ignite behind his eyelids. 

He knew that light.

He was sure.

His eyes flew open. 

Obi Wan was standing in the doorway.

He felt relief course through him. He didn’t know how it would play out. He didn’t know how they’d get out. But his Master was here now. That meant everything would be fine.

Obi Wan moved forward quickly, lightsaber swinging straight through the cuffs. Anakin felt his weight give way, the pressure finally released from his arms. He fell to the floor. Or he would have done it if he wasn’t caught. Obi Wan lowered him gently, hand caressing his face.

“Dear One, what did they do to you?”

Anakin opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the rush as the force returned to him.

He could feel the hum again, the way the world seemed to speak to him. He reached for the bond, clumsy and desperate but he grasped hold of it as soon as he found it. 

He felt Obi Wans worry.

He felt the sense of hopelessness Obi Wan had suffered.

He felt the determination Obi Wan had felt.

“You looked for me.” Anakin croaked. “You didn’t stop looking for me.”

Obi Wan looked devastated. “Of course not Padawan. I would never stop looking for you.”

 He glared at the cuffs. “Those, abominations meant it took far longer, but I would never…” Obi Wan stared into Anakin’s eyes “never leave you behind Padawan.”

“Am not a Padawan.” Anakin tried to joke.

Obi Wan didn’t crack a smile. “You will always be my Padawan dear one. I will always care for you.”

Anakin smiled, feeling himself being lifted into Obi Wans arms. 

“Knew you’d come for me.” He murmured. “They told me you wouldn’t but knew they would.”

“What did they do?” Obi Wans voice was flat. Carefully controlled.

“Electricity…” Anakin said. He was fighting off the darkness again. He desperately fought himself, trying to keep awake. “They wanted to know about Christophsis. Know about you. Couldn’t let them know that Master.”

Obi Wans expression was dark. “They won’t get you again Padawan. I swear.” 

Anakin felt a pulse of reassurance as he fell back into unconsciousness. 

He was safe. 

Obi Wan would protect him. 

He was safe.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #star wars #star wars prequels #fic #implied torture #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #look i write #its been 84 years #but i have written again

[electricshoebox]

writing tag

Tagged by the lovely @adventuresofmeghatron, thank you!

Tagging: @junemermaid, @molliehaswords, @desynchimminent, @valkyriejack, and @mercurymiscellany​, if you’d like to do it!

1.  How many works do you have on AO3? 

39. Holy shit. 

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

533,274 words. Holy shit.

3. What are you top 5 fics by kudos?

How to Share a Bed Without Killing Each Other: a Love Story (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, 5 Chapters, Complete) The trials and tribulations of literally sleeping together.

Rivers in the Sand (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) The Hissing Wastes unsettles Bull’s memories, and when he and Dorian are trapped together by a fallen pillar, Dorian helps him deal.

a soft place to land (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) When a letter from his father sets him off, Dorian turns to Bull for a distraction.

Always Good at Bad Ideas  (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) Bull gets injured fighting a dragon, which leaves Dorian frantic enough to blurt out the one thing he was trying to keep to himself.

Flashpoint (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) “One time he got so excited he set the curtains on fire.”

4. Do you respond to comments?  Why or why not? 

Yes, always! I’ve seen various opinions on whether authors should, but to me, engaging with and getting excited with readers is half the fun and half the point. I also just really want people to know how much it means to me not only that they read, but that they take the time to leave a comment. Comments are hard to write. I completely sympathize with that, sometimes you just don’t know what to say or how to say it, and I absolutely don’t begrudge anyone that doesn’t. It just means a lot to me when people do, even when it’s literally just “This was cool!” or something, and I want them to know that it’s appreciated!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. I guess that sort of depends on your definition of angsty. None of them have directly tragic endings, it’s just not in me to write that way, but I have one or two with open or less definitely, obviously happy endings. The rarepair DA2 oneshot I wrote for Merrill/Orana, Counting the Cost, has the most open ending, left completely up to interpretation. The Inception AU DAI fic I wrote for Dorian/Bull, In the Shadow of Dreams, has what I think of as an optimistic ending, and less a happy one. I tried to end that one with more romance, but it just didn’t fit the tone of the rest of the fic, so a quiet ending that signals a road to recovery was what I chose instead.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Most all of my oneshots have pretty happy endings. I guess I’m tempted say A Line in the Sand, my Deacon/MacCready start-from-scratch slow burn novel, just because it goes from antagonists to lovers and has the longest road with the most earned happy ending. I feel like the long struggle to get there makes it feel happier. 

7. Do you write crossovers?  If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really. Instead I’m sometimes tempted into AUs based on other media, but not full blown crossovers with actual different characters meeting. Even then, I’m really picky in what I enjoy. I’ve only written one, the Inception AU for Dragon Age that I mentioned above. Honestly, it requires no knowledge of Inception at all. I really just stole a bunch of concepts from it and then made my own modernized Thedas around them.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no! I’ve received one or two kind of odd comments, but otherwise I’ve been very lucky and everyone’s been really nice.

9.  Do you write smut?  If so, what kind?

Hell yeah! I’ve written many kinds, really, whatever I feel like or whatever fits the fic. I’ve done plenty of your typical smut. I branched out into light BDSM with several of my Dorian/Bull fics, as well as waxplay and praise kink. I’ve also done some roleplay in the vein of “established relationship pretending to be strangers meeting at a bar” for Deacon/MacCready with By Any Other Name.

10.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. 

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Two of my Dorian/Bull fics, Wishing Stars and No Patron Saint of Silent Restraint, both by the same lovely person: landanding on AO3. I don’t think I stopped flailing for a solid day when I got the request for permission either time.

12.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since pre-AO3 days, beyond collaborating in a tabletop setting. I’m not completely opposed to the idea but it would have to be someone I felt really, really comfortable with and with whom I have really good communication. I’m really particular about my writing, and I’d need to know someone’s emotional comfort level with trading and changing and even eliminating ideas.

13.  What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh god that’s honestly really hard. I’ve written the most for Dorian/Bull and that ship will always have a special place in my heart. But I did write my first full-length novel for Deacon/MacCready, and they’ve already got me in the middle of my second. So they’re the ship that taught me I could do that, and they’re my beloved rarepair. There are a few more I absolutely love, but I think those are my top two right now.

14.  What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Definitely Uprising. It was the first time I tried longform fic, and it was meant to be an entire retelling of DA2 with Velanna as the Justice-bearing character, rather than Anders, because after learning the developers almost took DA2 in that direction, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had a lot of plans for it, for how Justice might develop differently, for what it might have looked like if elves had been more of the battleground issue instead of mages vs. templars, for some angsty bittersweet long distance Nathaniel/Velanna and some complicated Fenris/Hawke and Merrill/Orana. But I drifted away from Dragon Age fandom in interest a long time ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get the steam back for it. I’m proud of how far I did get, though.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I feel pretty confident with dialogue, I can usually make a scene flow with it pretty well and I spend a lot of time trying to be meticulous about character voice. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my descriptions, which I appreciate and wouldn’t have considered a strength, but my readers have been kind. I think I’m pretty good at including body language, too, though maybe to a fault.

16.  What are you writing weaknesses?

Much as people have been kind on the feedback, I really feel like action scenes are a weakness for me. I don’t enjoy writing them and I struggle a lot to make them feel like they’re flowing over just bulletpointing. I also feel like I struggle to make them exciting. I feel like I struggle with exposition scenes as well, and keeping them interesting over info-dumping. 

17.  What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m generally in favor of including them, but with the caution of doing thorough research if it’s not a language I speak. I shy away from it if I can’t be completely sure it’s accurate, because I don’t want to risk putting off a native speaker reader, or saying/doing something offensive. I’d expand that to include anything about another culture, really. For example, I’ve been slowly picking away at writing a Fallout fic for my Sole Survivor Anthony and Preston, and part of what has been slow going is just making sure I’m getting Anthony’s culture right. His parents immigrated from Vietnam, and I want his experiences with them and with his culture to be as accurate and respectful as possible, not falling into any stereotypes but also being allowed to be complicated. 

18.  What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Depends on what we’re measuring. The first fandom I ever wrote fic for of any kind was Sailor Moon. The first fandom I actually put fic on the internet for was Lord of the Rings, on good old fanfiction.net. The first fandom I published on AO3 for was Dragon Age.

19.  What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

God this is such a hard question to answer, my feelings on my writing change so often. I think it’s hard for A Line in the Sand not to be my favorite for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, it’s my first successful novel-length fic, I accomplished a lot with it and learned a lot from it, and it’s a rarepair I got to kind of develop from scratch in my own way. 

But if I look back at my whole repertoire so far, just to branch out from the usual answer, I’d say I’m also really fond of To Have and to Hold, which was the first time I ever participated in a minibang, or really any kind of writing challenge. It’s a Dorian/Bull established relationship fic set during Trespasser, and it’s kind of a meditation on Dorian’s past and present and how they’ve shaped his feelings on love and commitment and marriage, all while he’s trying to decide his future. I’m proud of how it came out, and I think my Dorian voice still holds up okay. Plus I had two incredible artists working with me who put together stunning work for it, and how could I not be super grateful for that? 

It’s funny, most of the top ones up there for kudos are ones that I don’t personally think are my best, it’s a lot of my very early offerings for Dorian/Bull that I think I could improve on a lot of if I tackled them now. I’m grateful people like them but I feel like they’re more an accident of timing, being published early in the ship’s popularity. 

#writing tag #writing memes #my writing

[emachinescat]

So I've been wanting to write this since 5x10, but just now got the chance. This is a look at the ending scene from Murdoc's creepy, possessive obsession with Mac, and it plays with the idea of what might have happened if Bozer hadn't done the trick with the static (sorry Boze for taking away your moment of glory, but creepy Murdoc trumps hero time). Anyway, I hope you enjoy my twist on this episode. It was fun to write. Murdoc is fun to write. What does that say about me? ;)

Title: Murdoc + MacGyver - Everyone Else | Fandom: MacGyver 2016

Summary: AU ending to 5x10. Murdoc never planned on killing MacGyver in that skyscraper. Certainly not for the likes of Andrews. Or, in which Bozer doesn't do his trick with the comms and Murdoc sends a very clear message to all of Codex that MacGyver is HIS.

Characters | Pairings: Murdoc, Mac, Andrews, Riley, Desi

Words: 2,594

TW: Murdoc being creepier than usual, I guess

AO3 Tags: Murdoc Is Obsessed with MacGyver, Obsessive Murdoc, Possessive Murdoc, Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump. Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Season/Series 05, 5x10, 5x10 au, Implied MacRiley, Manhandling, Creepy Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016), Obsessive Behavior, TW Creepy Obsession, Diamond + Quake + Carbon + Comms + Tower, Murdoc POV

Full story here or on AO3!

It was adorable, really, Murdoc thought as he lowered the improvised cutting torch slowly, steadily, agonizingly closer to MacGyver’s bruised and bloody face, that Eric Andrews thought that Murdoc was going to go through with this.  The general was a ridiculous man, the kind that Murdoc most enjoyed killing.  Arrogant and pretentious,yet stupid enough to believe he could manipulate, even control, Murdoc, he was a man who would look lovely with Murdoc’s gun pressed squarely between his eyes.

Yet despite his faults, he had been useful.  He’d helped Murdoc escape from the blacksite, and in return, Murdoc had vowed to help him set a trap for MacGyver.  Andrews wanted to broadcast Angus’s death to the heads of a terror cell.  It was his way of “interviewing” to become the head of the organization.  And what would Murdoc get out of this arrangement?  Other than his freedom, he would be given the opportunity to play with MacGyver before Andrews dealt the final blow.

So Murdoc used Andrews to escape the blacksite, and together they set this ingenious little trap for the genius himself.  He’d used Andrews and his resources as a means of playing his newest game.  He smiled and nodded when Andrews spouted his rhetoric, adjusted his plans as Andrews directed, and valiantly kept from gutting the egocentric wackadoodle – somehow – during the course of their time together.  He’d almost snapped and killed the guy, once.

He hated the way that Andrews spoke about his Angus MacGyver, gloated about how cathartic it would be to see the light go out of those blue eyes.  How he relished the notion of feeling MacGyver’s life sleep away, how he fantasized about wrapping his chains around that smooth, pale neck and squeezing , slowly and intimately, with all of Codex watching – after Murdoc had had his fun with him, of course.

Murdoc’s profession had always allowed him to maintain a rather fluid lifestyle, and until MacGyver had come onto the scene, the killer had moved from one job to the next without distraction.  He had never been one to get caught up or fixated on any one thing – as a killer, he understood the impermanence of life in a way few others could.

That is, until Angus “Boy Wonder” MacGyer.  Suddenly, Murdoc had a muse, a partner in his games, a worthy opponent, his very own Sherlock to his Moriarty.  And the thought of anyone – especially Andrews, that self-important crackpot who was so empty all he could do was spout the words of people who’d come before him – looking at Angus MacGyver with that kind of fire in their eyes, that kind of hatred, that dark intent, stirred something primal and angry deep within the hollow, twisted remnants of Murdoc’s soul.  Even worse was hearing that obnoxious, pedantic voice boasting about all the ways he planned to hurt MacGyver, all the ways he planned to kill him in front of a live studio audience.  A foregin, almost protective rush had overcome Murdoc.  The things that Andrews described, the torture, the killing itself – those were things that no one except for Murdoc himself could do to Angus MacGyver.

Murdoc could have snapped and killed him, then.  He almost had.  The trap had been set, MacGyver would soon be on his way.  Murdoc could take out Andrews in one surprise hit and wait for his BFF to arrive.  They might even get some time alone together before the rest of the love triangle showed up.  But he had stayed his hand.  He needed Andrews to contact Codex.  He had a message he needed to send.

And so he’d resisted the drumbeats of death so loud they blocked out his thoughts, and hadn’t put a bullet between Andrews’s eyes.

And now, here he was, in the moment of truth.  It had been a bold move, out of character, if you will, for Murdoc to take on MacGyver in hand-to-hand combat.  Normally, Murdoc avoided using brute force, not because it wasn’t fun – because, boy howdy, was it fun – but because his tools were much more precise than fists, and could cause more pain with less chance of unintended damage.

But this was a special occasion, and he allowed himself to indulge.  And it was a truly delicious situation, made all the more exhilarating with the knowledge that so many people were watching him work.  Not Codex – he hadn’t given a rat’s ass about Codex in that moment – but Phoenix, whom Murdoc had just manipulated and played with like a puppet master with his creepy little mannequins.  He kept an eye on the girls, and chills ran down his body as he saw the fear and desperation in their eyes, the way they strained helplessly against their bonds to get to their friend who was himself completely at Murdoc’s mercy.  He couldn’t see Matilda or Bozer or Taylor, but he could hear the fear in their voices when they spoke, and his mind’s eye conjured a splendid picture of their terrified eyes fixated on the screen, forced to watch as their golden boy was beaten and eventually murdered in front of them.  It was glorious .  Murdoc wished that moment could go on forever.

He truly had relished every hit he’d landed on MacGyver.  Bless him, he tried to fight back, but he was just a spy trained in field comat.  Murdoc was a killer.  Just because he didn’t use his fists that much anymore, it didn’t mean he didn’t know how to.  He was quick, and stronger than his lithe frame would suggest.  Beneath the long-sleeved shirts and black leather jackets, lean, deadly muscles lurked like a snake in the grass, always ready to strike – and strike fast.  Every kick, every hit, every punch to the face sent bolts of electricity up Murdoc’s arms.  He saw the moment when MacGyver’s cheek split open, watched the blood slowly trickle down as he wound up for another hit.  After about three hits directly to the face, MacGyver couldn’t hold himself up anymore and he made weak, desperate grabs for Murdoc’s jacket.  Murdoc felt the tug on the fabric, relished the feeling of MacGyver needing him in that moment.  When he threw MacGyver against the heavy metal support, he felt like a god.

Now here we was, with his greatest foe having literally just been under his boot.  His left hand was wrapped around MacGyver’s right wrist, pinning it down, his knee pressed against the half-conscious agent’s chest to keep him in place.  In his hands he held a tool that, as he had said moments ago, would be the most poetic end to MacGyver he could have concocted – finally silenced by one of his own fancy little inventions.  For a moment, Murdoc was tempted to plow ahead, not to kill, but to play, to hurt , to watch the dazed fear in his muse’s eyes turn to pain and sheer terror… but he had more important things to do.  Maybe he would take this toy with him when he left, and save it to use on MacGyver another day.

He leaned in close, his knee pressing harder into MacGyver’s sternum, and the boy wonder grunted in pain, gasped for breath.  Murdoc leaned closer, his face inches from his prey’s, and watched MacGyver’s concussed eyes go wide at the close proximity.  Murdoc noted with satisfaction that he’d really done a number on his blue-eyed buddy this time – the pupils were unequal, one dilated and the other not.  Murdoc whispered in Mac’s ear, “Don’t worry, friend, I would never let a pig like Andrews kill you.  I’ve got your back.”  He pulled back and winked conspiratorially.  Then, in one fluid motion, he dropped the torch, drew his gun, and shot Eric Andrews one, two, three times, right in his smug, ugly face.  The general didn’t even have time to be surprised by the betrayal.  He was already dead.

From across the room, Murdoc could hear one of the girls – probably the loud, bossy girlfriend – yelling something, but he didn’t pay attention.  Instead, he gripped MacGyver by the front of his jacket, hauled him to his feet (sort of; MacGyver slumped in Murdoc’s arms, unable to stand on his own, but Murdoc had no problem with that at all), and stood there facing the drone.  He could feel MacGyver trembling in pain, and it nearly sickened him that he was going to cut this meeting short.  Still, once he took care of this pesky Codex visit, he could look forward to plenty more games with his adversarial soulmate in the future.

Glaring up at the camera, Murdoc gave Mac’s weak, beaten form a little shake.  “See this guy?” he demanded, not waiting for an answer.  In the second of dead space between his question and answer, he did notice that Desiree had stopped yelling.  No one at the Phoenix was speaking.  Everyone was waiting, he knew, with bated breath, to see how this would turn out.  “Angus MacGyver, here, is mine. ”  He felt MacGyver stir weakly in his arms, protesting Murdoc’s claim even when concussed and barely cognizant.  “Hush, now, Angus,” Murdoc hissed.  “I’m trying to save your life.”

To Codex, he continued, “I love a good murder as much as the next guy.  Hell, more than the next guy.  Way more than him, actually.  So much more that I’ll kill the next guy just to scratch that itch.”  He grinned his most feral grin.  “But MacGyver is not on the market, you hear me?  The only one who is allowed to murder him is me .  Your Andrews was pathetic, a great brute who pretended at being a scholar because it made him feel important.  I meant what I said earlier, fellas – and ladies – this guy is so smart.  Way too smart for the likes of you.  Too smart for Andrews.”

He bared his teeth, shaking MacGyver once more to emphasize his point.  “Angus is my muse.  He’s my dance partner in this crazy murder-tango we’ve been doing for the past few years.  You thought I was being dramatic when I started reminiscing about the good old days earlier?”  He paused, thought, then amended, “Okay, so I was being dramatic, but I meant. Every. Word.  And it all boils down to this: The only one who’s going to end his life is me .”

A voice from the speakers, a female’s, cold and dead, offered, “Then kill him now.  Perhaps we can find a place in Codex for one as ruthless as you.”

Murdoc laughed out loud, throwing his head back.  His body trembled with giggles, and he heard MacGyver emit a grunt of pain at the motion.  “Whoops, sorry, buddy,” he apologized giddily, then shook him a bit more, this time for fun.  MacGyver stayed steadfastly quiet this time – bor -ing!

Murdoc sobered in an instant, letting every ounce of hatred, death, and chaos flood his gaze as his lips set into a thin line and he tightened his grip on MacGyver, who pushed feebly against his arms.  “You really think I want to be a part of your girl scout troop?  Please.  Codex before Angus MacGyver happened to it, maybe.  But now?  You all are ridiculous, dethroned kings who scrabble hungrily for any crumb left to you in your moldering ruins.  You aren’t powerful.  You aren’t smart.  That Leland was the only good thing you had going for you, and now he’s gone.”  He all but purred his next words: “And with what, a shot to the chest?  Precisely aimed, almost like a hit man had taken him out?  Hmmm….”

“ You are claiming responsibility for Leland’s death?”

Murdoc shrugged.  He finally, reluctantly released his grip on MacGyver, and the blonde tumbled to the floor.  Murdoc watched from the corner of his eye as he immediately began to drag himself slowly, agonizingly, away from Murdoc and toward his gal pals.  Murdoc rolled his eyes and clamped his boot down on MacGyver’s bruised back once more, effectively pinning him in place.  Too easy.  He peered into the camera again, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and hissed, “Believe what you want about Leland’s death.  But do you really want to mess with the bastard who killed this great paragon of new wave terrorism?  Not saying it was me, but damn.  Whoever this guy is must be one tough cookie.  And I would advise you, friends ,” – never had that word held so much derision – “to not play with his toys.”  He ground his heel into MacGyver’s back a little deeper.  “The TL;DR?  MacGyver is off-limits.  If you kill him, I kill you, ten times more slowly and painfully than I plan to kill him.  Got it?”

Without giving the council a chance to respond, he raised his gun and shot the drone out of the air.  He tossed the gun aside, sighed, and stepped off of a weakly moving MacGyver.  He grabbed the genius under the armpits and dragged him to the opposite side of the room from the girls.  Producing another zip tie, Murdoc secured MacGyver to the nearest piece of equipment and stood back to observe his handiwork.  Paying no mind to the sorry state he was in, Angus was already stubbornly pulling himself up to a sitting position, bloody face set in pain and determination.  “You,” he panted, lifting his eyes up to meet Murdoc’s, “are insane.”

Murdoc laughed.  “I thought we’d already established that long ago, dear.”

“Don’t call me,” MacGyver wheezed, “dear.  Despite your… delusions, I do not … belong to you.  Or to anybody.”

“Expect maybe Miss Davis?” Murdoc mocked.  “And please , Angus.  Can’t you see that I was just putting on a show for the ‘evil Zoom meeting’?”  He hadn’t been, and he could tell that MacGyver was seeing straight through his lie.  “Look,” Murdoc said, “I hate it when we fight.  How about we both take some time and pick this back up when we’ve had a little time to heal and reflect?”

Through gritted teeth, MacGyver growled, “How about you go away and never come back?”

“Tsk, tsk, Angus .  That isn’t any way to treat your rescuer.  But you are concussed, so I’ll let it slide.  Actually, I need to motor.  Now that the situation’s neutralized, the authorities will be all over this place.  I really don’t fancy going back to that blacksite, so I’ll leave you here to wait for your buddies.”  He bent down, patted MacGyver on the face, grinned when his adversary jerked his head away from the touch.  “‘Til next time, Mac .”  He made a face.  “Actually, scratch that.  My calling you Mac is almost as unsettling as Taylor calling Miss Davis Riles .”  He heard an indigent noise from over the comm – he’d almost forgotten Phoenix was listening in, they’d been so quiet.  He chuckled, relishing how fun Russ Taylor was to annoy.  “Anway, I’ll see you soon, Angus.”

Murdoc removed the comm and crushed it under his boot, then backed away and sauntered from the room, whistling his slow, eerie funeral dirge, “Home on the Range.”

He knew that even while injured and concussed, MacGyver would be out of the zipties and releasing his friends before the polícia arrived.  He’d then be whisked away to a hospital, and all of Phoenix would have to deal with the fallout of the secrets that had been revealed.  He wondered if MacGyver would choose Desiree or Riley.  In the end, though, he knew that it wouldn’t matter who MacGyver chose.  He could deny it all he wanted, but in the end, there would be Murdoc.

There would always be Murdoc.

#macgyver 2016 #macgyver #macgyver 5x10 #fanfiction #murdoc #murdoc is obsessed with mac #creepy murdoc #obsessive murdoc #possessive murdoc #very one-sided macdoc #whump #whump fic #episode au #episode fix-it #character study #macgyver whump #mac whump #hurt mac #implied future macriley #manhandling #beaten up #obsessive whumper #tw creepy obsession #diamond + quake + carbon + comms + tower #emcatwrites

[bigskydreaming]

About all the stuff you were talking about, do you know any fics that handle those things well? It is exhausting trying to go through the Dick Grayson tag to try and find ones that handle even one of those remotely well so any you can tell me would be wonderful.

I use my Bookmarks page as a go-to for people looking for that sorta thing. I haven’t added to it in awhlie which is like, a useful reminder for myself to rectify that.

I’m not sure off the top of my head what fics on there address these particular areas of canon or fanon issues, but they’re in there, and I don’t bookmark anything I wouldn’t reread since that’s....the only reason I bookmark stuff lol. Aka nothing that contains elements or fanon tropes/issues that would’ve pulled me out of the read on the first go-through.

Specific authors who I consistently like for their takes on all of that, hmmm....off the top of my head, @dustorange only deals in Quality Stuff and her Hierarchy of Needs for Dick’s characterization has similar enough rankings to my own personal one, that I’m always like, yes, this hit all the beats I was hoping for from this summary, I am full, I could not eat another bite. But maybe a dessert course later. I guess. If you insist.

In terms of specific takes and tropes I’ve been talking about tonight, @themessofthecentury has a fic that delves into all the Spyral aftermath in a really satisfying way. Y’ever been like, ugh can someone please write a lengthy beast of a multi-chapter that takes all of that and says ‘Lo, there is Gold in these hills” and has a range of POVs but that all consistently prioritize and center Dick in the areas and matters he should be the one prioritized? That’s the one, that’s Fault Lines, its a WIP but its alive and kicking and very much what you’re looking for to read something actually catharctic after the way all of that was handled in canon and most related fics.

Umm, lessee.... @hood-ex is all about Top Notch Tropes, especially for great scenes where Dick’s with a wide range of characters, and its like, casual slice-of-life stuff, but delivered in a way that Just Says No to fanon and even when writing Dick as light-hearted and having a good day, its like...actually in character for him and he’s not Dick Grayson, The Balloon Animal That Walks Like A Man (but is actually 70% sugary cereal). You gotta follow her on tumblr though to get all the fics, cuz she’s like me in that she writes a lot of done-in-one scenes that never get moved over to Ao3 because eh, we’ll do it tomorrow but also we’ll forget about it by tonight so no actually we won’t. And thus there’s a lot of hidden gems to be found there.

@ckbookish writes a lot of stuff set in the early Nightwing days when Jason was Robin, and from what I’ve read there’s a lot of focus on Dick and Jason bonding and also exploration of Dick’s thoughts and reactions to Bruce’s “Bruce NO” behavior of that era that’s very much in character and IMO hits all the right notes in the complicated arrangement of allowing Dick his Feels there and placing the appropriate blame where appropriate but without demonizing Bruce and over-embellishing the more than enough to work with fuck-ups canon helpfully provided for that era. 

In fact, in general I’m inclined to say the author sticks as closely to canon as possible while just....making it better by just adding the little ingredient that is ‘Actual Exploration of Dick’s Feelings and Choices As Viewed Through Empathy-Colored Glasses By Someone Who I Feel Actually HAS Met or Been A Teenager At Some Point in Their Life and Thus Is Aware They’re Not Actually Unreasonable Wild Animals Whose Behavior Even When Rational Is Actually Irrational Cuz Hormones Yeah I Know I Was Surprised Too’. So I’d say their work consistenly delivers the story and emotional beats I look for from Bruce, Dick and Jason in that era, actually humanizing all three of them without going overboard with adding flaws all willy-nilly just cuz.

The only reason its not on my bookmarks page is cuz unfortunately, the sticking close to canon means Dick joining the Bludhaven police force to try and clean it up from the inside, and like.....not a criticism or condemnation of the execution of that premise at all, like, Dick’s clear in his reasons and from what I read goes about it in a way that actually fits if Dick had criticisms of the institution as a whole and an earnest belief he can effect change to it from the inside, its just like, purely as a personal subjectivity thing, Dick Grayson and Being a Cop is like my ultimate NOTP, I see it and I reflexively hiss like a vampire who forgot the sun was a thing. Its just not for me in any execution, but if that’s not true for you then its got everything else I’d look for in fic and thus while I can’t vouch for his characterization or the dynamics in later stories, like, I’m pretty sure you’d still be in Primo Characterization territory. 

There’s stuff on my bookmarks page from an author named discowing(amelia from a fairytale) - something like that. I can’t recall their tumblr off the top of my head but I know she says it somewhere in some of her author’s notes. Anyway, her stuff runs the gamut but consistently delivers on moments I really wish we could see in canon, so def worth a read. And I know her views on the Spyral aftermath and what’s needed for actual catharsis there are right in my wheelhouse, just in general, so if that’s the barometer you’re going by, then like.....idk whatever a barometer says or does when it gets the readings its supposed to, look its late, that’s the metaphor I’m going with, just pretend it was solid.

Those are just some of the authors where I’m familiar with more than one of their works off the top of my head and tend to like their focus and narrative/character choices across the board. I don’t know the full extent of work of every author linked on my Bookmarks page, like a lot of people write a lot of fic in a lot of fandom and I see a long list of fandoms and fics all organized by date posted so its more like one DC fic per page, and my ADHD self is like hahaha what if it was naptime tho zzzz.

But yeah, that’s not nearly enough to sate my greed and want for Good Dick Grayson Takes but it should get you started. There’s some good stuff out there, that’s never been in question, its just that like you said, it can be exhausting trying to wade through fics that you can’t tell at a glance if they’d be to your liking or not because the tags are all complimentary of Dick but two chapters in you’re like wait is this the other kids’ brother or is this their nanny, I feel like I’m reading about what if Fran Drescher wore tights and fought crime with flippity-flips. Which I mean, that’s a Premise right there, alright, its just not remotely the premise I look for out of fic where I have the weird expectation that Dick should be treated and regarded more like equal family to his siblings than like, okay what if he was actually just an au pair that was mostly hired to be eye candy.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 76: Interlocking Horns

Chapters: 76/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Culture Clash Imminent, Protective Dad

Summary:  You and your father discuss your living situation, and you mull over your thoughts on Buridag.

Loki was agitated when he lay beside you that night. You'd spent most of the evening showing Tara and your father around to all the places you spent your time. The library, the training grounds, the courtyards, the banquet halls, the common rooms, and even the throne room, which was empty at the time. Over dinner, you told sanitized versions of your adventures; the battle with the Huldra and the Frost Giant, The magical illusion lessons, and the magic you were also capable of, how you had exploded a plate, and met the legendary Sleipnir, whom Tara demanded to see as soon as possible. You showed them your knife, and told them about your armor, and your glorious helmet.

Your father was not terribly impressed by the food. “Not enough seasonings.” he declared, and you told him about the time you'd pranked Loki by putting chili pepper in his meal. He got a good laugh out of your description of the composed prince turning purple, and trying to pretend to all onlookers that everything was just fine.

“Hope he didn't get mad at you.” Tara said.

“Nah. The thing about Loki is that he actually appreciates it when you get the best of him. He likes getting legitimately got. I get the feeling he had to deal with a lot of sycophants growing up, while at the same time being overshadowed in everything he did. Loki can sense lies, did you know that? He can just tell when you're lying. Imagine growing up surrounded by people who don't even like you, but will constantly lie to your face about it. And keep doing it even after they know you can tell they're lying. And they're still doing it! It's wild! Some of these aristocrats are stupidly bigoted, and they keep trying to fool Thor or Loki into making laws that exclude humans from things, but both of them have personal reasons not to do that, as well as political reasons. I mean, there's seven billion of us, we're not gonna be excluded from anything on this planet, and it's ludicrous to even try. But I guess they've been at this for so long, that they can't even think of doing things any differently.

That's part of where I come in. Loki says I represent an inevitability. That humans like us will come to be a part of Asgard, just like the Vanir and Alfar did before us. Some of these nobles want to put that off as long as possible, but I think Loki and Thor are right; better get that integration started early.”

“Then why is there only you?” your father pointed out, “Why not integrate more humans in a group? Why not those people in the weird lodges outside the city?”

“Couple reasons.” you said, “first off, I think they wanted to make sure humans and Asgardians could be culturally compatible. Like, that we could stand to live with one another.”

“Yeah, saw some of that cultural compatibility just a little while ago.” your father grumbled.

“We used to do stuff like that too, you know. And until recently, too. I think there's still some places that do dowries and such, just not us. But if you think about it, Asgardians live to be thousands of years old, and they used to visit Earth a lot. There was cultural exchange for sure. It's just that we change and evolve culturally at the speed of light compared to them. He really should have asked me about it though, I coulda told him it didn't work that way. He does love surprises, and he wants to preserve his culture, but we could have at least discussed it.”

“You discuss things with him? And he listens?”

“Sometimes. That's a part of my job too; advising, on human matters especially. That's why he should have asked, but I think he just really wanted to impress you.”

Your father rolled his eyes. You sighed. This was going to be difficult.

“Dad, this is so important. Doing this for me is unprecedented. I know it doesn't look like it, but we've been working hard, and dealing with some tough situations, but we've come through them all, and kept going. He's proud of me, I'm proud of me, and I am okay with my life here. I'm happy with it even. I miss you, and I know you miss me, but I like my work here.”

“You've almost died three times! In one year! Three times! Keeping you alive is the most basic possible thing, and he's almost failed three times!” he exclaimed.

“His only fault is not seeing the future, then!” You exclaimed back. “Who could predict that a crazy man would come all the way out here to try and assassinate literally anyone he saw? Who could expect that one of their own people would be so monumentally stupid as to hit me right in front of him? Why would anyone ever think that there were giants sleeping under our feet for a thousand years? How could anyone plan for any of that?”

“You're starting to talk like them, you know.” Tara pointed out. “You're picking up the accent. Your vocabulary's changed.”

“I've been studying a lot. I hadn't noticed the accent though. Is it very obvious?”

“Eh, it's no big deal. If you'd just moved here on your own, you'd probably sound kinda Icelandic anyway. I just think it's cute, you sounding like all these high-falutin', fancy alien folks.”

You wanted to thank her. For years and years, when you and your father had started arguing, she would brazenly interrupt with something completely off topic, and completely derail the dispute. Your father was as passionate an individual as you were, which was probably where you got it in the first place, but Tara had always known when to interject.

“The point is,” you said, much more calmly, “is that the world has gotten weird. And since I've been studying, I've been finding out that it was weird in the past too. We've just been coasting by on a short period of relative calm, but it's not going to last forever. In fact, it's over. There is an entire alien species  living on Earth now. Nobody has to like them, but they are here. Loki can't demand forgiveness, and he's told me he's prepared to accept that there may be people who never accept him, no matter what he does. But he is doing things. He's doing good for his people; he knows how to do that. He's trying to do his best by me, and I'm helping him to know how to do that. I clearly need to communicate with him a bit more about that. He doesn't have to do any of this, but he chose to. From the beginning, he chose to do this. I mean, don't get me wrong, he sucked at it in the beginning; he had no idea what he was doing.  He was kind of an overbearing creep, and when I got hurt the first time, I swear, he was inches away from locking me away in a closet somewhere so no one else could hurt me.”

Your father raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he totally freaked out. I had to convince him that there was no way he could protect me from everything, but he sure wanted to. I wasn't gonna let that happen though. Maybe I can't leave, but I haven't let this place become a prison either.”

“Baby girl, I'm proud of you, don't ever think I'm not, but a father really never cares for a man who takes his daughter away.” your father said, “I don't think he deserves your defense. But you seem happy, and that's what I'm supposed to care most about right? I'm not gonna be his friend, but I'm not gonna cause trouble while I'm here, for your sake, and also because I gotta represent humanity, right? I love you, and I'm not trying to ride your case, I just don't like that guy. I'm not as forgiving as you are. But I'm not gonna get into a public fight with him or anything.”

“Thanks. And hey, I'm not gonna demand that you be friends with all my friends, I just have a really big day looming over me, and I'm already stressed. But, like, if you have any questions, now is probably the best time.”

“Oh, I got a few!” Tara said. “What actually is wrong with you?”

“Uh, loaded question.”

“No, no. I mean, yeah, but no. I mean, you said these guys were taking care of your medical problems, but you never actually said what they were. Have they figured out what's going on?”

“Ehhh, kinda. It's not exactly a medical problem. It's this.” You held out your hand, showing the mark. “You know how we couldn't figure out what caused this? It's magical in nature.”

“You told me you got drunk and got a tattoo!” your father accused.

“What was I supposed to say? I didn't know what had happened at the time! I didn't even know it was Loki I had grabbed, I didn't find that out until later. Tara saw: I took his hand to get his attention, and this shape burned into my palm. It did the same to him, I found out. It made us both sick. But when we're close together, we heal. Even when I got hurt, being close heals me faster. This is also what woke up my magic. It was always there, but this was what made it accessible. The whole thing is just magic. The only thing we don't really know is why it happened.”

“Magic. It's so weird.” your father said. “It just doesn't make any sense. What is magic? How do you do it?”

“It's a kind of energy manipulation. Like electricity or solar power, but it's less generalized. Like, some things are actual spells that always work the same way, but I haven't learned much of that yet. Gotta get my specific magic under control first. I'm getting pretty good at it. I do it by...well, it feels a certain way. So I concentrate on feeling like that...”

A bowl of apples disappeared from the end of the table, and reappeared in your hands. Both Tara and your father leaned away in surprise as you set the bowl back on the table.

“I move things from one place to another. I don't know the upper limit on size or distance yet. Maybe someday I will move mountains.”

“Does that scare you?” your father asked. “All this magic stuff?”

“Sometimes. It's so strange to think that it's me doing this, and not some woman in a book, or a movie. That it's really real. Even after everything that's happened over the past few years, it's still hard to really understand that all this is real. That every single person you've seen here is hundreds of years older than you, and was born light years away, in space, on a whole other world. That they have millions of years of history that I'm learning about. Some of these people remember a time before the language we are speaking even existed.”

“That's freaky.” Tara said.

“Don't I know it. But somehow, they manage to live in the moment in a way I find kinda enviable. They're looking to the future, but they aren't worried about it like I used to be. It's so liberating not to have to worry about that. About rent, or healthcare, or who's gonna take care of me when I get old, or if I'm even gonna get old. All of that has been lifted off of me, and I'm free to study and learn, and be something unique, and I actually really like it.”

“I'm glad for you.” Tara said. “So who's your tailor?”

You giggled. “I'm super fashionable, for someone a thousand years ago, aren't I? This isn't actually Asgardian fashion, exactly. It's more of a fusion. Isn't it fancy?”

“It's freakin' gorgeous. Is it some kind of uniform?”

“It didn't start out that way, but it sorta became that. The seamstresses hadn't visited Earth in like, a thousand years, so all the illustrations and memories they had were from then or before. So at first they thought that must be how I was supposed to be dressed, and then it just became my signature. It's really comfy, and pretty, and most importantly, it's warm. I mean, I know the place is called Iceland, but I was still surprised at how cold it gets. If you want, I bet I could get you some.”

Tara went to bed happy, and your father went to bed grumpy, but quiet. Then you went to bed, and Loki slunk under the thick blankets with you, holding you uneasily.

He got like this occasionally, cradling you as if he feared you would disappear in the night. It wasn't any real surprise, when you thought about some of the things he'd been through, the abandonment, the loss. You knew he wasn't, and would never be perfect, but you were still prepared to defend him to all comers. You weren't going to vanish from his arms, but you'd probably have to prove it every night. You could do that. You were more than willing to; there hadn't been another man in your life that had made you feel so safe and comfortable when sleeping, and you wanted to keep that feeling.

Tomorrow was the first day of Buridag festivities. Loki said it would start out with a parade that would lead to the site of the new courthouse. There would be traditional poetry and song, and everyone would perform the building task that had been assigned to them weeks ago. Then there would be the First Feast; a meal composed of worker's foods, prettied up for the nobles palettes. You'd seen the menu; it was grain salads and porridges, hearty soups and rustic breads with eggs, jams, young cheeses, winter vegetables, dried fruit, and herbs and spices in approximation with traditional Asgardian flavors. It was a reminder that, in Buri's day, Asgard's prosperity had not been assured, and many of the working class had to make do with rougher fare. Supposedly, the First Feast was meant to rebuke those who took workers for granted, and remind everyone whose hands had built their world.

Personally you thought that was a little patronizing, but you also didn't come from a monarchical culture. Perhaps this was something like an Asgardian Saturnalia, a festival of transformation. A celebration of something being built from nothing, Asgard being built by Asgardian hands.

And yours. Loki and Thor would be laying the foundations and blessing them with some of their more ephemeral power, the thing that awoke the primordial fear in you, made you instinctively cower and search for a tree to hide in when Loki became truly angry. The power that was beyond magic, that reached into the divine.

You, however, had been assigned a brick. It was a decorative brick, that would line a window, and it lay in a stack of other window-bricks at the site. Just one piece of a huge community project. You rather liked that. You knew for sure that the aristocracy did not engage with the common Asgardian nearly often enough before the tragedy of Ragnarok, but now both Loki and Thor went out among their people often, nobles and commoners mingled every day, and the community was becoming less and less divided. There were people who resisted that, of course. People who wanted to claw back every ounce of their perceived power, who tried to pass deliberately discriminatory legislation, people who simply hadn't yet come to accept that their lives had changed.

You were change. Loki was very approving about it. You represented the New, the Necessary Change, the Social Upheaval that led to a Bright Future. You couldn't help but wonder if that was too big for you to carry all by yourself. On the one hand, you weren't exactly alone; Loki was beside you all the way, Andsvarr, Saldis and the Valkyries supported you, even down to the twins. Saga, and even the strange Lofn approved of you.

On the other hand, your father was right; you were still the only human who actually lived here. The first and only human with Asgardian citizenship. A trial run, essentially alone, to see if you, as a stand-in for all humankind, could make it. It was heavy.

But you were doing it. In a little less than a year, you had learned a great deal of Asgardian history and law, had helped actual royalty with things like resource management and policy reform, learned knifework, learned actual magic! You had met several of Earth's greatest heroes, were going to be titled, were becoming a liaison between Asgard and the human settlements growing next door. You had learned some Asgardian, become a prince's lover, and even learned how to play a drum. You yourself were becoming something new. Embodying the Necessary Change.

And maybe that was what you had needed in the first place. For so long, it seemed like you had been trying to let go of an old self, let go of everything you'd gone through. Shed your old skin and emerge, clean and soft into the light of a new day. And so you were. You just hadn't realized that once you started, it would happen again and again, skin after skin, quivering and raw. But you felt new. Despite the pressure, you felt new.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel) #loki x reader

[linkspooky]

Ten Favorite Female Characters

I was tagged by @midnight-in-town​, so now I have to show them how much I love my favorite women. 

Name your favorite female characters from 10 different Fandoms and tag 10/or the amount you wish people

Tagging: @hamliet​ @amonmahboi​ @inumaqi​ @thyandrawrites​ @kaibutsushidousha​  @harostar​.. yeah, I don’t know ten people. 

Enoshima Junko 

“Hope is harmony. A just heart, moving toward the light. That is all. Despair is hope's polar opposite. It is messy and confusing. It swallows up love, hatred, and everything else.”

Junko wishes she was a psychopath. She’s spent her entire life pretending to be a crazy psychopath, because living that life is just so much more interesting than the one she’s stuck in. Enoshima Junko is just too smart for the world, and everything is too easy for her, and rather than try to dumb herself down a little bit she’s decided to knock everything else down. She’s a girl kicking down sandcastles because building them out of sand all alone is no longer doing it for her. 

Junko’s interesting because of the weird logic and loops she runs her brain into. There’s a complex character behind the whole “I exist only to spread despair” thing. She’s perfectly capable of forming emotional attachments to people, and genuinely caring. But the people she likes are generally far worse off than the ones she doesn’t care about. 

Junko wants so badly to, just not be human. She does the most inhuman things possible to prove that she’s not human. What really made me love her is the lengths she’s willing to go, to the point in Dangan Ronpa Zero where she basically took a screw to her own brain and started acting like a normal girl only when all of her memories were removed. 

Junkos relationship with Matsuda shows two conflicting sides of her character. How much she's humanized by her love of him,  and also how much she wants to completely destroy that part of herself. It's like she physically can't be a normal girl. Or rather she doesn’t want to be to such extremes she’ll break everything and then herself. 

And if she can’t be normal than Junko decided that self destruction is her next best bet. There’s just nothing that will satisfy Junko, and it’s interesting to watch someone that empty decide the world is going to end, or she’s going to end herself and she doesn’t really care which. 

Ajimu Najimi

“Call to me with affection, Anshin’in-san. Well, I don’t really care what manga characters call me.” 

Hey, I put Junko on this list twice. Both Ajimu and Junko live in a world that is too easy for them, and therefore they have no reason to get emotionally invested in others or try to attach themselves to anything. Which is why it’s fun to see Ajimu attempt the same thing as Junko to kill herself in style and eventually get saved from herself.

Medaka Box is such a meaningful manga to me because they take the weirdest characters and no matter how deranged they are they find the parts of them that are relatable and go, well guess what you’re human too. Ajimu literally calls herself a non-human and she’s just as human as all the rest in the end. 

The best part is it’s not her good points that make her human, it’s all her flaws. It’s easy to feel like the world isn’t real, that nothing in the world is worth living for, to feel no emotional attachment. Those are all human emotions. Not because they’re good and shining, but because they’re petty and terrible. Ajimu is this brilliant character, but she’s also kind of just a petty little girl using a ‘fiction is reality’ lens to cope. She’s not that special actually, she’s just suicidal, and kind of awful in general. It’s nice to see that human side behind the mastermind character. 

Azula

“My own mother thought I was a monster. She was right of course but it still hurts.” 

Azula is someone thoroughly dehumanized by everyone even the “good” members of her family (Uncle Iroh, Zuko, her Mother). I like how Azula in some part seems to be aware that both her brother, and mother seem to kind of consider her the “bad sibling” and she just decides to embrace it. Like it’s... not emotionally healthy in any way and it’s terribly tragic but there’s something about characters who actively make the decision to be a monster that gets me. 

There’s something about Azula’s writing that makes me uncomfortable, and it makes me sad that Zuko like... continually associates her with his father’s abuse, and demonizes her like she wasn’t also a kid going through the exact same situation, but Azula getting increasingly unstable is at least an appropriate response to that. 

Even if her brother, her mother, or her father won’t see her as her own person and they all see her as an extension of her father’s abuse on her, Azula is just so determined to be her own person even if it means burning the world, or herself A common theme I guess, but a lot of these characters have narratives about not being allowed to be their own person or shown any kind of humanity or normalcy. 

Morrigan

“Well, well, well what do we have here?”

Morrigan is mean, and nasty, and grumpy and bitchy and witchy. She’s allowed to be unlikable, because Morrigan never bends to anyone. Her survival, and freedom will become first before anything else. 

It feels like Morrigan is the main character in her own story, and you just happen to be a part of it for a short while. You may even be an important character to her, she may be attached, but ultimately you’ll never be more than support to her. 

Morrigan is such an ambitious an singular entity that her character development is letting you be a part of her life and not the other way around. She'll always survive on her own.  Morrigan is irrevocably shaped by her environemnt, and yet she craves freedom in that too because she doesn’t want to be bound by her past or shaped by her mother. So much of herself is dedicated to being better than the environment that she was raised in that she defeats her mother not by killing her, or freeing herself, but rather by being a better mother than her. 

Raven / Rachel Roth

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos...” 

Raven is fun, because a bunch of monks thought the best way to teach her to handle her emotions was to never allow her to feel any emotion ever. So, Raven is eternally running on a zero. She’s terrified even a small amount of happiness will end the world. She’s not allowed to be her own person, neither her bastard father, nor the monks treat her like one.

Raven is so gentle, and selfless, and emotionally perceptive and sensitive to others needs but she can’t ever display almost any of these good traits because she’s internalized the idea that she’s such a bad person. She always believes all the time that she exists to hurt others and that makes it so difficult for her to connect to others. 

Which is why her true friends bond with the Teen Titans is so meaningful, because Rachel found a family in spite of all of that. She has friends who think she’s a good person unconditionally despite the fact that Raven continually tells herself she isn’t. There are people in the world willing to navigate the maze of walls that Raven has built around herself, and that her environment forced her to build and closed up, and she’s so happy to have them. 

Midna

“Some call our realm a world of shadows, but that makes it sound so unpleasant... The twilight there holds a serene beauty... You have seen it yourself as the sun sets on this world. Bathed in that light, all the people were pure and gentle...” 

Midna just steals the show. Her story now. The game’s not called Legend of Zelda anymore now it’s Legend of Midna. Not only is she the most important character in the game she appears in, but she’s also in character someone so selfish she’ll always prioritize herself over everyone else. However, only because she feels that she can’t exist as anything other than the princess of the twilight and has to prioritize her survival for the sake of her people. Midna even says so at the start of the game, she can’t be kind because she wasn’t spoiled like princess Zelda in the bountiful kingdom of the light. 

Midna is so selfish and yet doesn’t really have her own wants and needs as a person outside of the role she has to play for her people, which is why she’s so terribly lost without it and just because this terrible selfish little gremlin. Link and Zelda affect Midna so much because they humanize her. They both sacrifice themselves to save Midna the person and she doesn’t get why. She doesn’t get why two people would help someone who has been so unkind to them and who has failed them this much so far. 

That act of selflessness moves her, and also freaks her out. She even says she didn’t want to be saved by either of them. Which is what makes her redemption in the second half of the game so interesting, because Midna really improves herself so she can become someone worth their kindness. She doesn’t want the selflessness of people like Zelda and Link to go to waste, and because of that begins to care about things outside of her kingdom and her role as princess 

Vriska Serket

“After all of this is over. Do you want to go on a d8?”

Unfortunately one of my top 3 favorite characters of all time comes from a really terrible source material. Vriska is everything I like in a character.  She's a mess. She's really hard to swallow. She's a character that's not meant to be liked.

Nobody really likes Vriska and it's all her fault for being such a horrible person, nobody wants her damage. Which is so interesting because usually main characters get forgiven over and over again. Everyone leaves and if they don't Vriska will burn those bridges herself. No character better embodies what it's like to be stuck in a self harming cycle

Authors are always so obsessed with making characters look good or showing what a good person they are few characters are allowed to be just plain unlikely in ugly ways. It’s what lets Vriskas genuine desire to be better actually seem like a struggle. 

Kocho Shinobu

“Are you angry? Yes, I’m angry Tanjiro. I’ve always been angry.” 

Shinobu is just all pleasantries on the surface, but so full of negative emotions in ways women aren't allowed to be. I love the medicine / poison dynamic to her character and how it rots her to the core. Too much medicine is a poison, while poison can be a medicine when applied to the right situation.

Shinobu is, two faced. She’s beautiful and kind, and full of ugly emotions and empty. She nurses people back from the dead, she sees no point in living herself and purposefully throws herself into a suicide in her plan against Doma. There’s just such a destructive dance between extremes for her because Shinobu is such a unique individual, trying to deal with all of these emotions she just can’t deal with. She can’t be noble, or better than her trauma, she just pretends to be a good person while she slowly rots away inside.  

Shinobu can put on smiles all day -

But she can't be like her sister.  She can't love people like her sister can. Maybe she could once but all that's left now is anger. Bitter, unpleasant, and completely in denial of it and still masquerading as a good person. The most beautiful kind of poison of all.

She’s not her sister, but she’s also not really her own person. She doesn’t know who Shinobu is, doesn’t know who Kocho Shinobu lives for. She just doesn’t imagine herself living past her revenge, and even though she’s surrounded by love she’s just so cracked it all pours out of her and absolutely nothing could be worth prolonging her life after everything she’s lost. 

Toga Himiko

“What exactly is a normal life? I also live a normal life, you know.” 

Himiko Toga is a girl who lives entirely on her own terms. Which is just so rare for a female character, you know? It’s so genuinely subversive to know that Himiko was once a nice girl, who always smiled, always put other people’s feelings first, and that sort of ‘good girl’ behavior drove her completely insane.

Toga deciding to be true to herself is an act of rebellion against the world. 

For Himiko everything is flipped. What others regard as psycho behavior is her normal. She doesn’t let other people define her story as a tragedy, and even murders the one person who tries to control her story. In a story where female characters constantly downplay their own importance to support the male characters Himiko is the only character important enough to be the center of her own story. Himiko’s story is so subversive as well, both of how society treats her, and how the story treats characters like her. 

Himiko is such an excellent yandere, all yanderes wish they were himiko. She comes off as this batshit stabby girl,  but then you find out that shes actually emotionally perceptive. She first comes off selfish, bratty, and self-centered but she turns into one of the most sensitive characters in the manga. She eschews the ideals of being a good girl that was forced down her throat, but that doesn’t mean she’s not empathic, or that she’s not capable of goodness. She’s good to twice. She’s good to the people who accept her. 

Himiko no matter what will always be a deviant. Always be an outsider. Instead of trying to make room for her her parents forced her to lie and wear a mask until her identity became completely shattered. I like Toga because under the knife wielding psycho she's a normal girl. Then under that normal girl there’s also a knife wielding psycho ready to fight back, and both of them are the real her. 

Ihei Hairu

“I saw the reaper, he was very beautiful.” 

Every character from the garden is just fundamentally broken.  Hairu and Rize are interesting foils, because if you think of about it a loveless childhood turned them both into ruthless killers. It’s just they decided to live for different things, Rize lived rejecting love and Hairu lived chasing after love. However, fundamentally they are the same. They are children starved for any kind of love or nurturing.  Hairu is so desperate she devotes her entire life to the first person who acknowledged her. However, the same sort of desperation to live, that tragic need to make the most out of the few short years they have exists in all garden children.

Hairu wants so badly to be a person, but she’s not a person. She’s half ghoul. 

There's just something about a girl who was never meant to be born and never meant to live, still trying.  There's a dark side to her character, she's violent and inhuman exactly like the environment she was raised in but she was also still a child at heart seeking love.

Which is why though her narrative is a thoroughly unhappy one, it does make me happy that there was someone who loved her in the form of Koori Ui. There is someone who wanted her to live longer. Her life was short, but she did live, and it’s that struggle to connect to others that made her truly alive. 

#hairu ihei #ajimu najimi #enoshima junko #toga himiko #kocho shinobu #midna #rachel roth #raven #azula #vriska serket #morrigan #morrigan dragon age #meme #spooky speaks

[crow-writes-stuff]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: takes place after Dazai left the PM, Chuuya calls Dazai, Voicemail, Caring Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya Swears (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya Is So Done (Bungou Stray Dogs) Summary:

Messages Chuuya left on Dazai's phone during the two years he spent in hiding before joining the ADA.

"You have thirty-one new messages." Two years. It's been two years since Dazai last opened his voicemail. He thought that there might be a few from the beginning, but this is certainly more than expected.

He presses play, and a familiar voice snarls at him: "Hey, asshole, where the fuck are you? The meeting starts in two minutes, get your ass over here!" Oh... this is actually from the day he left the Port Mafia.

The next few messages are all from that same day. "Are you fucking serious? Since when do you just not show up at all? I had to cover for your ass."

"Seriously man, where are you? You can't just make me do all your work, you know. I'm coming over to your place once I'm done here."

Chuuya is quieter in the last one: "Dazai, where are you? Did you even get home last night? Don't tell me you actually fucking killed yourself. Call me."

There are two messages from the very next day: "Fuck, are you even getting these messages? Or are just ignoring me? I had to tell the boss that I don't know where you are. I think he's pissed, but, you know... kinda hard to tell."

"Dazai, are you actually gone?"

The day after, Chuuya's voice is quiet: "The boss officially branded you as traitor today... Are you?"

The next messages are spread over a few days. "They went through your stuff. I think the boss thought for a while that I know where you are. He's stopped asking now..." There is a pause before Chuuya continues: "Fuck, if I knew, I would have already come and kicked your ass."

"You're such a fucking asshole, you know that? Just disappearing like that." A pause and then a quiet: "You're still alive, right?"

"I think the boss has people tailing me. Thanks, asshole. This your fault."

"They stopped watching me, I think. I guess, the boss actually believes that I have no clue now."

There is a significant gap in time between this and the previous message. "The search for you has officially been called off. We're still supposed to keep an eye out, but no one's actively looking anymore." Chuuya pauses for a moment. "Honestly, I don't know if I should be relieved or pissed off." He laughs dryly. "Fuck it. You still piss me off."

There is nothing on one message. Just the quiet static the phone generates.

The messages get fewer and fewer over time.

"Ha... I'm an idiot, huh? Don't even know why I keep calling; you're not listening anyway."

This message starts with heavy breathing before Chuuya speaks: "Ngh, don't listen to this, I just need a distraction. ...Fuck, this hurts. I'm blaming you, by the way. Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't fucked off." He takes a shuddering breath. "Shit. I probably should get this looked at, huh? ...Fuck."

It takes a while before Chuuya starts speaking, his voice oddly quiet: "Dazai, are you still alive? Do these messages go through? I... I don't know why I keep asking. It's pointless anyway. " He sighs. "Even if they did, you don't care, huh? You just left... Left all of us. And I have to deal with the mess you made... As always." There is a slight rasp to his voice as he continues: "Akutagawa's been a fucking wreck, not that you'd care. You really messed him up." There is a long pause, and Dazai almost wonders if Chuuya forgot to stop the recording. "I don't know how to deal with any of this... Fuck, why am I still talking?"

"Hey... it's been a while. Ha, I say that as if you'd listen. It's stupid, I know but... It's been almost a year since you disappeared. I don't know why I feel so... so... I don't know. Conflicted? Ane-san said that's to be expected. I don't get it. I should be fucking glad that you're finally gone for good." Chuuya sighs. "Sometimes, I am. Mostly, it's just weird. The boss tried to get me a new partner for a while. That, uh, that didn't work out. I don't need one anyway. It's not like I needed you in the first place. So... " He stays quiet for a moment. "I just wanted to say, if you're still out there... Fuck you."

The next message follows almost half a year later. "You, you bastard." Chuuya is clearly drunk in this one. "You fucking asshole. You just left. You seriously just left." There is the distinct clinking of glass on glass. Perhaps Chuuya has put down his drink. His voice gets quieter after the initial outburst. "You left without a fucking word. Did I really mean nothing to you? Did, did these years mean fucking nothing?" He sniffs quietly. "I thought we were friends, asshole." Chuuya sighs. The glass makes another sound before Chuuya audibly swallows. Probably drinking wine. "Guess I was wrong. You didn't give a shit about me, did you? No, you only cared about Oda and yourself. That's why you left, right? Because the one person you gave a shit about kicked the bucket. Doesn't matter what the rest of us think or feel." The glass shatters. Chuuya stays quiet for a while. "Fuck. Well, at least it was empty." He laughs humorlessly. "Just like everything else." He sighs. "I guess... I guess I'm glad you're gone. I know the boss did some shit to you. You never talked about it, but I'm not as stupid as you think, asshole. Sometimes I just wish..." There is a long pause. Very quietly, Chuuya adds: "I miss you sometimes."

There is another message from the day after. Chuuya sounds worn out when he speaks: "Fucking hell. My phone says I called you last night. Can't remember a thing. And I can't delete whatever I said." He sighs. "I mean, I guess you won't listen to it anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Whatever."

Time passes until the following message. "-it. That's not-" Chuuya sounds frantic, there is gunfire in the background. "Fuck, I need to-" The message gets cut off.

A second message from the same day starts only with breathing and a steady dripping sound. "Ane-san? Can you- can you hear me? Fuck, I can't see. Is this even the right number? Shit. Where even-" Chuuya coughs, causing a quiet splattering sound. "Fuck, she's gonna kill me if I die here - Wait..." He pauses. "I think I lost more blood than I thought..."

Two days later, Chuuya has called again: "I'm alive, not that you'd care. I'm only calling because I've got nothing else to do. Got put on bedrest. Ane-san's gonna bring me some books later but right now I'm bored." There is some quiet fabric rustling. "And I'm alone, so no one else to talk to. At least I can pretend that I'm talking to someone like this. So..." Chuuya trails off for a moment. "Crap, now I don't know what to say." He sighs. "I guess, I'm wondering once again if you're still alive. Which sucks, because I'd honestly rather not think about you at all. We've got some reports that claim to have spotted you, but no follow-up worked out. Which doesn't surprise me." He grumbles something unintelligible. "I still sometimes get people asking me about you. As if I'd know anything! Akutagawa actually tried to threaten me at one point for information." Chuuya snorts. "He didn't try that again, that's for sure." There is a knock in the background. "Huh?" Chuuya startles. "Uh, yeah, co-" The message ends abruptly.

There is only one message left. It's barely a week old. "Hey," Chuuya says, voice calm. "It's been two years since you left. I think I'm used to it by now. Fucked up that it took me so long, honestly." He pauses. "You know, wherever you are, I hope you feel better than you did here. It was probably for the best that you got out when you did. I know, you would have never admitted it, but you were falling apart. I don't think many people noticed. But I did. Because, I think, that's what partners are supposed to do. Not that you were good at that." He huffs a quiet laugh. "Maybe I'm not giving you enough credit. You noticed way too much stupid shit. But I think you missed some important stuff, too. For instance, the fact that I did actually care about you. I know, surprised me too!" Chuuya hums quietly. "So, if you're still alive, take care of yourself. You always sucked at that. I won't leave another message. It's time to move on." After a short pause, he adds: "Goodbye, Dazai."

Dazai keeps staring at his phone for a while after the last message has ended. Chuuya had tried to reach him over these past two years. Multiple times. Perhaps, Dazai really did overlook some things. He smiles, as he types in the number he's heard so often in the past few hours.

He's greeted by a familiar recording: "Can't talk right now, leave a message if it's important." "Hey Chuuya~," Dazai says, voice cheerful. "Check out the Armed Detective Agency."

"You have one new message." Dazai grins a few hours later as he looks at his phone.

"You fucking asshole. Welcome back."

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #soukoku #skk