A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.
I’m going to be brief for once and link to where I just wrote about my top 5! Much more details in this post. Short answer, with some additional ones since this question doesn’t limit me to just five:
Masahiro Setagawa/Kousuke Ohshiba (Hitorijime My Hero)
Rihito Sajou/Hikaru Kusakabe (Doukyusei)
Ritsuka Uenoyama/Mafuyu Sato (Given)
Galo Thymos/Lio Fotia (Promare)
Jack Zimmermann/Eric Bittle (Check Please)
Dean Winchester/Castiel (Supernatural)
Moomintroll/Snufkin (Moomin)
Korra/Asami (The Legend of Korra)
Howl/Sophie (Howl’s Moving Castle)
I...like a lot of stuff. If we get into FRIENDSHIPS then I’ll be here all day, oof. These are just the romantic pairings I currently like the Very Most and most love seeing/buying content for, although I’ve probably forgotten some I’ll kick myself for later. The top 5 are the only ones that’ve inspired me (so far) to write fic.
K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?
Out of all media in all time? Zuko from ATLA.
From my list above: hmmmmm that’s actually a hard one. Let’s go with in canon, because you’ve got characters like Derek and Shiro whom I absolutely adore but who were screwed over by canon.
Even so, I’m still really torn, because I have a lot of things to say about a LOT of them, haha, but I thiiiiiiiink Barnaby has the most visible, concrete growth over the course of the show + movie. He starts out cold and angry and entirely focused on vengeance. By the close of the series, he’s fallen deeply in love with his partner, Kotetsu, but he’s also softened considerably in other ways: he has friends, he spends significant amounts of time (in addition to money) with orphan children, he has hope and positive plans for his future. Kotesu’s optimism and kindness had a huge impact on him, and visibly changed his life for the better.
Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (i.e., fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)?
Hrmmm. I know there’s more than this, and I feel bad for not remembering right now what they are...
There are definitely some I enjoyed but didn’t get fandom-obsessive with, but it’s still fun to see other people loving them. Good Omens and Black Butler are two I can think of off the top of my head. Oh and stuff like Haikyuu? Tried watching it, got kinda bored tbh too much sports, but I don’t mind seeing it around and it’s fun to see people having fun. BNHA too - I didn’t end up liking it all that much, but some of the ships are cute and I liked Todoroki a lot.
So tell me, have you seen the new Teen Wolf trailer? I need to know that i'm not the only one falling for the bait
Anon said: Did you see the new teen wolf trailer? Derek is back!
Gah, guys. I just…..*breathes*. I’m so mad because it’s blatant baiting and we’ve been through enough with sterek without having it dangled in front of us again like this. I’m also terrified Derek is going to be killed off or hurt. Leave the boy alone, okay?? He’s a sweet, precious boy who deserves hugs. Not more bad things. I swear to god, if he gets hurt……
I will be coming for some people.
I’m also just plain sad the new trailer has given me some tiny flicker of hope again? That it’s making me go, “!!!!!!!!” I know there is zero chance of anything happening, I’m not delusional, but I’m still also over here like, “my babies…..together…….again…..*breaks down sobbing*”
*sighs* For the sake of my sanity, I need this show to be over so its release on my soul loosens. I clocked out of the show after season 4 but the amount of conflicting emotions it’s still giving me is tiring and I need relief.
I'm sorry that that anon was really rude to you. I don't really get what they mean by it being whitewashing (because interracial couples exist, yo), but i think your edits are awesome!! Have an amazing day!!! ❤❤❤
Groundhog Day Jackrabbit Week 2016 - Day 1 - Morning
Author: Renoku
Rating: T
Warnings: Language, Graphic Descriptions, Violence
Word Count: 2000
Summary:
When a reincarnating spirit is found murdered - unsurprisingly, yet still terrible - P.I. Bunnymund has to race to clear the name of his street urchin-turned-informant Jack Frost before the real culprit skips town. But has Jack fallen back into his old ways? Or is he just trying to protect the ones he loves most? Is Aster one of those people? He really shouldn't be thinking about that when there's a murder case to solve.
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This is my submission for Jackrabbit Easter 2016! Honestly have no idea where this is going, so we'll update the summary when it's all completed. (Possible NSFW later? Will update the tags when it's relevant.)
«Ao3» (Please see Ao3 for any author’s notes.)
Jackrabbit Week 2016 - Day 1 - Morning
He woke slowly as the sun rose over the city skyline. If he’d been asked, he wouldn’t have been able to say exactly when he’d become aware of himself, but it came after the last memories of his dreams had left him and before he’d opened his eyes. The morning entered through the window and settled at once, focused and heavy, in the corner beside the chest. From there it expanded. It seemed to fill the room with an amber glow, growing with age as slow as the sap of time.
When it reached the sheets they lit up in white fire. He felt his fur begin to warm against the cool linen. First his toes, then his legs and further up his body. It came across him like a breath of hot wind, aged from the past. It pushed through his fur flush against his skin, and, like a breeze, it lifted from him the weight of the sheets, only a fraction, and blew away the final covers of slumber.
His nose twitched. His whiskers quivered. Amidst the sea of soft white fire, he opened his eyes.
“...Damn.”
+++++
He’d been awake through the night. When asked, he’d said he knew nothing and he walked the other way. He avoided the patches of moonlight that broke through the buildings as he weaved through the alleyways in shadow. Barefoot, he did not run, but he kept his hood up and his head down, hiding away his hair and face from the exposure of the full moon.
The gravel cut like glass beneath his hardened feet, sharp and burning. The world was on fire, lit again by the moon. In his chest, his ice pulsed. It filled him with chill atop the molten ground, fought against the baking earth. It rushed through his veins, keeping his soul frozen and secure to his pounding heart.
He kept his breath steady.
Figures moved through the light, and he threw himself to the wall. Hot brick raked against his fingers as he waited for them to pass. Their height gave him pause; they were short, lower to the ground. Perhaps nothing – but no, he couldn’t take the risk. Fast in the approaching dawn, they vanished back into the steep shadows of the city. With a sigh of relief, he pulled away from the wall, leaving behind only a shock of white. Only pattern of ice in the shape of a hand, frightened into being, showed any sign of his presence.
It would be gone by morning.
By the time the sun began to break across the edge of the city skyline, he’d made it back across town. Here, it was safer, or as safe as it could be in Santoff Claussen. The slums of Burgess, they were, dominated by crumbling buildings and populated with the street rats to match. Or street bunnies, as the saying went – at least where Jack frequented.
It was his destination.
He knew the entire city better than his own mind on the best of days, but even then the surroundings of home gave him relief. Despite the familiarity, however, he kept his guard up. Fists clenched in his jacket pocket, ready for anything, because he never knew when—
“Jack?”
He lashed out, the blade of ice already half-formed by the time he brought it up to the boy’s neck. They both froze, adrenaline pumping through their bodies, one through sudden fear, and the other through pent-up paranoia after the night he’d just experienced.
“Jamie?”
Jack stared into the eyes of the boy, and almost immediately his anger disappeared. He flinched away, almost in shame, dropping the blade of ice. It melted to water before it even splashed on the ground.
He reached out for the man, even as he backed away, and grabbed his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Jamie, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t hear you coming and I-“
“Jack. Jack, I’m fine,” said Jamie. “Calm down.”
He took Jack’s arms in his hands, holding him still. “Look at me, Jack,” he said, “Look at me. Hey!”
The final shout brought Jack back to his senses, and their eyes met. As Jack stared back at the boy, the world seemed to grow brighter, only for a moment, and suddenly calm washed over his mind.
Jamie blinked, and he backed away.
“You alright?” he asked. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Jack collapsed back against the half-broken wall of the building behind him, and he let his breath return. Air felt like dust and dirt at it flooded his lungs, and he drank it like shadow. Hot, like the earth, and lighter than the heavy moonlight, he felt peace return. Jamie waited for him to speak, and when he did it came out cracked as ice.
“I- I was in the Venetian District. All night. Delivery.”
He heard Jamie’s sharp breath. “Were you seeing Pitch?”
At that, Jack let out a weak laugh. “No,” he replied, “And I almost wish. But no, I owed someone a favor. Groundhog.
“Groundhog? What were you doing with that sack of-”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. It’s just the district; you know how it is. Like an Escher piece come to life. Set’s me on edge. I’m fine.”
“The monosyllabic repetition is really reassuring me to that fact.”
“No, really, I’m fine. I just need to get to Aster’s.”
Jamie didn’t seem sure. He crossed his arms and hugged himself, probably against the chill of the night, or perhaps because of the being before him, still slumped against the wall. His shoulders hunched up to his cheeks, and he looked off down the alleyway. Jack could hear the thoughts of empathy, at least in their nature.
“Alright,” he finally said. “Let me walk with you.”
Immediately, Jack began to shake his head. “No,” he said. “Go home, Jamie. Get Pippa and round all the kids together. Stay indoors.”
He pushed himself off of the wall, only to have Jamie grab his arm again.
“That doesn’t make it sound ‘fine’,” the boy said. “Jack, what’s going on?”
Jack shrugged out of his grip. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I have to talk with Aster about it first, understand? Just stay inside.”
“Jack-”
“What part of ‘nothing you need to worry about’ don’t you get?”
“Jack, shut up.” Again, the world seemed to fill with a bright light, and the surge of anger disappeared from Jack’s tired mind. He let Jamie turn him around.
The white glow faded from Jamie’s eyes, as he continued, “If this is anything like what went down with Pitch, I just want to be prepared.”
“It’s not like that,” said Jack. “I promise. Aster just needs to know. And I don’t want to worry about the kits while I’m at it.”
“So what, do you want us to go to Warren?”
“No, just. Stay safe.”
“We always do.” Jamie looked Jack over once more before he seemed to come to a conclusion. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll find Pippa and give her the word. You’ll know where to find this.”
Jack gave a tired smile. He gripped Jamie’s arm in return, and said, “Thanks, kid.”
“Of course.” He pulled Jack in for a hug, and the man breathed in the smell of family and home. He’d be a few days away from it, if this was as bad as he thought, so he tried to imprint it into his mind the best he could.
With the air of anxious conquest despite steadfast determination, they parted, their goals in mind. They said farewell, be safe, and then they both turned. Jack readjusted his hood, making sure it covered his hair, and slunk back into the shadows of the alleyway, avoiding the moonlight that burned like accusation upon the molten earth.
+++++
Aster entered his kitchen with a tranquil mind and a groggy, sleep-sick stomach. A gauze like cotton clogged his head, his eyes half-shut and his ears struggling to stand of their own accord. His fur was matted all down one side, and his now twitched curiously as he searched for the coffee. He shuffled over to the counter, his large feet plodding on the tile. He dragged his paws up to the cabinets as if hung from strings, limp except for where they dangled, shaking in the air.
The room was washed in amber, a tint of vintage sleep filtered over the cluttered morning.
As he drank his coffee, Aster leaned back against the counter and surveyed the mess of his kitchen. The permanent stains of paint splatters crafted their own work of art on the counter edges and scattered in patches across the floor. The small table in the corner held an abstract arrangement in miniature of dirtied mugs of stagnant paint water – which, despite the clear warning of “DO NOT DRINK” in bright red ink, he’d most certainly done so just the night before – and soiled, multicolored rags, hardened with the sharp burning smell of acrylic. His collapsed easel lay desolate in the corner. Dishes piled in the sink. Scraps of half-finished sketches poured onto the floor in a fountain of charcoal and parchment, black streaks smeared across the papers. On the wall, watercolor portraits dripped off of their pages where he’d pinned them up to work. Like melting lilies, they began blurred through a tree-sap lens and slowly came into sharp focus, outlined in thin, spiraled ink.
Aster watched the amber fade as the coffee entered his blood. A growl began to build deep in this throat, and he downed the rest of the drink as if it were something to burn in his throat. Instead, it only gave him a bitter recognition that yes, poor decisions were once again his forte.
His limited palette swirled through his mind; blue, white, purple, and black. As he came into full consciousness, with his paws tightening on the mug clutched in his hand, his ears came alive as well. They pressed flat against his head.
He knew better. He really did.
He turned away from the painting. He’d take it down later, after he’d eaten. Maybe after checking in with the office, see if there was a case. Or maybe after that case, if said investigation truly existed, as he suspected it did, as he always did when his ears felt cold on one side and his tail puffed up like a spout of anger, never from embarrassment, no, nor from shame, and certainly not because of certain paintings, no matter how detailed they were in their depiction of certain winter harbingers. So yes, he would take down the paintings eventually, of course he would, because why would he grace his walls with images of an overblown blizzard-bearer, no matter how witty, shocking, and completely captivating they remained even after these years of knowledge. Of course he’d take them down and put them with the others.
But first, breakfast.
Before he could begin to attempt any excursion for a clean bowl, let alone food, though, a knock came at the door.
Aster paused. A visitor this early, when the world was just beginning to turn from dream to color, grafted into the films of the era of sound past the vintage age? It’d been a few days; of the four people it could be, only one of them made sense.
He didn’t give the paintings on the wall a second thought as he made his way to the hall.
The small entrance to his apartment remained as dim as the morning around him. Each time he saw the doorway at the end, with it’s weathered, peeling surface, the spyhole centered in its body like a target, he couldn’t help the feeling of apprehension. The feeling of news, of expectation, the loss of comfort as he left his home. Would he come back this time? Would the others?
Would he ever see the man again?
Another knock sounded out, and this time came a voice. “Bunny! Wake up, Fluffbutt! We’ve got work to do.”
All pretense of caution flew out the door as Aster threw it open. There, leaning against the frame, in his blue hood and with hair as white as ice, was Jack.
“Morning, Cottontail,” he said. “I’ve got us a case.”
And with those words, he stumbled, and collapsed onto the floor.
