#all these men are idiots and i love them
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stairswarning · 8 months ago
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Stirrup to Stirrup (Rowdy Yates/Original Female Character)
Rawhidefandomweek late entry, day 4:
Free choice / droversona/ self-insert
Read on AO3 here!!
The sun was blistering hot on her back as Ida stormed out of her home, a singular bag in hand. They aren’t gone yet, she kept repeating in her head, a hopeful chant, they aren’t gone yet, they aren’t gone yet… 
Step by dusty step led Ida out of her small, backwards town and towards the safety of freedom. 
The safety of men who had no money or power to trap her. 
The safety of wild land and barely-contained steer.
The safety of mister Gil Favor’s herd. 
She was going to march right up to him and ask that he take her on, no, she would demand it. If he wasn’t in that dusty field by the large magnolia tree, then she would just track him down some other way. Probably by standing on the one hill in a six mile radius and looking around, but that still counted as ‘tracking’ in Ida’s book. 
Her dark, short hair tangled under her hat and stuck out in every direction; her long, house skirt dragged in the dirt and ripped along the edges on the sharp stones buried in the dry dirt. Good, she thought, let it get destroyed. Let the old me die in the dust. 
She could still smell the cattle, even from the opposite side of the hill blocking the town. Good, they hadn’t left Goodsprings yet. He would have to take her on, then, if only just to save another strange woman from her unfortunate circumstances. Ida had seen him do the same thing not three days prior, bringing a troupe of young women - who had been abandoned by one of their husbands to die in the wilderness - into town to live out the rest of their days in peace. 
But Ida did not associate her town with peace. Her parents arranged a marriage for her with the creepy, leering man who ran the general goods store. They claimed he would bring in good money, and Ida’s mother suggested she would only have to suffer physically until she bore him a son. That would not do. Not while she still had breath in her lungs and will enough to move her body. A cowboy’s life would suffice, especially with that as the alternative. 
Fear and anxiety left her body as she approached the chuck wagon, the bright, hazy day casting a magical glow over the cow hands laughing over a poorly cooked meal and a game of cards where they all cheated. mister Favor stood at the center of it all, watching over the men like he did his cattle. Ida approached with the most confidence she could muster, nearly tripping over her ripped skirt hem in the process. She strode to the top of the hill and cleared her throat loud enough to draw the boss’s attention. 
Mister Favor looked shocked to see her– they had only met once before, when the new ladies to town introduced themselves at the cramped old saloon just a few days prior. He had no reason to believe the town would need him again so soon, and on that he was right. The town didn’t need him, she did. 
“Mister Favor,” Ida stood tall at the edge of their makeshift camp, her arms relaxed at her sides, her chin raised. She cannot show weakness. “I would like to inquire about a potential opening in your team, as it were. I saw one of your hands run off with the three lovely ladies, so I would like to fill that space, if you would permit it. Sir.” 
The formal address was tacked onto the end of her thought hastily, although she could barely think with all the eyes locked on her. Some of them seemed to think it was a joke, but others, most particularly the tall ramrod that always found himself near mister Favor, just looked… curious. 
Mister Favor took a steadying breath before replying, “the cowboy life isn’t for just anyone, especially a woman like yourself,” he smiled to himself, “did your folks tell you you needed to work more hours at the general store? Why are you really here?” The men chuckled, the tense energy diffused by the idea of Ida’s wants being so banal. 
“I want my own life, mister Favor,” she refused to cry, refused to turn back, “they wanted to marry me off to the old man that runs the general store, I couldn’t do it, he’s been after me all my life, if I stay in that town I’m as good as dead.”
Mister Favor’s eyebrows shot up. “He’ll kill you?” 
“No. But every year I live tied down to that man with no freedom, no sense of self, no ability to do what I desire– that is a death of attrition, no matter how long or short I live.” 
The men had fallen silent again. The scout - Pete? - cleared his throat. “We do need more hands, mister Favor. That boy that ran off barely did any work in the first place.”
“Yeah,” the ramrod finally found his voice, “and she can lift a lot. I saw her carry a huge sack of flour from one side of town clear across the other. She can handle herself.”
“Rowdy, I’ll judge the situation myself for now.” Mister Favor snaps, which shut him right up. Ida’s glad for it, it gave her time to think: When did the ramrod, Rowdy, she corrected herself, see her carry that flour to the Bennett’s? The cowboys only ever went to the saloon, and mister Favor stopped by the general store only twice. Ida, for one, thought that every man in the town was too preoccupied by the lovely newcomers spinning tales and performing piano trios to see anything else happening around them. Apparently not. 
“We don’t accept women on, usually. You need to understand that, miss…” 
“Ida.”
“Ida, yes, well…” Mister Favor sighed, rolling his head from side to side, “do you know how to ride a horse?” Ida nodded. “Alright. You’re on. Rowdy’ll teach you the rest. Wishbone, get her some pants and a work shirt, will you?”
“I’ll be right on it, mister Favor!” 
Wishbone, the scraggly cook, shuffled over to Ida and gestured her over to the covered wagon. She tensed up. Thankfully, he seemed to notice and understand why. 
“Don’t you worry, Mushy’s just around the corner, and he needs to be told what to do every five minutes or else he goes braindead. This’ll be quick, I promise.” There was something in his eyes that spoke to a greater honesty and truth than Ida could possibly know. And so, she went. 
The days passed. Each mile they rode away from Goodsprings was like a weight lifting away from Ida’s heart. The horses got spooked too easily, the nights were filled with bugs and harsh rocks poking at her spine, the cattle were loud and smelly and the cowboys were the same. 
It was perfect.
What she couldn’t understand about the outfit was Rowdy. He was tall, lean, confident and headstrong. But somehow, he didn’t have a woman or seem to care too much about them. Every man on this team had something wrong with him that explained their lack of a girl back home–Mushy’s simplemindedness, Pete’s closed-off nature, Wishbone’s bullheadedness, Quince and Scarlet being too attached at the hip to care about women, Jesús’s superstitions, mister Favor’s need for control–so Rowdy’s perfection confused her even more. There must be something else wrong with him, a small part of Ida’s brain nagged, Pete complained about his womanizing, that must be it! He moves from woman to woman too quickly! Even though he hadn’t even so much as mentioned a woman in my presence, there must be something wrong with him… He couldn’t possibly be the strong, sweet cowboy I know him for… 
Even with those thoughts running through her head, she couldn’t stop looking at him, day in and day out. His bright smile, his loyalty, his seriousness when it came to his work. She decided to distract herself with reading whenever she wasn’t too busy pushing a few beeves back into line. She only had three books with her, in her haste to leave her childhood home: Crime and Punishment, Pride and Prejudice, and a battered old copy of Hamlet. 
Mushy caught her reading Crime and Punishment by the fire late one night, back pressed to an old tree and and knees up, cradling the book and her mostly-eaten dinner. 
“Is that a book? I didn’t know you could read, miss Ida!” Ida could hear Wishbone’s groan of disapproval through the chuckwagon. She chuckled. 
“Yeah, Mushy, have you heard of this book? Crime and Punishment?” He shook his head. “It’s about a man who commits a terrible crime because he thinks he’ll do good things afterwards, but he only succeeds in hurting himself further and going nuts.” Mushy’s eyes seemed like they would pop out of his head, but Ida seemed to have drawn the attention of some of the other drivers. 
“There’s books like that?” Quince asked, Scarlet also looking intrigued at his side. 
“Well, yeah, there’s books about all sorts of things, fellas,” Ida couldn’t help but laugh, “do you want me to read it aloud?”
The fire crackled in the tense silence around the fire. The men made eye contact with each other, and then with the dust beneath their feet. The young woman could tell the men wanted to say yes, but something was holding them back. mister Favor and Rowdy sat opposite of her, and despite her intention of avoiding Rowdy, her eyes found him regardless. Rowdy gave a small smile and encouraging nod, as if to tell her that she had full control of the situation. She decided to break through the silence with fully artificial confidence. 
“Well! I bet none of you would stop me if I started over from the beginning and read out loud - for no particular reason - towards you all. Correct?” A murmur of agreement rose from the men. That answers that question, she supposed. Ida thumbed through the pages back to the beginning, cleared her throat and began, “On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge…”
The day finally came, three months after she started with mister Favor’s crew, where Ida realized she should learn to use a gun. Not just for hunting, but for threatening people and for gun battles.
She learned this useful lesson in the half-second before being shot by a rogue cowboy who was jealous of mister Favor’s success, and probably also because of his disdain for women with jobs outside the home. Not a very useful time to learn it, but thank the great Lord above that the man was a terrible shot and only ended up nicking her upper arm. 
The raucous of the saloon immediately afterwards was worse than the bullet– Jesús and Pete could barely hold Rowdy back from decking the man and ripping him apart, a chair got smashed, Ida heard a gunshot from somewhere, but all she could see was the blood seeping between her fingers clamped over the bullet wound. It took mister Favor’s booming voice nearly shaking the rafters to stop the commotion, and even then Rowdy didn’t stop. 
“Get over here, you coward! You think you can shoot a woman ‘cause you’re mad with mister Favor?? Huh?? That seem like anyone else’s business but yours and his?”  
“Rowdy-” Ida inched towards the man, a blood-covered hand reaching for him. He couldn’t see it though, he was still focused on the man he was reducing to a quivering leaf. 
He tugged an arm out of Jesús’s grasp and stumbled forward to grab the man by his collar, “I oughta rip your damn arms out for hurting Ida like that, you think you’re going to leave this town alive?”
“Row-”
“You ain’t seen mean yet, you whelp!” His fist drew back in Pete’s grasp, but a bloody hand stopped him before he could hit the man. 
Ida’s voice was barely a whisper, “Rowdy,” and it was her hand, gentle against his fist tightened in the man’s shirt that brought him down. 
“Oh gosh, Ida, I-I, I guess I went–” his eyes focused downwards on her arm, his hands releasing the man without fanfare and he collapsed to the ground with a satisfying thud, “show me where it hurts, I can help, I swear.” The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the zap of electricity when his gray-blue eyes locked onto hers, especially after he crouched down a bit to be at her level to look at her wound. 
Ida was hit with the sudden desire to Kiss The Man.
She should not Kiss The Man, especially with such a large audience at such a high energy.
She wanted to Kiss The Man very badly, she found, as he wrapped his long fingers tight around her arm to staunch the bleeding for a moment. She bit her lip as hard as she could to stop herself from kissing Rowdy square on the mouth, and it barely worked. 
Thankfully, Jesús jumped in with great advice, “Let’s get Ida back to camp, yes? Then we can get her better.” That seemed to break Rowdy’s focus enough to let Ida breathe, and she was soon rushed out of the saloon and onto a horse. Nobody would listen to her protests that she wasn’t hurt that badly, not enough to whisk her away and hem and haw over her condition. Something in her wondered if this concern was an attempt at convincing her to stray from the cowboy life, but it felt less like the control of her parents from her youth, and more like caring. Something had happened in the scant months she had worked with the cowboys, and whatever it was, she was grateful. 
Wishbone was tightening the bandages around her arm when mister Favor ambled over to the chuck wagon. He cleared his throat several times and kicked his feet through the dust. There was something he had to say that he didn’t want to��� hopefully it wasn’t a, sorry, you need to leave, you suck at this, kind of talk.
“You, ah… Should probably take some pistol lessons. Real soon, hopefully. After your shootin’ arm heals up, of course.” He nods to himself, “Rowdy will help you out with that, so you can ask him more about that later, okay?” 
Ida nodded. She noticed the tips of his ears were red. Her eyebrows furrowed. Was that really it? Gun lessons?
But her unasked questions were answered when mister Favor walked away, towards an irate Rowdy tapping his toe and rolling his eyes. Understanding bloomed over her mind. Rowdy chewed mister Favor out for not teaching her gun skills earlier, did he really care that much about her? The idea warmed her heart something fierce, and the desire to Kiss The Man bubbled up her throat and almost escaped, but she was able to tamp it back down. For now, that is. 
The gun lessons started a few weeks after the saloon incident. Mister Favor had been uncomfortable with Ida coming back into any town afterwards, but she reminded him that they faced more danger with the beeves every day over some idiot with an itchy trigger finger. Thankfully, there wasn’t an idiot with an itchy trigger finger – outside of their outfit – within fifty miles, where they were currently traveling up to Sedalia. It was just Ida and Rowdy at the southernmost point of the bed ground, a few types of guns lying on the grass. 
“Alright, we’ll start with a pistol, okay?” Rowdy started, picking up the pistol and double-checking that the barrel was empty. He handed it to her, and the metal of the grip was still warm from his hands. “You’ll have to put your right hand against the grip, like,” he gestured vaguely, “like this.”
“Rowdy, I have no idea what you mean by that,” Ida couldn’t hold back her laugh, his face scrunched and all his wrinkles showed up, which just made Ida laugh harder. He looked so handsome with that look on his face, and she could feel deep in her gut that she had fallen too hard, she would never recover from this love. 
“Well, I’ll just show ya, then,” Rowdy leaned into Ida, wrapping himself around her back and gently cradling her hands in his. She felt the heat of his chest against her back in a long line. It felt safe, and also a bit hot in both meanings of the word– summertime in northern Texas was nothing to scoff at, even at dusk. 
His hands shaped hers into the way he wanted, and Ida was excited to realize that it felt comfortable to hold the pistol in her grip. Rowdy let go of her hands and let them fall to his sides. His comfortable weight was still pressed against her, which gave her the confidence to take aim at a tree far off and pull the trigger. 
The gun clicked faintly, but all Ida could hear was the huff of breath against the back of her neck. The urge to turn around and Kiss The Man was overwhelming, but there was still one thought that stopped her from the simple motion: she needed this job too badly. If she Kissed The Man and he didn’t reciprocate, or if he only reciprocated for so long, then Ida would have to find a new job. She would probably get left in the next town and be forced to make friends with the corrupt politicians and strange rich folks. Either that, or she would be forced to ride drag until the dust kicked up from the beeves choked her. 
Ida stepped away from the peaceful warmth of Rowdy’s body with a small smile. She just needed more time. Then, maybe, she could take the chance. She turned to him and nodded towards the ammunition. 
“We ready to kick this up a notch?”
More months passed. Men joined and left the outfit as drives started and ended, but a few faces stayed. Ida felt she was stuck with these silly men ‘til the end, but the thought of that didn’t make her scared as it might have before. It warmed her heart, that she chose these men and they chose her. 
The one thing she hadn’t trusted the men with was her birthday. They knew she was in her early twenties, but that was about it. Seasons came and went, demand for beef rose and fell, and still no one knew Ida’s birthday. She claimed it was so they didn’t know exactly how old she was, and so they didn't make her a terrible birthday cake that she had to pretend to like. She knew it was something deeper, her fear of trusting, her fear of being known. Of being loved and cared for. 
One clear spring day at the end of a drive, Ida found herself sitting on a grassy hill somewhere near Sedalia. The air was fresh, the dirt damp, and she was alone with her thoughts and her copy of Hamlet. She had put her book aside a while ago, content just watching the clouds floating by and listening to the robins and bluebirds calling. Her eyes fell shut into a peaceful sleep. 
A shadow over her face interrupted her peace, and with annoyance Ida cracked one eye open to yell at the sonuvabitch who thought bothering her was more important than getting drunk in some hole of a bar. The face that greeted her was wrinkled, sweet, and had bright gray-blue eyes that struck her to her soul: Rowdy. Her face cleared in an instant. 
“Rowdy! Sit down, it’s so comfortable here,” she patted the grass beside her. He listened, sitting down with as much grace as a newborn duck. Ida chuckled, patting his leg. Was it just her imagination, or did the tips of his ears go red? 
“Uh, miss Ida, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Ida let out a world-weary sigh. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘miss’? You really don’t have to, we’re friends, right?” She lifted herself up to sit cross-legged next to Rowdy, bumping her shoulder against his. “I know you respect me, and I respect you, but I won’t be calling you ‘mister’ anytime soon.”
Rowdy put a hand to his chest, his jaw dropping open in mock offense. “I’m a respectable sir, Ida, I would appreciate you addressing me as such. Also, I will need a useless tight suit with a collar that buttons up to the throat, since I am such a fine gentleman,” joy danced around his bright eyes, and Ida couldn’t help laughing and leaning further into Rowdy. Her forehead rested against his shoulder and the tremors of his laughter echoed through her. 
“Seriously, though, Ida, I uh, have something for you.” Something about his tone made her giggles disappear. Ida pulled away from Rowdy, looking him in his eyes. He, however, was looking off at the white fluffy clouds along the horizon. He squinted, and Ida had to stop herself from tracing his crow’s feet with her fingers. 
“Alright, are you dying or something? Am I dying?” She left a hint of humor in her voice, leaning into Rowdy’s line of sight to try and draw him back into the conversation. He shook his head absently. 
“No, no, it’s not anything like that, it’s just…” He pulled his hat off and rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, “can’t a man be shy for once in his life? Boy, this shouldn’t be this difficult…”
The red tinge spreading over his cheeks and down his throat pulled at something primal in Ida, and the desire to Kiss The Man reared its appealing head back into her consciousness. She decided to wait. If she opened her mouth now, she would act rashly. She would compliment him too sincerely, or grab his hand too firmly, or beg him to stay with her forever. 
“It’s been a year since you joined the drive, so I… well, me ‘n the guys, got you something. For it. Your year with us.” He dug around in his side bag for a moment, and pulled out something rectangular wrapped in old newspaper and bound in twine. His long fingers brushed against Ida’s as he passed it to her. 
It was hefty, and Ida had a feeling she knew what it might be. She peeled the wrapping back as gentle as she could, undoing the twine and setting it aside to use again. The paper fell away to reveal a new copy of The Odyssey. Ida held the book close to her chest and glared at the now-grinning Rowdy. 
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You did, you bastard!” She smacked his arm a few times, breathlessly laughing, “you got me a book, you all care too much about me.” 
“I think I might care too much, Ida. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” his face became serious, his eyes locked onto her own, his brows drawn in tight, “you’ve been the only gal for me, this past year. The rest of the crew thought I’d move on, but I haven’t. I won’t.” He leaned closer to Ida. 
Her hands found themselves against his lean chest, and the fear she had held for so long about Kissing The Man seemed so distant, now. 
“You’re important to me, you know that, right? And I want to be important to you. Can I be important to you?” 
“Oh, Rowdy, I’ve been crazy about you since the day we met. Don’t beat around the bush, tell me what you want from me.” Ida knew she was teasing him, but there was always something so beautiful in his coy smiles. 
Ida didn’t have to wait for words– Rowdy pressed his lips to hers firmly, and it felt like something shifted inside of her, as if the beast of desire had finally settled down in her heart. She pushed against him, nearly climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. 
There were only small pauses for breaths and lingering kisses around his mouth, face, throat, and Ida could not get enough. She pressed her mouth against Rowdy’s Adam’s apple and felt him swallow. The motion was far more erotic than she expected it to be.
“Ida, we, ah, should maybe hold on a moment,” His hands pressed further into his spine, which betrayed his true thoughts about stopping their impromptu necking session. 
“Why, you getting too excited?” Ida glanced around. “There’s a stream downhill we can wash ourselves off in afterwards, right as rain.” That made Rowdy choke, and his fingers tightened against her sides. 
“No, but I think you’re making things worse for me now. It’s just,” Ida pressed a kiss under his jaw, “ah, I told the outfit to check up on us fifteen minutes after I came over here, just in case I ruined things.” Ida nipped his earlobe. 
“You ruin things pretty often, but this was not one,” Ida leaned back, admiring Rowdy’s blown pupils and rumpled shirt, “well, maybe not letting us have more alone time ruined it, but you can always make up for that later.” She patted his chest, rolled off of him, and recovered her new book from the damp grass. 
“Really? Starting that book now?” Rowdy sounded upset, but the anxious energy in his fingers and still-obvious tenting in his jeans showed Ida it was just embarrassment. She smiled at him.
“I have to get ahead if I’m going to read this out loud to you all later tonight, but I can sit in your lap while I read if that makes you feel better,” a saccharine grin painted her face.
“...You menace.” 
“That doesn’t sound like a no, Rowdy! You’ve started this relationship, and now you’re all in. You can’t take it back now!” 
Rowdy looked down at his hands. His wrinkles grew as his smile did. “I’ll never take it back, Ida. Not ever.”
The breeze blew past the two of them, and the long grasses whispered a sweet song. The call of the robin echoed in the field.
“You both decent yet?” A hesitant voice called from some ways away, “Or do we need to come back?” The sounds of immature cowhands making obvious jokes followed. All Ida could do was nuzzle her head into Rowdy’s side and be grateful she had found her safety and her freedom in such a rambunctious group of men.
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contagious-watermelon · 24 days ago
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Why do I keep seeing transmascs and trans men insisting or implying that all trans men are "female socialized," or "understand the female experience," or "navigated the world as a woman." Because yeah, sure, that can be true for some people. especially if you weren't gnc at all as a kid and didn't crack your egg until well into adulthood, it makes sense.
But they don't stop at saying they had that experience. It always comes with an addendum that trans men, as a group, all can relate to this experience. I don't know about the entirety of my demographic, but I never got even a little bit of what some of them talk about. I didn't even believe that women were scared of going out at night until I kept consistently seeing them say it, online or wherever, for years. I never realized catcalling was a thing until I saw some women complaining about it on reddit.
But they posit it as some sort of, you're safer than cis men, right? You know what it's like? Which, on top of being patently, demonstrably false in the case of myself and many other trans men, holds some unpleasant and often outright hostile implications about trans women. And they always deny it, but if you can't even conceptualize someone like me who grew up gnc, and never got the bulk (or any?) of whatever we consider to be 'female socialization,' what does that say about what you think trans girls went through, growing up? I don't want to speak for them, as I've never experienced that firsthand, but I can guarantee that (if you're even a little bit obviously trans) people don't treat you like a cis kid of the opposite gender. By and large, they don't get treated like cis boys.
It just makes me mad that we're taking this inaccurate framework that (ever so conveniently) puts trans people into the box of our assumed birth gender, and trying to fancy it up and use it with a faux-progressive veneer; never mind the way that transphobes use it to bar trans women from being athletes, or using the bathroom, or having access to any gendered resources they need. It would be bad enough to try and dust it off and use it even if it were largely accurate, due to the aforementioned connections to outright transphobia, but it literally is patently false. Not in all cases, obviously, but why are we trying to revamp this untrue, inaccurate generalization and pretend that we can make it 'trans-inclusive?'
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beanghostprincess · 10 months ago
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Shuggy teen boys moment where Buggy has a teen girl crush on other pirates, like he sees their posters and swoons a little. And Shanks remembers all of those swoon moments, because it was a stab in his soul every time Buggy commented on how hot or fun or cool a certain pirate was in the poster. Anyway those pirates are Crocodile and Mihawk, because Buggy knew to appreciate a good strong aesthetic commitment, and when Shanks gets the Cross Guild poster he is thrust back to his teen boy self, where he would spiral every time a new bounty for either of them would come out and Buggy would fixate over it and he loses his mind. On the one hand leave it to Buggy to manage to achieve his teen boy fantasies in such a roundabout way, on the other hand WHY THEM, SHANKS WAS RIGHT THERE AND COOLER THAN BOTH! (with that fashion sense? sure buddy) anyway I think Cross guild would be extra hilarious if Buggy was aware of them in such ways and then it turns out they are awful and embarrassed to associate with him (and then they fall for his loser boy charms anyway,because Buggy attracts men like moths to a clown shaped flame)
This is so real. And hilarious. My favorite thing about Cross Guild and Shuggy is actually Shanks being extremely jealous because Buggy prefers the other two better. And Shanks keeps crying and telling Benn all of this and Benn could not give less of a fuck about this, really.
I also can't stop thinking about Shanks paying a visit to them and talking in private to Buggy, mentioning the fact that he used to have a crush on Mihawk and Crocodile. And of course, the other two overhear the conversation, and oh... They're making Buggy's life impossible after knowing this little silly fact about him. They're gonna remind him forever. He wants to die. But also, Mihawk and Crocodile are down bad so the thought of Buggy liking them back is extremely exciting, they want to flirt with him so bad, but they're weirdos so their love language is bullying Buggy but praising him somehow at the same time.
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iiluvkiss · 1 month ago
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fanficlerontheroof · 2 years ago
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kivaember · 2 months ago
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Can you do one of those "my ship in 5 minutes" sheet things like you did with Rusty and Raven for Walter and Michigan (no pressure though)?
it took me a bit bc my life is busy at the moment but i did young jupiter version of walt/mich uwu one day, i'll do their old man yaoi version...
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spookberry · 3 months ago
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unrelated to my previous manga complaints, but do you ever like read a romance and just find yourself completely uninterested in all the side characters but the mangaka clearly really likes the side characters to the point where the secondary romance becomes just as prevalent as the main characters and actually cuz the main characters have gotten together now the rest of the manga is just going to be brief snippets of fluff for them and then chapters of dedication to the second ship getting together but you dont even care about the secondary characters so you just like skip all of it????
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chr0n1c-ag0ny · 1 year ago
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Kunidazai reunion sparking them finally, actually, truly getting together (cause they're idiots who have essentially been and old married couple for years and were the last to notice)? I think yes.
kunikida offering his apartment to Dazai, as his partners was in no shape to be lived in, after all the time that had passed with no upkeep and the time it spent in police custody, being milled through for any potential evidence. there was no way he could let him go back to it, not now, not tonight. Kunikida needs him close tonight.
Dazai takes him up on his offer. he doesn't want to be alone. he won't admit it, but he can't be alone, he doesn't know what it would do to him, what he would do to himself if he was left unattended. so he gratefully, while making jabs and cracking jokes at his partner, follows him home.
their night proceeds as normal, as it had for years of Dazai crashing with him. Kunikida cooks while Dazai sits up on his counter, rambling on and on about anything he can think of. Kunikida never realized how much he missed Dazai's voice until the relief of not cooking in silence hit him.
when they eat Dazai drags his partner to sit on the couch, even though Kunikida hates eating on the couch, knowing he would make an exception for him, just for tonight. they sit too close to just be friends, coworkers, partners even. their arms touch, their knees lean into one another.
when Dazai's finished with his dinner he lays a head in Kunikida's lap, turning on the TV, flipping through all of his partners recorded media until he finds the show they had been watch together, every episode that aired since he was arrested is recorded and unwatched. with blurry eyes he hits play. Kunikida's hand is in his hair and it doesn't leave.
they don't talk, they don't have to, they've talked enough. for now they just want to sit and feel each other's touch and hear each other's breathing. it's all they need.
its nearly 3 in the morning when Dazai finally starts to doze, he'd curled up into a ball, halfway in Kunikida's lap at that point, holding onto one of his partner's hands. Kunikida knows he should get them both to bed, he should offer Dazai the room and take the couch, that he should have the man some space after all he'd been through. but he aches at the thought of leaving his side, at being separated again.
but he doesn't even have to say anything, should have known he never had to, Dazai's always been sharp as a tack, his intuition, almost terrifyingly, even sharper.
His partner turned lazily in his arms, looking up at him with tired but knowing eyes. let's go to bed, they say. you don't have to go, you can stay, they assure. please don't go, they beg.
Kunikida breathes a long, heavy, sigh of relief.
"ok," he answers, before finally getting up after hours laid up on the couch, watching as Dazai continues to doze.
his heart aches with feverish heat. he'd missed him so much he had begun to go mad, had gone mad really, and now his partner was back, he was back and alive and mostly well, and now he was so relieved it ached in its own right.
he went about making up his bed for two, for Dazai, knowing he needed enough pillows and blankets for half a dozen people, but kept stopping to look over the back of the couch to make sure he was still there, still with him, that he hadn't been taken away again. by the time he's done he's probably crossed his apartment two to three dozen times, from his room to the couch again and again, before he's finally decided the room was good enough, there were enough blankets for Dazai to cover himself with and pillows to hide in.
when he goes to Dazai this time around, he kneels in front of him, carding a hand through his hair, tracing a thumb over his brow, to his nose, and then his cheek. his partner's eyes flutter open, a smile graces his lips.
"come on," he whispers, worried too loud a voice would shatter the delicate air of safety and comfort around them, "time for bed."
Dazai hums, getting up with a stretch and a yawn, much like a cat, before gingerly hopping off the couch and into Kunikida's arms, a false smile and air of cheekiness to him, hiding the ache Kunikida knew all too well resided in his partner's heart as much as it did his own, if not more. he holds him for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in his arms, before taking his hand and leading him to their room.
Dazai knows the drill. he goes to the other man's dresser and picks out a pair of his own sweatpants, ones he kept here for nights like these, and as per usual, one of Kunikida's shirts, gliding across the room, out into the hall, and into the bathroom.
Kunikida crawls into bed, feeling like he's been hit by a bus by the days events, and ends up half asleep by the time he feels Dazai crawling into bed next to him.
he expects to see bandages peeking from the borrowed nightshirt, to watch Dazai shield himself from the world, from his partner's touch, with a swarm of blankets, for Dazai to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for him to fall asleep first.
but tonight's different, so different.
Dazai's skin is bare where the shirt doesn't cover, his scars on display, each and every one of them, the burns, the cuts, the bullet wounds, the ones Kunikida has never one been able to decipher the story of. they're all bared to him, with no visible hesitation on Dazai's end.
when his partner climbs into bed he neglects the pile of blankets laid out for him, the pillows too. instead he lifts the comforter that's draped over the entirety of the bed, Kunikida included, sliding beneath it like it's natural to him, like he'd done it every night for months, years even.
he looks at Kunikida for a moment, silently asking for permission, which Kunikida cannot give fast enough, and then Dazai's in his arms, his own wrapped around his neck, nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.
Dazai pulls away, just a bit, Kunikida almost cries out, almost pulls him back in, but knows better. he lets dazai go, but he never leaves. he's moved just far back enough so they could both look each other in the face.
"I missed you," he spoke softly, his hands shifting to hold the blonde's face.
"I missed you too,"
there's a moment of silence.
"I love you." the words are hesitant, skittish even, like he's unsure of how Kunikida would take it.
"I love you too," he replies without a second thought. he loves his partner, he loves him, more than he knows what to do with, so much it drives him mad and makes him ache.
Dazai nods. he's thinking, Kunikida can see it on his face, his mind is going a million miles a second. worry flashes on Dazai's face, and Kunikida panics, goes to pull away, goes to give Dazai space, even if his own skin burns at the thought of parting with Dazai's.
but Dazai doesn't let him, he clings to him, "Don't go, please don't go, please," he begs.
his voice is desperate, so Kunikida doesn't. he watches his partners face twist and turn, watches as fear spreads across his brow and tears gather in his eyes, and he doesn't know what to do because this has never happened.
but than Dazai leans in, slowly, tugging Kunikida closer so they can meet in the middle. Kunikida feels his partners lips on his. he kisses him back. he can't decide if that was a foolish decision or not. It's soft, softer than either of them knew they were capable of, it's gentle and earnest and good.
Dazai stops after a moment, lingers in Kunikida's space before looking him in the eye once more, he doesn't speak, they don't need to. Dazai looks at him, tears running down his face, but he's smiling, he's ok. his thumbs wipe away tears Kunikida hadn't realized he'd shed. they're ok.
"I love you," Dazai mutter's again, speaking again before the other man can answer "Kunikida?"
"yes, Dazai?"
"don't go."
"I won't."
"promise?"
"I promise." its a foolish thing to say, but Dazai needs to hear it, hell, he needs to hear it, "I'm not going anywhere, so long as you promise me the same."
he hesitates, his eyes avoid Kunikida's for a moment, before returning from their shared gaze, "I'll try, I promise, I'll really try this time"
Kunikida nods, slowly moving to kiss Dazai's forehead, the brunette leans into it.
"I know you will," he whispers into Dazai's skin, "and I'll always be here when it's too hard to manage on your own."
there's silence again, but it doesn't feel wrong or heavy, its soft and warm and it feels right.
"I love you," Kunikida finally returns.
there's more silence, Dazai just looks at him, just watches, fingers playing with Kunikida's hair and drifting over his face until something clicks into place in the other man's mind, something nobody but Dazai could ever understand.
he leans in once more to kiss his cheek before he settles against Kunikida's chest, letting out a pleased huff as he curls himself into a ball, "goodnight," he muttered, almost instantly going still with sleep.
"goodnight," Kunikida replied, knowing Dazai wasn't going to hear him, pressing his own goodnight kiss to the top of Dazai's head before burying his face in the other man's hair (Dazai doesn't smell like his shampoo anymore. it makes something in him cringe. he tries and fails to ignore it).
it takes Kunikida a while to fall asleep, he's too busy running the night over and over and over again in his mind. he holds Dazai close and lets his fingers trace over scars, feeling over his too-thin frame, feeling each bone beneath his skin. there's so many thoughts rushing through his mind, to many fears, worries, anxieties, what ifs. what if I hurt him? what if I break him? what if I ruin this?
his thoughts are only stopped when Dazai gently nudges his head into his jaw, hands pulling Kunikida's off of him, holding them gently in his own (he should have known sleep wouldn't come that easy to Dazai).
he takes a deep breath, steadying himself and his mind, his partner's hands squeeze his gently, good, they seem to say, and sleep finally starts to pull at him once more.
he lets it happen, let's his eyes close and his mind go blank, knowing Dazai is safe, he's safe in his arms, he won't be taken away again. he sleeps knowing Dazai loves him, that he kissed him, that tomorrow they'll wake up like this, and maybe, just fucking maybe they can finally have this one happy ending.
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requiemforthestars · 5 months ago
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Being back in the Dragon Age fandom has awakened something long asleep within me, which is a seething deep, feral hatred and disgust for Cullen and dismay at the way everyone in the fandom is head over heels for him. Literally it's as fresh as it was on the first day. Truly, things you feel at 15 years old do not wane.
#dragon age#i just... there are other let's say problematic white men who are problematic characters#aka anders and solas lol#that the fandom has been and is obsessed with and they coddle them like uwu my tortured boy can do no wrong#and like while that is sometimes a bit annoying#and alienating when you keep finding people who seem to believe the one correct way to play the game is to romance X character#bc all the content is fucking about them!! ugh it seems like other romances do not exist#but at least then i can tolerate it bc like#i enjoy anders and solas as characters#i get them they're flawed and can be downright horrible at times (I don't mean anders blowing up the chantry btw i mean how fucking cruel#he is to others in game)#but i get it#but not with that man!!#they only kept him in da2 and dai because idiots romantized the shit out of a very fucked up situation in the mage origin#then he became even more horrible in da2!!#and THEN in dai they just whitewash him and instead of properly redeeming him they just ignore everything bad he ever did#and that's when they add the romance option#a romance option that is kind of a joke seeing as he's still hung up on female amell/surana from like ten years ago#he even asks a romance leliana about her and will say shit like maybe me and hof would have had a chance like hello???#also his type is just... amell/surana copies he is a racist piece of shit who only likes human and elf women like hello???#and the straight girls just ate it the fuck up because there's nothing more they love than the fantasy that they can redeem an evil man#but like you're romanticizing the hell out of a prison guard/inmate situation like get help
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that-vampire-loser · 7 months ago
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Everyone thinking Andrew’s nails are always painted black but in fact most of the time they’re a shade of gray because that’s Neil’s favorite color
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valerileygreen · 3 months ago
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Regarding this post about 2 double tennis players who broke up and then went on to play and win together...
It is SO Arthur and Eames!!! And maybe not just in a tennis au but also in the canon universe.
Like, I can so see them breaking up when Cobb had to flee and Arthur decided it was better for everyone if he followed him, not out of great disagreements or big fights and hurt feelings, because Eames agreed Cobb was too dangerous for himself and others to be left alone, but purely for practical reasons. For Arthur to have one less weight on his shoulders (more or less) and be able to concentrate on the task at hand (he kept an eye on Eames anyway of course, it's his job), and to protect Eames from being used as leverage against Arthur while also allowing him more freeway to act on the side to smooth over any messes while looking less suspicious (come on, he was 'coincidentally' in Cobol's backyard after that mess of a job), because what bitter person would help out his asshole ex?
Neither of them like it really, and Eames resents Cobb for forcing their hand this way even though he doesn’t even know about the ruse, but they're too careful and calculating to not take every precaution they could think of while also do what ought to be done. It was the lesser of 2 evils in the rush of the moment.
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panic-aah · 1 year ago
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Phoney Hall
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newvegascowboy · 2 years ago
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Pathetic Loser Man fails every lightsaber duel he's ever initiated; loses to seventeen year old girl twice. More news at 11
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weregonnabecoolbeans · 8 months ago
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The way I feel about Anakin Skywalker is very similar to how I feel about Edward Cullen.
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teafiend · 21 days ago
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raksh-writes · 3 months ago
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Oh my god, Cole is projecting so hard, what a fickin buffon 😂😂
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