#am i putting this on tumblr because i literally cannot post this anywhere else?

[darlingboydiaz]

I honestly thought people were making it up for buddie on 9-1-1, but no, that show is insanely queer from the beginning. so overall, yeah, that blond pretty boy firefighter needs to be dicked down by his best friend, end of discussion.

[aboutnavi]

OK give us more information!!!!! Bias?? Fav album/era?? Fic recs?

My army life is not that interesting lol

Uh, Yoongi biased since day one (and day one was 2015) so also… hyyh is my ride or die bestie but I do have a tattoo for MOTS7 🩵

90% of my BTS-related fics are Yoonmin (they are still on my top3 bookmarks couple). I would 100% rec (no order of preference except the top 3):

First touch by flowerpicture2. Perfect fanfic. Literally changed me. Author posted it and went missing, never to post again. I respect them.

Atoms and Empty Space by AtillaTheHun (genuinely, to this day, the best fanfiction I’ve ever read in my life. The writing is magnificent.);

Saltation by momora; (I have been reading this fic for 5 years and this author is a sweetheart. Embark in this journey with us);

In a blaze of glitter by mariposawings;

Circus lights by shoshinlaurels;

Impulse by mintsoda;

Sad eyes by whenitstarted;

Mise en place by adelagia;

Petals and Ink by SugarAndMint;

Maybe I hate you can be our always by ameliabedelias;

If you want my seal of approval for any “yoonmin bible” slash the biggest monsters in the fandom, I would go for The Songbird and the Sea. Ukiyo is not something you really want to read it (I’ve read it while it was being posted. I do cherish the experience but never again. Not for me.)

Besides Yoonmin, I’m a huge slut for Jinkook. Cherub vice is truly one of my all time favorite fics and it genuinely changed me as a person and put so much into perspective and it has a permanent mark in my heart.

No, I don’t have anything against Jikook/Taekook, love both, read both, I just never touch any of the jikook/taekook fans with a ten feet pole and I rather not rec anything because Jikook/Taekook writers are monsters and almost everything is either really good or really problematic. Or both. You never know what you are going for.

I genuinely am a person who sort of hyperfixates on a couple and doesn’t like to read anything beyond that, so it’s either Yoonmin or Jinkook for me. Which reminds me: taaffeite moths by nonheather was an insane reading and birdsong by literallies was the sweetest thing and grounding/unmoored also by literallies was genuinely the funniest thing I’ve ever read and I cannot believe I cried reading a 2k anthropomorphic fic about a boat (seokjin) being stuck at the suez canal (jungkook).

Let me see what else… I think because BTS has been such a big part of my life for so long that those first years fan crazyness sort of dimmed down. They are still very important to me, but instead of being a guiding light in my life, they are now a brilliant sunset that bathes me in hope for what is to come. I still go drink some coffee by myself at each member’s birthday and I’m counting the days to 2025, but it’s like I’m waiting for a long distance friend to come visit instead of losing my mind over seven celebrities being able to perform for me or give me new content. Which reminds me: we are boycotting hybe and we do not stand with 🛴 zionist ass, so I’m careful with any content I engage now (& truly, I’m not on any social media besides tumblr, and I rarely engage with anything hybe related here or anywhere else).

Anyway… that’s basically it!

[mintjuliee]

PSA because this is currently happening to me.

If Tumblr's dumb algo keeps dumping me on your 'For You' tab or anywhere else and you don't like it, please feel free to block me. I shan't be offended. I want you to have fun. The last thing I want is for Tumblr's algorithm to convince you that I am intruding on your space, when I cannot control where it is putting me. I am literally just doing my own thing.

I am old enough to remember when the internet used to be like a treasure hunt to find things you liked. Now it is pure engagement farming.

And, if I block you, it doesn't mean anything. Sometimes I block temporarily because I don't want to see certain posts in a tag. Sometimes I just don't jive with your content. That doesn't mean I think your opinions are not valid. I may even think you have some good points, art, writing, etc.

[hydralisk98]

So much angst once again, vent/lively rant

Flipping between moods alot in the last day or so, from sorrowful to joyful and to wrathful rage (inside me) within 48 hours.

So beware of my negativity here because I cannot feel any better now with all that month's angst unexpressed.

As my expenditures + ambitions are getting tightly monitored and reduced, my savings + spare budget is getting controlled even closer now, my rant rises, I get treated like bull crap (to a certain extent) by the only two people in my household and my self-worth collapsing down to the floor and below, I am quite literally breaking down inside and masking my way from the intense hatred I got for myself, for them and for many more things.

There is also a couple of major issues over my mental health (not respecting sane habits & routine from self-imposed loose schedule, not meditating, not taking walks outdoors, strong feeling of being socially isolated), creative expression (feeling like I never do enough, feeling lame for low throught-put, getting ridiculed everytime I seek validation from family, going modest onto my ambitions only to hate myself more...), spiritual matters (subliminals for my MTF failing out of me simply fapping every so often, not having fun with casual use of interesting topic subliminals, overall contextual news from local and global politics) and job-seeking (not taking much research initiative, not asking much questions, not advocating for myself alot, not contacting / delivering CVs physically or virtually) that I can hide no longer.

And whilst I do get some social worker assistance, the only one who can really help me ends up being myself as it steepens the level of seasonal depression I have from everybody else I know offline as of rn. As in, when even my body trembles, there is something profoundly wrong about everything involved here, me included.

I know my way out of most of my very own INTJ-T issues, but I still can't help but feel merely alone standing in my ocean of dread and anxiety that invades my life ever since December 2022 to a extent.

Honestly, I am quite strong-willed and stubborn (my dad really pushes me off and I did inherit some key undesired aspects from his side to my grand despair) so this is probably a decent wake-up call to act from. But a couple of people in my social tribe would really help not feeling like a autistic alien in the bigger pond of contemporary society. Ideally as to go beyond PROPRIETARY social media services, walled garden technologies and the like but yeah, I still have to make all those sacrifices to my data / user privacy and more by myself, and only by myself, damn. Really does feel quite like we got a Axis Victory scenario world at times...

I am still fairly consistent about my creative habits albeit productivity slowed down alot, and I am still looking forward to migrate to a customized Hexo blog alongside my Tumblr frontend, beside more things...

In the meantime of writing any sort of gratitude track record and empowering articles though, anyone could tell me what they would like in the next few creative posts? I have several suggestions in mind but wanted to gather feedback here to galvanize my energy constructively.

Stay strong, we all deserve better and it takes alot of energy to get anywhere. May as well make it worth every inch of effort. Fail faster.

[snappleapple]

their favorite types of kisses

people in this - dream, georgenotfound, sapnap, wilbur, punz, jschlatt, awesamdude, quackity

headcanon!

the most disgusting fluff i’ve ever written

warning - cursing, i think that’s all but if there is more please do not hesitate to tell me :)

word count - 2k

a/n: okay okay, i might’ve lied earlier about that being my last post but this was short and easy to make which is why i would like to feed my readers this early haha. anyways, enjoy and please disregard the errors in this post, i hate proof reading anything lol. also, i’ve been very indecisive on the title and i might change it later and ooh, my masterlist will be made soon. i’ve just been feeling very unproductive these days. also, please put in requests, i am so bored and dumb therefore there are no ideas in this brain. and if you’d like a part 2, i might add more people for the part 2!anyways, peace!

dream -

i get the feeling that dream’s favorite type of kisses would be cheek kisses

he just likes to watch as you struggle to reach his height

“aw look at those little legs do their thing.”

ends up with you not giving him his kiss

and mans becomes SO pouty

“y/n…come on. don’t be this way.” :(

if you don’t kiss him on the cheek, will also become SO clingy and whiny

“why won’t you KISS ME!”

clenches his fists and stomps away like a teenage girl during puberty

slamming the door to your room

so then you have to go and give him all the kisses he wants

his face is slammed into your pillow

you sit on the side of the bed and pet his hair

leading him to stare up at you with puppy dog eyes

“i will give you all the kisses you want. so stop being so pouty, you big baby.”

will literally leave zero feet of space between you and him

taps his cheek to tell you he wants kisses

when you go on dates, will literally make you stand on your tippy toes to get his kisses

does not bend down at all and actually lifts his head higher to tease you

in other words, clingy but rude hoe

george -

george is a classic romantic

he loves just lip kisses

pecks or lingering ones

he doesn’t care

mans don’t need too many kisses

nor does he need to be too clingy

total opposite of dream and sapnap *ahem clingy ahem*

if he wants a kiss,

he will come over to you and get it

doesn’t get pouty if you’re busy

just waits patiently

doesn’t enjoy it when you interrupt him when he’s streaming so you do your own thing

when you’re watching a movie with him,

he will literally only stare at you with his cute smile

and listen to your every criticism of the movie

he likes to just peck your lips whenever he feels like it

and you’re just not surprised anymore

just likes to stare at your lips whenever you talk

overall, is very sweet but not to an extent with showing affection

sapnap -

omg

sapnap just vibes with neck kisses

it tickles his neck and he loves them

giggles when you pepper kisses along his neck and flushes a deep red

“y/n. stop.” giggles between each word

but when you do, becomes the saddest person in the whole world

“i was joking.” :(

when he’s streaming and he begins to miss you

would leave his room and find you just to get a kiss

just like dream, would get angry if you give him no kisses

“GIVE ME KISSIES!”

very amusing for you

and you love to tease him

“i don’t want to give you kissies.”

continues to stare at you with a large frown until you give in and give him kissies

lsg supremacy but i’ll get into this later hehe

you better give him kisses or you’ll be dealing with a very sad sapnap

sadnap :(

wilbur -

wilbur, wilbur, wilbur

what can i even say

total nose kiss guy

i bet he’ll boop your nose twenty four seven

asks stupid questions just to get your attention

“y/n?”

“yes wilbur?”

“is a hotdog a sandwich?”

“why-“

“boop.”

“did you just say boop while you booped my nose?”

if he’s streaming and you bring him a snack

he will hold your face still and leave kisses on your nose

not too clingy but not too distant

likes to be just right with you

if its snowy outside and your noses get red

makes dumb jokes about he is rudolph and you’re mrs. rudolph

just a lot of smooches from wilby

takes you to a lot of hidden cafes in the city

and while you read, he balances his head on his palm, staring at you in admiration

if you’re insecure about your nose, you legit can’t be around wilbur because he will go on a tangent about how beautiful it is

substantially, soft boy hours all day bro, besides when he gets mad then you leave the hormonal man tf alone

punz -

i don’t see a lot of punz on tumblr so here we go

punz loves hand kisses

not to an extent where he has a hand fetish

god no but just like

when your holding hands, he’ll occasionally pull your hand up to his lips and leave a kiss

lots of hand holding

and i mean lots

constantly gets mad fun of for being a simp but ignores those comments because he genuinely loves you so much

likes it when you play with his hair and messing it up

also likes to compare hand sizes with you

always has a hand on your thigh or your hand in his whenever he is driving somewhere with you

even when you go on dates, always holding hands

no matter how sweaty your hand gets, he will hold on

sometimes if he holds on for too long, you have to tell him to let go

“punz, my hand is super sweaty. lets take a break from the hand holding.”

would flat out decline so you would have to pry your hand out of his

he would also love it when you would kiss his hand

makes him feel all polite and precious LOL

would also wrap his pinky along yours when you walk together

he once came with you to a family gathering for christmas and was so SHY

shy boy held your hand for security while your younger siblings made fun of you

afterwards, when you were under a mistletoe, he kisses you on the lips before kissing you on his favorite part of your body,

your hand

c!jschlatt -

jschlatt is a whole mess

the first time you met, he confessed that he would hate you for as long as you lived because you made fun of his boots

now he says he still strongly dislikes you but you’re more tolerable

doesn’t like it when you make him soft and HATES it when he blushes

“why must you do this to me, mother nature?”

also “hates” it when you even touch him because he “hates” you

when he actually confessed to you that he liked you with his grumpy usual grandpa voice,

you kissed him on his forehead, after he bent down of course

he is an actual giant and threatens to squash you like an ant if he feels the need to

is an absolute monster to you but loves it when you kiss his forehead because it makes him feel secure and loved

likes to watch the wind blow through your hair and mess it up but gives you his hat because he like you being “all pretty and shit”

gets SUPER jealous when you hug children

like for example, when you went over to a family gathering at his house, his cousins came up to hug you

and when you let go of the child, the man child comes and lugs you over his shoulder

gets yelled at by his mom and gives her a sheepish smile before rolling his eyes and throwing you down on the sofa set next to him

his mom doesn’t approve of the way he treats you but you tell her its fine because he’s cute

when you are far from any type of civilization or in the safety and solitude of your own home, he wants kisses on the forehead

pointing up to it and bending down so you could reach it

“y/n, i only love you because of your forehead kisses.”

“you only love me for my kisses?” :(

“mhm.”

actually feels slightly bad

“and because of your personality.”

“thank you-“

“shut up. we don’t talk about this.”

in conclusion, give him his forehead kisses or perish

awesamdude -

sam just adores it when you give him jawline kisses

not because it’s basically the only place you could reach but because it’s a sweet gesture

sam is all about sweetness

i mean have you even seen this man on his stream

he likes to watch you while you have conversations with your friends

not in a creepy way but more like an adoring way

cause man does he love you

i mean not only does he love you but his whole family does

and when you’re alone with sam, you love to bury him underneath all of your love

“i love you sam!”

“no i love you more y/n!”

“NO i LOVE you more!”

“NO i LOVE you MORE!”

“SAM NO. I LOVE YOU MORE!”

“okay thank you sweet pea.”

leaving you a bit confused but happy that he accepts your love

when you cuddle, omg

he never stops peppering kisses all over your face and vice versa because your relationship is disgustingly fluffy

when he lends you one of his sweatshirts, you sure as hell better wear that shit out or else (i am leaving a blank threat here)

sam loves technology but you guys sort of have a system

a system that involves mailing each other love letters rather than texting them

you guys also go on a ton of walks just about anywhere

hand holding is mandatory even though you probably look like a child compared to him

just give sam lots of love and in return, you’ll receive lots of love

quackity -

mans cannot leave you tf alone

likes to do ANYTHING freaky around you

“i will follow you to the ends of the earth, mi amor.” or

“ayy, back off.” if anyone gets too close to you

messes with you twenty four seven and makes it his job to drive you insane

plays horror games at two in the morning for fun

and when he gets scared, hides in the safety of your arms

“mi amor. i’m scared.”

“shut the fuck up and sleep, alex.”

“okay.” shuts up quickly and snuggles deeper into the crook of your neck

loves you so deeply but HATES your cat

“look at that little dumb thing stare at me. you got a problem bro?”

your cat also HATES alex

scratches him all the time and hisses at him

if you think sapnap is babie, wait till you meet alex

“y/n he bit me!”

when you glance down, you don’t even see a scratch

“kiss my boo boo.”

wtf

“what boo boo? there’s nothing there.”

gasps as if you offended him

“this boo boo that your el demonio did to me.”

this man will do anything to get boo boo kisses

istg, you once found him provoking your cat to get some scratches

in alex’s mind, ouchies = kisses from y/n

always has ouchies from god knows where and shows it to you

even though you find it annoying at first, you grow used to it and it sorta becomes your thing with alex

alex is babie and you need to take good care of him :)

[rafeblogcabpa]

📢 Quick PSA on my art/reposting

═════════•°•  •°•═════════ Hey everyone, I didn’t think I would actually have to do this but here I am. I would like to just clear a few things up here and just move on because dealing with this again is rather bothersome as I personally have better things to do than this. 

First off, I would like to make it very clear that I do not mind my art being reposted on certain platforms (i.e. Instagram, Tumblr, Wattpad..) as long as there is PROPER CREDITING and NO changes to the actual art piece (i.e. distorting/removing my watermark/signature, editing/altering my art in any way, covering up parts of the art..) You also need to ask permission BEFORE POSTING. ALWAYS.

The issue I have come across lately and have in the past, is people screenshotting or saving my artwork and posting it anywhere they want without my permission or giving me credit. I do not like it when people do this and it is quite literally stealing my artwork. It is not appreciated by anyone in the art community.  Just last night I was informed about a user on Instagram that goes by “Cupheadofficial__” who has been doing just this and with other artist’s work as well as my own. If you want to check out the post providing screenshots of the stolen work go visit it here. 

»»---------------------►

“What is considered proper credit?”

✧ A clear mention of who the artist is, and a link to the artist’s profile/social media. Don’t claim the art as your own.

“What about comic translations?”

✧ I welcome translators! I actually love it that people are that invested in putting the time and effort to translate things I have made so others can enjoy it as well. Just as long as they ask permission and get the “Okay” from me beforehand. The translations must also be accurate as possible. All of this is alright.

“Can I repost your comic?”

✧ No you may not, unless you are translating it you may not take my comic/art and post it anywhere else unless I say otherwise. My comic is staying on Tumblr unless I decide to move it other places. This includes comic panels and frames from the comic. 

“Can I make your art as my profile picture?”

✧ Yeah go for it, you do not need permission from me if you want to make one of my pieces your pfp. Just give me proper credit somewhere on your profile where I and others can see it and don't change up the art.

”Can I use your art as a reference for my own drawing?”

✧ That is a no. I know some of you like using other peoples art as references but you cannot do that with mine. There have just been too many instances where my art gets traced or copied completely. 

“What if I see someone else stealing?”

✧ report them. Simple. Though you do not have to, I would appreciate it if you could also inform the artist about the situation. Its highly appreciated! 

Alright that's my spiel for now on the matter, stuff like this will not be tolerated here, so thanks for taking the time to read this.

[snowfallen-nymph]

Regarding the harassment, rumors, and false claims…

So here I am once again having to come out to defend myself against this person, because it seems this certain serial art thief, scammer, and bully once again cannot leave my name out of their mouth and has gone through extensive measures to not only stalk, keep tabs on me, and avoid block altogether and attempt to spread lies, cause drama, harass, and slander my name because they simply cannot put this to rest. I’ve tried my best to avoid this mess and ignore it altogether because it is tiring and the amount of proof against you is enough to rest my case, but the moment the rumors of ‘p*do pandering’ and ‘targeting young girls’ or ‘teenagers’ came into play next to my name is when I must and NEED to put this shit to an absolute stop. How fucking dare you or anybody even attempt to consider such a gross accusation! Talk about whatever salty bullshit you want but to spread false rumors of that regard is absolutely serious and disgusting beyond belief when there are actual unfortunate cases that have and continue to happen in this community!

I’ll say it again, Kharma Shade, @/darlasboobs, @/sprusillas on Twitter, and wherever else you might be hiding just so you can continue to keep tabs and perpetually stalk me, leave me and my friends the fuck alone!

For anybody uninterested in this please feel free to ignore and scroll on, and once again I apologize for having to bring up this old tiresome shit…

First off, you’re a grown ass fucking adult, not some ‘young girl’ or ‘teenager’ you literally informed us at the start of this thing a year ago that you were 23 and engaged. If you are younger or older than it doesn’t matter outside of being fucking weird you would even lie to begin with as if to use your age or youth as a method of not being held accountable for your actions. Here is you admitting that when you apologized to my friend for your actions on A&C when this shit first started with them:

You’ve made it so terribly obvious that you will post on that damned secrets blog pretending to be multiple people when it is literally just you, as well as vague about me on your Twitter, as you’ve done this numerous times in the past. Do whatever the fuck you want with your OC and RP the biggest fucking issue I had with you was not only did you steal my commissioned artwork(and others) to be referenced for your own OC and copied, but you literally took my own personal artwork I made without permission as well as my friend’s artwork gifted to me to have referenced and essentially carbon copied into your own.

Here is actual proof of you admitting all of this before deactivating your Tumblr:

There are even more receipts of you scamming a smaller artist out of two colored sketches which you never paid for!

Not only that but you and your ‘friends’ were literally threatening su*cide and harassing me for days if I refused to take down my original post calling you out and at one point you even ‘disappeared’ while these ‘friends’ were constantly bullying me and crying wolf that you actually did it! You even posted that shit on your Tumblr prior to deactivation!

As a reference here is a link to my previous post since you seem to have forgotten all of the former evidence against you and why this whole thing started to begin with:

Leave me the fuck alone! I haven’t even thought about you nor mentioned you since that whole ordeal and I have no fucking clue what possible ‘iconic traits’ and plagiarism you are even talking about. What plagiarism??? I don’t have any descriptions of my OC made public unless you are seriously digging through years of archives of my writing on here which is both CREEPY and STALKING! Considering I have you BLOCKED on every platform I know you on and don’t want you anywhere near me!

I haven’t made any changes to my OC in years aside from hairstyles and eyelashes and maybe just my art style progression, and all of that is documented on my social handles/DeviantArt which if you were actually any good and not entirely selective you would fucking know.

I have artwork that dates years back and we’ll before I even knew who you are or when you were known to pull shit like this! The only changes that have been made to my Amora’lei outside of hairstyles were her ‘white eyelashes’ which my friend, who is known as the other ‘albino elf’, and I have discussed as we’ve long since hashed our issues yeaaars ago and are incredible friends. We even inspire each other in our art and writing all of the time; I don’t know how many times this needs to be made clear.

[chuckbass-love]

Hi lovely, I’d love to request a Loki x Male Reader writing if you’re up for it! One where Loki reads the reader’s mind and finds out that he’s attracted to him and that he has a kink for his long hair. So, before making any moves to get with the reader Loki uses magic on his hair to make it even more beautiful and much longer in order to tease the reader. This might range on the “weirder” sides of requests but honestly I’m a sucker for a pretty man with pretty hair haha. But if you don’t feel inspired by or comfortable writing this then obviously no hard feelings! I’ll enjoy anything you come out with in the future! 💚💚💚

Hey. Thank you so much for this request i am in love with it. I was more than happy to do this for you.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Male!Reader

Warnings: Fluff central and a sprinkle of cheekiness from the man himself because let’s face it he is evil but in the best way.

Word Count: 1,970

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @0goddammitloki go check them out ❤️

Just Like Magic

If there is one thing people should know about you is that you’re not captivated or taken easily. Especially when it comes to crushes. But with Loki. There was an instant attraction, on both parts.

Not that either of you have ever done anything about it though. It’s a known fact to you both that feelings are there and Loki has pretty much made it his mission to tease you every time you’re around him. 

The one thing he doesn’t know though, is the effect his long black hair has on you. The way you fantasise about running your fingers through it, about pulling on it when things get heated. But that will never happen. He’s too complicated for commitment apparently.

You make your way over to a café, you made plans with him for lunch today. He was desperate to get away from his family and you were more than happy to be his distraction. Despite it not being in the way you imagine. It’s still something. 

As you take your seat, you pull your book out, a classic. Romeo and Juliet, if you’re going to wait for him, you might as well do some reading. Feed the brain and all that business. 

“Always got a book in your hands” you hear, moving the book down slightly and just showing your eyes. It’s him.

“Always late”

“Touché” 

He takes his seat, glancing over the menu whilst you return the book to your bag before doing the same. Once you’ve come to the conclusion of what you want, you order. Plus drinks too, of course.

“So, what is it you’re reading this time then?” he asks, showing as much enthusiasm and interest as he usually does. He always likes to keep up with you and what you’re doing.

“Romeo and Juliet” you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s about to say to you, you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

He runs his fingers through his silky smooth locks as he opens his mouth to respond “again? how many times is that now?” 

You just roll your eyes at him, refusing to answer. But the truth is, you’ve lost count. You can’t help it, you love what you love. Being a hopeless romantic is incurable, not that you would try to cure it if you had the chance.

“Let’s just eat, shall we?” you raise a brow at him and he does as you suggest, digging into his food instantly, as do you.

During lunch, you ask him about the latest with his family. He tells you all about Odin favouring Thor again. 

You can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s always tossed aside, like he doesn’t mean anything. You wish you could help that, rectify it but you can’t. All you can do is be there when he needs to talk. You still remain the only person in his life that he can open up to. That’s saying something, right?

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear whilst flicking another strand out of his face. That hair is your literal weakness. 

It’s something you simply cannot explain. But it does things. Things that you could never repeat out loud. 

Especially not to him. 

But little do you know, Loki can hear everything inside that pretty little head of yours as he watches you eat. The way you’re sitting back into the chair, one leg over the other. So well put together, so graceful but your thoughts are far from it.

In fact, he’s known about your dirty fantasies for a while but he chooses not to say a word. Mostly due to the fact that he wouldn’t know how to bring it up but also because he would never want to embarrass you. He cares for you. 

Deeply in fact.

So he waits around for the perfect timing to say something in the best way he can. 

Whilst he waits, intruding on your thoughts. You think some more. 

About all the ways his hair turns you on, all the ways it could come in handy in the bedroom. 

His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, catching your attention.

“What’s that smile for?” you ask, kicking his leg gently.

“Oh, nothing really” 

Something tells you, that’s a lie “no, it’s clearly something? Tell me”

He just shakes his head, denying you the pleasure of the reason behind his smile. You just pout, hoping it’ll help but it doesn’t. Unlucky. You finish eating and both stand up ready to say goodbye and part ways. He pulls you into a hug, making you feel small compared to him. He’s so much taller.

“Same time tomorrow?” 

“How about we have lunch at my place?” you suggest, nervously gritting your teeth and awaiting his response.

“Sure” he agrees before turning on his heels and walking away. You feel weak in your knees as you rush back home. Time to continue reading. 

Loki gets home and as he stands in his mirror, brushing his hair. He’s reminded of your thoughts, the way you were practically drooling just looking at his hair. 

The way you were flustered. 

What if he could intensify that? Have you begging to touch it, feel it in your hands. 

Wait. He knows a way that he can make that a possibility. 

He racks his brain for a couple second before remembering a spell. 

Once he gets it mastered, he puts the spell into place, on his hair. Causing it to grow a couple more inches, it’s now just to his chest. Not much longer, but a noticeable change. One you’re sure to love. Just what he wants. 

He cannot wait for tomorrow now. This should do the trick intended.

---------------------

You rush around, tidying after yourself and the mess you made yesterday after lunch. You don’t want Loki coming in to a mess. Not that he’d judge.

The second you finish, there’s a knock at the door, making you jump out of your skin. You pass the mirror on the way to the door and you check yourself out before opening up to reveal the man himself.

“Afternoon” he grins, stepping in and waiting for you to lead him to the kitchen where all the food waits. As he takes his seat, you glance at his hair, it’s longer. Sexier somehow. You don’t recall it being that long yesterday. 

How does he do that? How does he have you so captivated? Not even just because of his hair. But because of how he carries himself, how he speaks, how he walks. Everything about him draws you in.

“You okay?” he asks, a smug tone in his voice, on purpose. He can hear your thoughts once again. The spell is definitely paying off. Nows the time.

“So you like my hair then”

You almost choke on your water, looking up, your eyes meeting his “what?” you ask, wanting to know if what you heard was correct.

“My hair? You like it, don’t you?” 

You feel your cheeks heating up, the panic filling you. You can’t deny it.

“I do, why?” play it cool Y/N.

“Why do you like it?”

You widen your eyes, standing up to bring some more food to the table and filling your plate “it’s just really nice”.

He chuckles, clearly not accepting your answer.

“So you don’t wish you could touch it? Tug on it in let’s just say, intimate situations” 

Okay, now you’re mortified. 

What could possibly give him that impression? How does he know that? 

“Have you been reading my diary? How could you possibly know that” you blurt out, regretting it right away and covering your mouth with your hands.

He gets up from the table “your diary?” he asks, walking past you and into the next room where he spies a book on the coffee table. He wastes no time in picking it up, all whilst you’re trying to retrieve it. 

He starts reading it out loud.

“Dear diary,

What am i to do about this? 

What am i to do about Loki? That man has all this power over me and i’m struggling to be mute about my feelings, about the things i want to do to him”

You jump up, screaming at him to give it back but he just holds it higher. Not letting up.

“Loki, stop. Please” 

He brings it back down to your reach but before you can even take it, he pulls it behind his back “not so fast. When were you planning to tell me all of this? What sort of things were you talking about?”

“That’s private”

“It’s about me pretty boy, i think if it concerns me then i have a right to know”

You gulp, twiddling your thumbs as you avoid his gaze.

“I just meant that um, if there was ever a situation where um, we would kiss. That your hair, would be great to tug on. I’m sorry, i’m so embarra-”

Before you can finish the sentence, his lips are on yours. The last result you anticipated. But boy is it just how you imagined it to be. Actually no, that’s a lie. It’s a million times better. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, he drops the diary to the floor and his hands grip your face. Your lips fit together like two puzzle pieces. Like it was always meant to be. 

You break away, your hands find purchase on his chest, your pinky fingers touching his hair.

And that’s when your whole body shivers. His forehead rests to yours, his breath fans your face.

“That certainly took a different turn” you let out a deep breath.

He seconds that “a turn that is most welcome” 

He pecks your lips once more “why didn’t you tell me about all of this pretty boy?” 

The name turns you on.

“Nerves mostly, not wanting to ruin the friendship and besides you made it clear you weren’t ready for anything” you explain

“But for you, that would have changed”

“Am i dreaming right now? Pinch me please” 

He can’t help himself, his right hand glides down to the spot just above your ass. He takes his finger and thumb, doing as you asked and making you squeal. 

“I’m sorry, was you not serious?”

You shove him playfully and attempting to walk away, not so fast though.

He pulls you back, attacking your lips in a less than family friendly way. More of a make out session.

A lip biting, tongue battling kiss. All consuming and breath stealing. 

The kind of kiss that everyone dreams of having with their crush. The kind of kiss that just like in the movies and books, leaves you seeing fireworks or stars. 

The way his lips move with yours, so effortlessly and so soft against each other. 

His hand remains on your lower back while the other still cups your face. You lean into him as a whisper like moan fills his mouth, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands finally get to run through his hair. And boy does it feel good to tug at it too, pulling him deeper into the kiss, if that’s even possible.

This is everything you could have wanted.

----------------------

General Tag List: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @rockyrogers 

Feel free to tag anyone that would enjoy this fic.

[backslashdelta]

just for the record I have never not wanted to hear you talk about the things you enjoy. also I've been thinking lately about tumblr as a platform and how, while i love the loyalty to the chronological feed, it does mean that things can get lost in the shuffle - if I post something when other people happen to not be online, it won't get attention even if people totally would have liked it/interacted with it if they saw it. so that's just to say that you shouldn't feel weird about reblogging your own things - that's something that I've been thinking I should do more often, and that creators in general should feel free to do! even if I've already seen a post of yours, I will probably be more than happy to see it again.

Thanks! This is a really sweet message, and I appreciate it very much 🥰

Like logically I know that some people want to hear the things I have to say and see the things I need to show, and I've never posted anything that hasn't been shown at least a little bit of love, so I even have evidence to back it up.

But also the fact of the matter is that there are people who don't want to hear me – or anyone else, for that matter – talk about certain things. And that's not actually a problem! That's totally fine! There are things that I don't really care to hear other people talking about, either. That's why we can filter tags, and use that as a way to keep following people and ignore the things they post about that we either dislike or are otherwise just indifferent about.

And like obviously I'm not suggesting that's a bad thing, I enthusiastically encourage people to filter whatever they want and curate their online space, and I do that as well. It's just that I also know for a fact that there are people who follow me and I follow them who don't want to see me talk about that certain ship, or that particular character, who don't want to see my art or gifsets or read my fanfic or whatever.

I literally cannot stress enough that this isn't a bad thing. The point of fandom is to be able to engage with the things that interest you, and ignore the things that don't. But I've personally felt, since a young age, that the things I liked weren't interesting to other people, and so I should keep them to myself. Tumblr has helped with that mindset, but my initial reaction to knowing someone wants to specifically avoid something I like, especially if they're a friend, is to feel like I should keep it to myself in general, even though I know other people do enjoy it. I think it's partly a result of how conflict-averse I am. It's not even a conflict, but I just don't want to ruffle any feathers or annoy anyone and have to come anywhere close to a conflict, so it's easier to just shut up about it.

I don't know. There are places that I've wanted to share certain things, but I don't because I talk myself out of it thinking that nobody will care. And part of that is true, they won't; there's no point in me sharing a fic I wrote for ship X when everybody in the group likes ship Y and is either indifferent to or straight up dislikes ship X. But sometimes I wonder if those decisions are because it's just not the best place for it, or if I'm doing it from a place of fear and insecurity.

Ultimately, it's not a huge deal. I'm psycho-analyzing myself right now I guess, but I'm not that upset about this, and ultimately I do end up sharing my work and my thoughts and people do engage positively with the things I put out into the world and I've rarely gotten negative interactions, so I'd call that a win.

But I'll also probably continue to feel a little weird everytime I promote myself in some way. And I'll continue to warn people that they might not want to read my writing for xyz reason because I think there will always be at least a little part of me that has that thought in the back of my head that something that is self-indulgent to me must not be interesting to anyone else.

I still appreciate knowing you feel this way, though. And I'm sure you're not the only person who does, and Tumblr as a whole really is a huge help in trying to combat that mindset, so I appreciate everyone here who engages with me in this fandom space in any way. I appreciate you all, and this has just been me talking what may or may be a lot of nonsense but I'm just feeling weirdly... pensive? philosophical? melancholy? tonight.

[salt-warrior]

Okay, so I’ve been thinking a lot about how people often don’t know much about phlebotomy and correct venipuncture procedure which is honestly really scary. Having a phlebotomist do the correct order of draw is vital to correct diagnosis. The manner in which they prep you for a draw can also affect this and it’s all just so important. So I’ve worked myself up enough that I’m making this post on all the basic things you should know about phlebotomy so you don’t get misdiagnosed and get sick and/or die or misdiagnosed and spend lots of unneeded time in the hospital wasting thousands of dollars. I’m a small tumblr, so this probably will be seen by like three people, but if you want to keep you and your friends (especially those that get a lot of bloodwork done) healthy maybe CHECK OUT AND REBLOG this post. **I won’t be graphic or anything, but phlebotomy is entirely about blood and needles so you’ve been warned.

First off, there is a very specific list of things that a phlebotomist needs to do from the time they enter the room to the time they leave it. The problem is that often times, phlebotomists often don’t get much training, or they are nurses who yet again, don’t get a lot of training. For example, I attended a 72 hour course spread over six weeks and learned everything from where all the veins are and which ones to stick, to learning how to read test results, to doing every kind of stick from straight needles to butterfly needles, dermal punctures, and IV’s. I am by no means a pro in any standpoint; but, if I’m being completely honest with you, lots of the supposed pros don’t actually know their stuff. So disclaimer aside, here are the important things that one should know about venipuncture (the puncturing of a vein) procedure. 

Okay, so when a phlebotomist or nurse or whoever is drawing your blood enters the room, they should be washing/sanitizing their hands. If they’re already wearing gloves, then you know those aren’t sanitary, so ask them to wash clean their hands. If they didn’t do it in front of you, you should assume they didn’t do it-- and even if they did, gloves are only be meant to touch the sanitary items and area used in venipuncture procedure. 

They’re going to identify you and whatnot, yada yada, put on their gloves (after they lathered that sanitizer on their hands right in from of your face) and then they will position you and supplies. Simple enough. They’ll put on their tourniquet, look at your beautiful blue veins, and select one that they are going to draw from. Easy easy. Now, some places will mark veins (like the American Red Cross-- in my experience at least-- and plasma centers) and while it’s not good practice, it’s not going to hurt you. In my experience sticking, I’ve never marked someone and have never encountered issues. I also feel the veins with my gloved hands (as every person drawing your blood should) and encountered zero issues. Not the biggest problem in the world, but for real, they should be wearing gloves. This will not affect the procedure, but it’s unprofessional. 

Now, when your phleb is selecting your vein, let’s make sure they don’t pick one with high potential to cause nerve damage. If they are looking at your arm near your inner elbow there are three main veins: Cephalic (top, near the ceiling), Median (middle), Basilic (bottom, near the basement). The best choice is the median, followed by your cephalic. Both great choices. Now, your basilic should only be used if no other veins in your arms or hands can be used. It is statistically the most likely to obtain nerve damage if stuck there and it is right by a major artery. I want you to feel the veins in your arm right now (with your index and middle finger) and find which vein is which. Sometimes it’s surprising where they are. But one tell of the basilic is that you can feel a pulse from it due to the artery right by it. Look for all three of your main veins and feel for that pulse. Don’t let anyone stick you there unless there are no other options. Seriously, nurses love that vein (we literally call it the nurse vein) so don’t let them just stick that needle without trying anywhere else first. Now I want you to take your three middle fingers and lay them across the inside of your wrist and remember that for the love of everything in the world no one should ever stick you there. Do you know how many freaking nerves you have there? Holy hell no one should stick you on the inside of your wrist. Not even those beautiful veins on the side of your wrists. The back of your wrist, sure, go for it. But that three fingered inside area is a massive no no. Back of hands? Sure. Back of wrist? Sure, I’ve even done a successful self-stick there. Inside of wrist? Never.

Next thing is to clean the site. Now, this is the single step that is performed incorrectly more than just about any other. First of all, gloves are a must. They have to be worn. Second, your arm has to be SCRUBBED, using excellent up and down friction for 30 seconds. A little swipe across your arm does NOTHING-- absolutely nothing. And after those 30 seconds are over, they should not touch the site. They should not waft air onto the site. They should not wipe the site. It HAS TO AIR DRY. ChloraPrep, or any other type of antiseptic used works differently than simply washing with soap and water. When you wash your hands, you are washing away whatever gunk is on there. Alcohol cleansers work differently by killing what is on your skin. It needs to be allowed to sit on your skin and kill all the gross germs there. And wiping it or blowing air on it just puts germs right back onto your sanitized area. Now, you may be wondering “why should I care if there are germs on my skin when the needle is clean and only taking from my vein?” Well, when that needle goes in it takes a teeny tiny bit of skin with it as it makes that hole in your flesh. Whatever germs are on that skin go right into your bloodstream. Those germs also go right into your draw tube. I really cannot stress how important this single step is. For real-- if they do not clean the site correctly, ask them to redo it. And if they don’t, ask for another phlebotomist. That is your right as the patient. Period. 

So let’s say that they’ve done everything right so far: they sanitized their hands, put on gloves, and are now placing their tourniquet on your for the second time to draw from the preselected vein after sanitizing the area as mentioned above. They stick that needle in (hopefully fast and in right into the vein). Let’s say they do get the vein, first try, without having to redirect. They then proceed to draw their test tubes. Now, there is a correct order of draw, and if it is not followed correctly, you can be misdiagnosed. Each tube contains different additives in it according to what it’s testing for. They are performed in a specific order because those additives can carry over to the next tube. If the draw is done in the correct order, this is not an issue. If it is done incorrectly, then there is a chance of being misdiagnosed. (NOTE: I’m not saying that every time you will be misdiagnosed, but you definitely can. Any competent phleb should know their order of draw. It’s not hard.) **However, some facilities do have slight variations in their order of draw and that is okay. You can simply ask about the order of draw and whether or not your phleb knows it. If not, you can ask for a phleb that does. 

Here’s the order of draw (as told in my Phlebotomy Essentials 7th edition textbook by Ruth E. McCall): Blood culture--drawn in glass bottles (additive: SPS), light blue tube top (additive: sodium citrate), red serum tubes (additive: clot activator), tiger/gold top tubes (additive: clot activator with gel), light green/marbled green top tubes (additive: Lithium heparin with or without gel or sodium heparin), green (additive: sodium heparin or lithium heparin), lavender/pink/pearl/tan (additive: EDTA), gray (additive: potassium oxalate/sodium fluoride), royal blue (additive: sodium heparin). Now, the ones with the same additives (red and tiger/gold or light green/marbled green) can be switched because carryover won’t affect them. So your basic order of draw are: blood culture, light blue, red/tiger/gold, greens, purple/pink, gray, royal blue. I honestly suck at coming up with memory techniques and like to just memorize stuff but here’s an acronym: BcLbRGPGR. If you see your phlebotomist performing an incorrect order of draw, ask them if they know the order of draw. If they don’t, kindly ask for a new phlebotomist that does know the order of draw. It is your right to have a competent phleb.

Now, let’s say that your phlebotomist misses. It happens to the best of us, so try to be patient. When redirecting, they should pull back, feel for the vein with their lovely gloved hands and then have a quick stick. Let’s say they can’t get it and try sticking another spot. Same issue, they miss. At this point, the phlebotomist should go and get another person to try. A phleb should not be sticking you more than two times. They should not leave your tourniquet on for over a minute either, so unless they get a redirect within that time, that draw should conclude. If a phlebotomist tries to stick you for a third time, kindly ask for another phleb to try. They should seek that change themselves, but if they don’t ask for someone else. A fresh pair of eyes and is never a bad thing. Another thing to note: if you feel shooting pains during a venipuncture procedure, tell your phleb and have them discontinue. If you start to bruise (get a hematoma), your phleb should discontinue the draw. The only pain you should feel is that little prick of the needle. If there’s any other discomfort, the draw should be discontinued. 

Wow, okay, so let’s say that everything has gone well up to this point. You’re on the last tube and the phleb pops your tourniquet. They pull off the last tube and then quickly withdraw the needle from your skin, immediately applying gauze. They ask you to apply pressure and they cap their needle and throw it away. Everything’s great and just dandy. They didn’t ask you to raise your arm in the air and bend it because their smart and know that literature has proven that that does nothing. They check your gauze and make sure you’re not bleeding. If you’re not, they apply a bandage over the gauze. If you are, they apply pressure until bleeding has stopped and then apply a bandage over the gauze. Wow, kudos to them, you’ve had a successful phleb. They ask their questions, do their phleb stuff that doesn’t exactly concern you and thank you for your time. Easy peasy. 

Again, I’m not a professional by any means. I took a 72 hour course along with a butt-ton of homework and studying. I read my Phlebotomy Essentials 7th Edition textbook by Ruth McCall and have passed both my course and state exams. But each time I go and get stuck somewhere or watch others get stuck I am haunted by that malpractice. So, if anyone has questions feel free to ask me, I love talking about phlebotomy:) And of course, medicine is always changing and improving, so maybe within a year there will be more steps to add to this that I might have missed. It’s always great to stay up to date on this kind of stuff.

[veliseraptor]

a kindness you can’t afford

[READ ON AO3]

Written for the anon prompt above, originally tried to post it as a response to an ask, then Tumblr fucked up all my formatting and I deleted the post, forgetting that I cannot just recreate an anon ask. Anyway! It’s a fic! It’s for an idea that I’ve been meaning to write eventually and ended up doing for this!

I wrote more rambly notes the first time I made this post but it’s probably for the best they’re gone. Thanks to @ameliarating​ for edits, as always, and to the Tumblr user who kindly indulged my request for “Chinese obscenities that could pass for a name.” The one Xue Yang uses here is literally “chrysanthemum” but also “anus.” This may be anachronistic, but I’m going with it.

content warnings: none, actually?? I don’t think??? other than, you know, the knowledge that this ain’t going anywhere good

What Xue Yang thought when the first sword went in was motherfucker finally did it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d known for a while that sooner or later Jin Guangyao would decide he’d outlived his usefulness and try to get rid of him, or else Xue Yang would decide he was done playing Jin Guangyao’s game and cut out his tongue to feed it to him. And then kill him.

Until then he’d just figured he’d enjoy the luxury of Lianfang-zun’s boundless resources, access to the Yiling Laozu’s notes, and willingness to provide Xue Yang with the opportunity to experiment.

But with the old man dead, and Chifeng-zun in pieces, he’d figured that probably sooner rather than later Jin Guangyao would decide he was too much of a security risk and not enough of an asset to keep alive. Jin Guangyao still beat him to the punch. And he didn’t even have the courtesy to do it himself.

Bastard.

The Jin assholes cut him up pretty bad before he managed to get away; least he managed to make sure at least three of them wouldn’t walk away, and a fourth was going to be down a hand. So that was something, even if he was bleeding pretty badly, feeling it in the cold heaviness of his limbs and the spinning of his head. The wound in his leg was the worst, cutting deep into the thigh.

There was a distinct possibility that he was well and truly fucked.

Well, he thought when his body finally gave out and all he could do was slither into the grass on the side of the road so he wasn’t quite so exposed, it’d been a pretty good run, all things considered. Still sucked, and he would’ve really liked to show Jin Guangyao the color of his own intestines right about now, but you couldn’t get everything you wanted.

It wasn’t the death he’d imagined for himself. But it was better than some he could’ve anticipated. Hopefully he’d make a nasty fierce ghost and could go torment Lianfang-fucking-zun for backstabbing him.

Even if that was exactly what he’d expected him to do.

Xue Yang fought losing consciousness for a while, but there was only so long he could hold out before his body surrendered for him.

**

He didn’t expect to wake up alive.

When he did, still fucking hurting and with someone touching his face, at first he was just too tired and sore to try to move like he should, still feeling wrung out and half-dead and figuring maybe playing helpless would be better than trying something when he didn’t have the strength to back it up. Then his vision cleared a little and he recognized who he was looking at.

You, he thought, eyes widening in alarm, and tried immediately to scramble back regardless of the fact that his body screamed furiously at him, because some random stranger who was either trying to help or trying to loot his body was one thing, but Xiao Xingchen-

Who was assuring him that he wasn’t going to hurt him. That he didn’t mean him any harm, and was just trying to tend his wounds.

There was a white bandage over his eyes.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Well, Xue Yang thought, staring at him. Well, well, well.

We’re fated to meet again, he’d said, years ago, but he hadn’t figured for it being like this.

You aren’t going to ask me my name? he asked warily, and Xiao Xingchen smiled at him, utterly clueless, and said I have my own things I’d rather not talk about.

Fucking shit. Unbelievable. The blind idiot, just taking in someone he’d found on the side of the road who he knew nothing about, not asking any questions, tending his wounds…

Xue Yang had never believed much in good fortune. Not for himself, anyway. But this opportunity just getting dropped in his lap, and when he needed it most-

It certainly seemed to qualify.

Good. Fucking fantastic.

He could work with this.

**

He could work with this.

There was something funny about the girl with Xiao Xingchen - a-Qing, or whatever her name was. At first he’d thought she was just pretending to be blind, which would’ve been a problem, but she seemed to really not be able to see. She certainly wasn’t a threat of any other kind. A nuisance, it was becoming clear, and for whatever reason she didn’t like him, but she wasn’t actually dangerous.

And Xiao Xingchen... Xiao Xingchen would be dangerous, was dangerous, but he was also blind, and nice, and didn’t ask questions. Xue Yang had worked out a whole story, an elaborate lie he’d use, but Xiao Xingchen hadn’t asked. He nursed Xue Yang, helpless and useless, like he was a friend.

Motherfucking idiot.

At least it was serving him well. Xiao Xingchen took good care of him. Perfectly solicitous. Admonishing him when he tried to get up and walk too soon. You’ll make it worse, he said, with that sugar-sweet smile. Be careful with yourself. If you want to heal cleanly you need to rest.

It was all working great, absolutely perfect, he couldn’t’ve asked for better.

It wasn’t going to last.

It couldn’t, obviously. Xiao Xingchen would get sick of this magnanimous act and kick him out, or he’d figure out who Xue Yang was somehow and one of them would have to die. There was always a flip side, a catch, a trap, and that it hadn’t shown itself here yet just meant it hadn’t shown itself yet.

It would, sooner or later, and Xue Yang just had to be ready for it.

It’d be easier to feel ready for it if he could stand for longer than half a joss stick without feeling like he was going to collapse. His leg hurt like hell all the time and while he was clawing his way back to his usual strength, as far as he was concerned it couldn’t happen fast enough. It was fine, though. For now, he was safe. For now.

If he kept telling himself that maybe he’d stop feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin.

At least it gave him plenty of uninterrupted time to watch Xiao Xingchen. He was nice. He was patient. He didn’t raise his voice or lose his temper, as far as Xue Yang could tell. He was so impossibly, infuriatingly good and it couldn’t possibly be real.

“What is it?” Xiao Xingchen asked, and Xue Yang realized he’d been staring at him for a while, congee forgotten and getting cold.

“Nothing,” Xue Yang said quickly, and then narrowed his eyes and said, “you’ve got something on your face, by your nose. Big smudge of dirt.”

“Oh,” Xiao Xingchen said, and laughed a little. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t exactly check in a mirror.”

That was something Xue Yang found very interesting. It wasn’t Xiao Xingchen he’d blinded, and yet here he was. He hadn’t asked any questions about it, but he did wonder what he’d missed while he’d been working on rediscovering the secrets of demonic cultivation and creating a fierce corpse for Jin Guangyao.

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said, and then on a whim, “here, let me help you get it off.”

A-Qing scowled at him. “Xiao-daozhang can clean his own face, asshole.”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, and then smiled at Xue Yang. “She is right, though. I don’t need the help.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Xue Yang said. “Whatever. Come on, it’s bugging me.” He got up and limped over, dropping down next to him and reaching out, using his sleeve to scrub at an imaginary smudge. Xiao Xingchen reached up and caught his arm, but he didn’t knock him away, and he didn’t seem angry. His grip was firm but not hard; Xue Yang just kept himself from yanking violently away or lashing out.

“Stranger,” Xiao Xingchen said, “Please. I can attend my own appearance.”

Xue Yang pulled back slowly. He glanced at a-Qing, who seemed smug, and then back at Xiao Xingchen, and held up his hands.

“All right,” he said. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Xiao Xingchen said. He smiled, the expression warm and fuck, he really was intolerable. “But it should be clear that even though I am blind, I’m not helpless.”

“Guess that’s obvious,” Xue Yang said after a brief pause. “If anyone’s helpless here it’s me. I’m the one you had to scrape up off the side of the road, huh?”

That made Xiao Xingchen laugh. For some reason Xue Yang found that sort of satisfying; for some reason a-Qing glared at him.

“You’re not funny,” a-Qing said.

“Daozhang thinks I’m funny,” Xue Yang said. Xiao Xingchen shook his head, but he was smiling again.

Too easy. Blind - literally - fool. It suddenly seemed sort of amazing that he’d stayed alive this long.

At least it was working in Xue Yang’s favor. He’d be ready for when that changed, but for now-

He could enjoy it, for now.

**

The smart thing to do would be to kill Xiao Xingchen before he put two and two together and came up with Xue Yang.

He’d do the girl too, obviously, but Xiao Xingchen was the one who could really hurt him. He might be playing nice now but Xue Yang had fought him before. He knew what he could do. He wasn’t going to assume that his being blind had changed that much. The way he moved mostly hadn’t. He didn’t use a stick like a-Qing, anyway.

So, yeah. The smart thing to do.

He still hadn’t done it. Mostly because the smart thing to do was sometimes also the boring thing to do, and Xue Yang would take not boring over stupid most of the time.

“So when are you gonna leave, anyway,” a-Qing asked loudly.

“Dunno,” Xue Yang said. “Every time you ask me that it gets further away.”

A-Qing scowled at him. “Why are you even still here? Do you like living in a coffin home?”

“Maybe I do,” Xue Yang said. “Maybe I’m not even alive. Maybe I’m a really animate fierce corpse. Like the Ghost General.” He thought of Wen Ning, briefly, chained up with nails in his head. Absolutely useless. Completely uncontrollable, which had really been just the most disappointing. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

For a moment a-Qing looked a little uncertain. Then she scowled harder. “Daozhang would know. Obviously.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” a-Qing said firmly. “Besides, fierce corpses don’t bleed.”

“How do you know,” Xue Yang said. “Met a lot of fierce corpses?”

“Have you?”

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said. “I killed one once.” Its name was Nie Mingjue and its head is probably still in Lianfang-zun’s treasure room. He leaned back on his hands, flexing his leg and wincing at the pain that shot up into his hip. Fuck Lianfang-zun and his entire fucking life.

A-Qing shook her head. “You’re lying.”

Xue Yang shrugged one shoulder. “Believe what you want,” he said. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

He heard Xiao Xingchen’s footsteps a moment before he appeared and turned toward him, tensing reflexively and then scowling when that hurt, too. “What are you talking about?”

“Daozhang, do fierce corpses bleed?” a-Qing asked. Xiao Xingchen’s eyebrows rose a little.

“No. Not like living people do, anyway.”

“I knew you were lying,” a-Qing said to Xue Yang. “This asshole says he killed a fierce corpse, but he didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know. I said you wouldn’t.” Xue Yang grinned at her. “If you’re going to call me names you could at least be more creative, Little Blind.”

Xiao Xingchen shook his head. “Why would you lie about such a thing, Stranger?” he asked.

“Came up when I was telling Little Blind how I’m a fierce corpse myself,” Xue Yang said.

“Don’t call me that,” a-Qing said. Xiao Xingchen seemed startled for a moment, and then smiled a little.

“I see,” he said.

“Well,” Xue Yang said. “You don’t, actually.”

A-Qing looked furious, but Xiao Xingchen let out a bright and full-throated laugh, like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Xue Yang blinked. He hadn’t really thought about saying it, and if he had he’d’ve thought Xiao Xingchen would be touchy about it. But he was smiling, and still chuckling a little, when he said, “no, I suppose not. Perhaps you have us both fooled, though I suspect my sword would know.”

Xue Yang’s ears pricked. “What do you mean?”

Xiao Xingchen set down the basket of groceries he was holding and paused, seeming to be thinking. “My sword, Shuanghua,” he said. “It is able to sense resentful energy, and thus direct me toward beings like ghosts or demons. Or, presumably, fierce corpses. It is how I can still go night hunting.”

“Huh,” Xue Yang said. That was interesting. And he had sort of wondered. He hadn’t heard of anything like that before.

He wondered suddenly how discriminating Xiao Xingchen’s sword was. Did it detect any amount of resentful energy? Or type, or concentration?

Xue Yang tucked that question away for later. It wasn’t important right now.

“How is your leg today, Stranger?”

“Fine,” Xue Yang said. Lied. “Are you just going to keep calling me ‘Stranger’? You could just pick a name and go with it. Or guess. Or use a different name every time you talk to me.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled again, obviously amused. “Or,” a-Qing said, “you could just say what you’re called. Why won’t you, anyway?”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Sometimes a man’s history is his own business.”

Wasn’t that a nice idea, Xue Yang thought. He doubted Xiao Xingchen would still say that if he knew who he was harboring.

“Yeah, all right,” Xue Yang said. “I’ll tell you my name.”

A-Qing looked suspicious. “What is it?”

“Ju Hua,” he said. Xiao Xingchen let out a strangled sound, like a laugh disguised by a fake cough. A-Qing recoiled, her face crinkling up in disgust.

“You’re disgusting,” she said.

“Hey,” Xue Yang said. “It’s rude to make fun of peoples’ names,” but he started cackling a second later, hard enough it hurt his cracked ribs. A-Qing got to her feet and flounced off, taking a swing at his head with her stick he was sure was deliberate.

Xue Yang grinned at Xiao Xingchen, who still looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t tease her,” he said.

“She can take it,” Xue Yang said easily. The turn of Xiao Xingchen’s mouth and the set of his eyebrows was reproachful, though both offset by the amusement that was still there.

“You still shouldn’t.”

“Ah, Daozhang,” Xue Yang said, dragging out the second syllable. “Ruining all my fun.”

Xiao Xingchen’s expression faltered for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, and Xue Yang realized that his voice had slipped, a little. He held his breath, tensing, waiting, something almost eager jumping in his stomach.

Here it comes.

Then Xiao Xingchen shook himself and let out a faint laugh, though it sounded a little weak. “I know,” he said. “I’m merciless.”

Xue Yang pictured Xiao Xingchen as he’d seen him first, almost glowing in white, a pinched expression of displeasure on his face. He would’ve seen Xue Yang executed. Not done it himself - couldn’t get those pure robes dirty - but still. He thought merciless wasn’t as far off the mark as Xiao Xingchen probably believed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Absolutely. Those vegetables you bought don’t stand a chance.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed again, and smiled, and Xue Yang blinked at him, something funny twisting in his chest under his heart.

You know I’m going to kill you someday, he thought. Not yet, but I’m gonna do it. And I’ll make sure you’ll know how I tricked you, how stupid you were, when I do.

**

Xue Yang usually slept pretty well, if lightly. He’d learned the trick of it - a need to wring rest out of the hours he got when it was safe, but the ability to wake up fast when he needed to. Usually he could get through the night without waking up, and if he dreamed, he never remembered them.

At first he wasn’t sure what had woken him up this time, just that between one moment and the next he was awake, wide awake with his senses shrilling an alarm, something wrong. His heartbeat picked up and he started to reach for Jiangzai only to stop himself.

Then he heard it: quiet but still audible through thin walls. A soft, distressed sound from Xiao Xingchen’s room.

He held very still, waiting until he heard another. A whimper, almost. Quiet and pathetic, wounded animal. He rose, slowly, on quiet feet, and walked as silently as he could while still limping, out of his room and into Xiao Xingchen’s.

He was lying there on the bed, under a thin blanket that was now tangled around his body. One of his arms was flung outwards, his head turned to the side, face crumpled in a frown. There were red stains on the white bandages over his missing eyes. His chest rose and fell unevenly and too quickly.

As he stood there, watching, Xiao Xingchen made another sound, one of pain, and Xue Yang almost felt it in his chest, in his gut. He took a step forward, and another, and another, until he was standing right next to the bed and looking down at Xiao Xingchen, lips parted, in the grip of a nightmare, so vulnerable, so beautiful in his suffering.

What was he dreaming about? Losing his eyes?

Maybe he’s dreaming about me, Xue Yang thought, and had to bite down on a laugh.

He could see the big vein in Xiao Xingchen’s throat throbbing with his rapid pulse. It’d be so easy. He could draw his knife and plunge it in in less than a second. He could slide it between his ribs and up into his heart. He could slice him open like a pig and pull his guts out through the gash. It’d be quick. Or it wouldn’t, and he’d make Xiao Xingchen scream before he died.

Xue Yang cocked his head to the side and thought about it. What it’d look like. How it’d feel.

He pressed his tongue to his teeth and thought about licking Xiao Xingchen’s blood off his fingers.

His body snapped taut at a sleepy, “Daozhang?” and he moved immediately, dropping down into a crouch next to the bed and reaching out to give Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder a gentle shake.

“Daozhang,” he said, pitching his voice low but gentle. “Xiao Xingchen, wake up.”

Xiao Xingchen was a cultivator. He woke up quickly too, with a sharp inhale. “What,” he said, and Xue Yang let go of him quickly in case he lashed out.

“What’s going on?” a-Qing asked behind him, voice clearer. “I heard noises.”

“Your Daozhang was having a bad dream,” Xue Yang said. “I was just waking him up.”

Xiao Xingchen’s lips pressed together. “I’m sorry for waking both of you,” he said, and his voice sounded - not shaky, exactly, but shaken, and subdued. “I’m all right. You can go back to sleep now.”

“Thanks for the permission,” Xue Yang said. “But I’m good.”

“A-Qing…”

“I’m good, too,” she said stubbornly, but Xue Yang heard her yawn.

“You’re young,” Xiao Xingchen said. He sounded exhausted. It was so - human. Which of course he was, flesh and blood just like the rest of them, but there was still something sort of weird about hearing it. “You need your rest.”

“But-”

“You heard him, Little Blind,” Xue Yang said. “Go to bed. Your coffin’s going to get cold.”

“But-”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, and after a moment she made a disgruntled, frustrated noise and shuffled out. There was a brief silence, and then Xiao Xingchen said, “you, too.”

“Nah,” Xue Yang said. “Like I said, I’m good.”

Xiao Xingchen reached up to his face and touched the bandage, then stiffened with a sharp breath in and turned his face away. “Oh,” he said. “I-”

Shame, Xue Yang thought, with a little thrill. He was ashamed. Of the blood, or what it meant? How it revealed what he so carefully covered up?

“Looks like you need a fresh bandage,” he said, carefully matter-of-fact. Xiao Xingchen turned his face further away.

“I’ll - take care of it.”

“Want help?”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen said, his voice sharp, and then quickly added, softer, “thank you. And...thank you for waking me.”

Xue Yang shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Which it was. He hadn’t done anything. Wasn’t doing anything. Wasn’t going to kill him. It’d be too easy, he decided, doing it when he was sleeping. He wouldn’t know. Xue Yang wanted him to know.

Xiao Xingchen took a long, deep breath. “I’m all right. Really.”

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said. “I know. Want to go for a walk?”

If Xiao Xingchen had eyes, Xue Yang thought he’d be staring at him. “What?”

“A walk,” Xue Yang said. “You know. That thing you do outside sometimes.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t laugh. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Not like it makes a difference to you, does it?” Xue Yang said. “I do it sometimes. Helps clear my head.” He stood up and stretched. “Up to you. But I think I’ll go regardless. And who knows what’ll happen if I’m out there on my own.”

“Your injuries-”

“Doesn’t have to be a long walk.”

Xiao Xingchen was quiet for a while. Then he said, “all right. I need to get dressed.”

“Great,” Xue Yang said with a grin. “See you outside.”

He put on his robe and went out, stretching his arms overhead and looking up at the sky, the stars. The moon.

Now why, he thought, had he done that? Xiao Xingchen’s nightmares were none of his concern.

It was sort of funny, though, wasn’t it? Comforting him. Helping him. It’d twist the knife harder when he eventually found out. Make it cut deeper. Maybe he’d cry, blood tears running down his cheeks, and Xue Yang would trace them with his finger, lick it clean. Xiao Xingchen, he’d say. Looks like you need a fresh bandage.

**

“You know your roof is leaking,” Xue Yang said. Xiao Xingchen sighed.

“I’m aware,” he said.

“Just making sure,” Xue Yang said.

“I keep meaning to fix it,” Xiao Xingchen said.

“Daozhang,” Xue Yang said with exaggerated patience, “meaning to fix it doesn’t mean fuck if you don’t just do it. That’s like saying-”

He cut off before he said that’s like saying you’re going to kill someone and not following through.

“Like saying what?”

“Like saying you’re going to go night hunting and then sitting at home on your ass,” Xue Yang said.

“Are you calling Daozhang lazy?” a-Qing said. “You’re the lazy one here. Useless.” Xue Yang’s face dropped into a scowl.

“You’ve really got a talent for interrupting conversations that don’t involve you,” he said. Xiao Xingchen frowned in his direction.

“Our guest is just pointing out that I should have done something about the roof leak before now,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And he is right.”

“Course I am,” Xue Yang said. “I’m right about a lot of things.”

A-Qing snorted. “Yeah,” she said. “Name one.”

You’re an ugly little brat who ought to get slapped. “Xiao-daozhang is the most beautiful cultivator in the world,” he said. Xiao Xingchen’s face went red. A-Qing scowled.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “So I’d just have to take your word for it.”

“It’s not true,” Xiao Xingchen protested. “Our guest is just teasing.”

Xue Yang shrugged. “One against one, Daozhang. Too bad we don’t have a tie breaker.”

Xiao Xingchen’s face was still flushed bright. Like he’d been slapped, all the blood right under the skin, and Xue Yang wondered if his skin would feel hot if he touched it. If he’d bleed faster if he cut into his cheek.

He’d started to think maybe he shouldn’t kill Xiao Xingchen after all. It might actually be better to leave him alive. Dead people couldn’t suffer like living ones.

He leaned back on his hands. His leg was feeling better these days. His other wounds were well on the way to healing. He could probably leave, if he wanted to. Slip out in the middle of the night.

Maybe he’d cut a-Qing’s throat to leave a message. That’d probably hurt Xiao Xingchen worse than anything Xue Yang could do to him.

It was an idea. He tucked it away for consideration.

“Anyway,” he said. “You should definitely do it before winter or Little Blind will freeze to death.”

“Why don’t you do it,” a-Qing said loudly.

“What’ll you pay me for it? I don’t do that kind of work for free.”

A-Qing scowled harder. “You’re eating our food and sleeping in our house,” she said. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, “our guest is still injured. You wouldn’t want him to aggravate his injuries further.”

“Says who,” a-Qing muttered under her breath. Xiao Xingchen seemed to pretend not to hear.

“I’ll get some supplies tomorrow,” he said. “It is starting to get colder. But don’t worry about helping, Stranger. I can manage.” He gave Xue Yang a horribly gentle smile. Why are you like this, Xue Yang thought angrily.

Yeah. He wouldn’t kill Xiao Xingchen at all. Just cut up his face so he couldn’t smile like that anymore. He wouldn’t even know how awful he looked until people started recoiling from him in horror, exclaiming with disgust.

Yeah. That was an idea. Kill a-Qing and ruin that pretty face.

He’d get around to it before winter, once he was fully healed, and find someplace nice and warm to set up in for the cold months. No reason to stay in this miserable dead city when there was a whole world to explore.

**

Xiao Xingchen did not have any idea how to patch a roof.

Xue Yang ended up mostly doing it for him.

**

There was an itch under Xue Yang’s skin, in his bones. He didn’t know why, exactly. He just got like this sometimes, tense and restless and jumpy and he didn’t like it. Usually he dealt with it in one of two ways: killing someone or fucking someone. Or both.

He hadn’t killed anyone yet today, but he was thinking about it. It’d probably be a-Qing. She was getting on his last nerve, and he kept thinking if he killed her quick and quiet and dumped her body in the river Xiao Xingchen would never need to know.

Though why it’d matter if Xiao Xingchen knew was another matter.

He didn’t think he’d really kill a-Qing either, though. Maybe one of the merchants in the market. The one who’d tried to sell them half-rotted turnips. He’d deserve it. Yeah. Him. He’d make a good target.

Itch, itch, itch. Fuck. He was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t-

“Stranger?”

Xue Yang whirled around, knife in hand, and just checked the movement before he put it through Xiao Xingchen’s neck. Or, he would’ve checked it, but Xiao Xingchen caught his arm first.

Xue Yang froze. His body coiled tight, ready for the retaliation. Briefly, he wanted to laugh. The first time he really got close to stabbing Xiao Xingchen since waking up here and it hadn’t even been on purpose.

Xiao Xingchen felt down Xue Yang’s arm to his hand, his fingers wrapped around the knife. Least it wasn’t his left. He paused for a moment, then let go and stepped back.

“I startled you,” he said.

Xue Yang blinked. “I was thinking about something else,” he said cautiously.

“Apparently so,” Xiao Xingchen said. He smiled, barely, and bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re - for what?”

“Startling you,” Xiao Xingchen said. Xue Yang stared at him.

“I almost stabbed you,” he blurted out, and then grimaced.

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “But you didn’t. I suppose this might be a different conversation if you had.” His voice was still even, calm. Xue Yang stared at him harder, hating the confusion that was starting to overtake the itch for violence.

“Probably wouldn’t be a conversation,” he said, before he meant to. Xiao Xingchen smiled a little.

“I suppose not,” Xiao Xingchen said. “A good thing I have quick reflexes.” He paused, the smile fading. “Stranger...I know that you have...a history. That there are shadows in it you don’t want to discuss. For all your good humor, you are tense, and watchful, and wary. A man - a cultivator - does not end up on the side of a road in your condition without having made dangerous enemies.”

Xue Yang opened his mouth, then closed it, getting tenser by the second. He still had his knife in hand, but Xiao Xingchen had shown he could catch him, and while Shuanghua wouldn’t be able to sense him the way it did ghosts and the like-

“Whatever you might have done,” Xiao Xingchen said, his voice quiet and serious, “it doesn’t matter now.”

Xue Yang’s voice was locked in his throat. Speechless. He wasn’t speechless very often. There was a laugh in there, too, thinking wildly really, is that really true, Xiao Xingchen, would you still say that if I told you my name-

“Pretty generous of you, Daozhang,” he said. “I might’ve done anything.”

“Perhaps,” Xiao Xingchen said. “But you have not done anything to me, or to a-Qing, or to the people here.”

Not yet, anyway, was his first thought, and then oh. Oh, that was rich, that was hilarious, that was-

He felt sort of weird, suddenly. Not sick, and nothing was hurting, just - weird. Off-balance. The itch was completely gone now, leaving something else in its wake that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“Xiao-daozhang,” he started to say, and then stopped. Xiao Xingchen gave him a small smile.

“Most people, I think, have shadows in their pasts,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I am not a magistrate. I would rather not act as one.”

Xue Yang thought of Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s eagerness to deliver him to justice, and wanted to laugh. But only for a moment.

He sucked on his teeth. Cocked his head to the side.

“Call me Chengmei,” he said. And waited. Waited to see any sign of recognition, of memory, of understanding.

Xiao Xingchen smiled, slightly. “Chengmei,” he said. “Thank you.”

Xue Yang huffed a laugh. “For what?”

“For telling me your name.”

Huh. Xue Yang wanted to laugh, would’ve laughed, did laugh, a little. “That’s not telling you much, Xiao-daozhang. It’s just a name. It might not even be my real one.”

“I know,” Xiao Xingchen said. He didn’t reach out, just smiled that warm smile that Xue Yang hated, that set off that strange and twisting feeling like a worm winding through his insides. Nobody had made that face at him before. Not like that. “But at least now I don’t have to call you ‘Stranger.’”

“You still could, if you wanted,” Xue Yang said, which made Xiao Xingchen laugh. Everything made him laugh. He had a stupid sense of humor, Xue Yang was starting to realize.

Such an idiot.

Xiao Xingchen gave him one last smile and went back inside. Xue Yang looked after him, eyes narrowed.

He should’ve gone by now, probably. He was getting comfortable, and comfortable was dangerous.

But he had a good thing going, here. And he could end it whenever he wanted. The second he got sick of this game, he could finish it, and Xiao Xingchen, too.

There was no reason to hurry, though. No rush.

And he had some ideas for how to keep things fun.

He had time.

[risaonda]

The fact that you’re continually spreading false info about someone you haven’t had contact with in 5 years is disgusting. You’re welcome to dismiss their apology as insincere, but spreading misinformation is a different beast. You’re lucky they haven’t sued you for libel, considering you have no idea how they are these days.

hey look i actually remembered u shout out 2 tumblr for not getting rid of the number next 2 the inbox on desktop even tho i've seen these on mobile LMAO so here's ur Genuine Response

first of all, point me to the latest instance of me saying literally ANYTHING about them. also elaborate for me what "false info" ur talking about pretty please with a cherry on top <3 because nothing that i've said irt the shit i put up with from them is false just because it upsets u that some random person online that u apparently idolize, based on how u are here in my inbox having a complete fucking meltdown, has hurt people. sorry u are so pressed, this is absolutely not normal. i can't imagine what kind of freak u need to be to go to random strangers' inboxes going "ur lucky ur abuser doesn't sue u for talking about ur abuse" like i think that u should maybe log off or just completely remove urself from this situation which has literally no bearing on u

this entire message is just. idk where to even start. i don't think they're the only one ever saying anything about me, i don't think i've ever said or even implied as much. idk where that thought even came from. their weirdo friends and fans used to come into my inbox all the time, anon and not, like hello?? also i love that this is worded in a way implying u are responding directly to me. like this is a reply to something that i said today. what are these messages in response to beloved bc between u and me, u are the only one that seems to know

my blog is easy to find because i have made sure it is easy to find and i have never made it difficult to find me anywhere. i've literally said so many times in the past that i would so much rather people see my blog than most other bullshit places people go to when it comes to finding information for this specific situation, because i am actually involved and every other place people get information is some stupid drama site full of people who have never even so much as Spoken to them. my blog is literally intentionally easy to find. hello.

"since they're all you fucking talk about" again: WHEN is the last time i actually did talk about them, genuinely, bc i couldn't even tell u. recently i think i've just been talking about movies i'm watching, actually, so i think u are maybe just obsessed with a situation that has literally fuck all to do with u and u are mad as fuck for no recognizable reason whatsoever. like u are creating a problem with me in ur own mind and freaking the fuck out about it. but stay mad i guess dude i literally don't even know u LOL

i haven't lied about their apologies and i don't think i've ever even said they never apologized, at least not as like. a flat point blank statement. "we all saw the screenshots" really got me too because like my god...who do u think POSTED the screenshots. what are u

they have offered completely meaningless "sorry"s in the past that were followed immediately by them continuing the behavior they were apologizing for. now maybe i'm just crazy but i think saying sorry for something and then doing the same thing over and over and over is not really an apology. that's what i mean whenever i criticize the "apologies" they so desperately hang onto in order to avoid any accountability for their actions. like idk how else to say it this really is not a difficult concept to grasp and i cannot believe i even need to say this. i cannot believe this is not the first time i'm even saying this. have u actually looked at anything i've said or are u making this all up as u go and handling ur frustration with that based on how u think everything's gone?

this message is my favorite one bc it really just blows me away. this one makes me convinced that u think i'm someone else instead of like...me. like what are u talking about. when have i ever done any of this. u are insane

"change according to my standards or i'll continue spreading lies about you" when the reality of all of this is i am and have literally only ever been saying "hey i think taking actual accountability for their actions is like. necessary."

if they are trying to do better that means acknowledging they have done things they need to work on and be better about. sorry that my standards aka "stop ur cycle of abuse so as not to hurt more people, be honest about this, and don't continue harming those u already have hurt" are too high, but also i literally don't give a shit or fuck. if that's asking too much then ur not a changed person, full-stop.

i think what is so funny abt people like u is if they have really and truly have changed and they are growing as a person and bettering themself, i think the very LAST thing in the world they would want is some random freak online going after the people they're supposedly trying to repair things with. like literally what are u doing here if not trying to just make my perception of them significantly worse? this is for u

[rpbetter]

a vent (feel free to ignore if it's too much!): so recently i've noticed psd makers getting anon asks on whether they're ok with people who write certain topics (mostly rpf, incest, rape, underage, the usual "problematic" topics) using their recourses. now, i don't roleplay any of these subjects on tumblr, so even if a content creator said not to use their stuff, it's not even something i need to worry about - but, and maybe this is me overthinking it, what if i, someday, write a noncon fanfic on ao3? i'm still not using their resources on the subject or writing it on tumblr, but i'd probably feel weird about it, like i'm crossing some boundary. what if a psd maker whose content i've already purchased suddenly goes "actually don't use my psds if you rp abusive relationships", which is probably the closest to what people consider "taboo themes" of the things that i roleplay. it just feels like a fine line between personal boundaries and a shitty situation for a customer - not wanting to cross boundaries but already having PAID for something previously, when no such rules existed. it's making me want to 1. block everyone i see saying this, because even though i don't personally roleplay the topics above, i don't feel SAFE around people who tell others what kind of fiction they are allowed to enjoy and 2. just quit using people's resources and spend years learning to make my own psds so i won't have to worry about this shit. it's just stressing me out, as someone who has been harrassed and bullied online for speaking against censorship. i've had literal sock accounts made just to spew targetted harrassment at me on twitter. i've been accused of being a pedo and supporting incest and this is??? literally for saying "i don't think real people should be harrassed for fictional shit", i've not even shipped underage or incest ships. both make me uncomfortable. but fuck, antis make me 1000000x more uncomfortable than people who ship these kinda ships. i digress, this got rambley, i just. do you have any advice on what to do with the potential psd situation, or am i really just overthinking it? (always worried i accidentally send stuff like this off anon. help)

I need you to know that I actually had to rush-scroll back up and just double check that you did submit on anon lol! I always get worried I'll miss the one person who accidentally didn't use anon, if it makes you feel any better! When someone does submit with their URL attached, I message them first to be sure they are okay with them having it posted that way/it wasn't an accident ;) That's what I would want someone to do!

Alright, so, anyhow...

I've also noticed that becoming a more common thing and it's been on my (maybe huge) list of things to look into for a bit because I really do try to make sure I'm not just noticing things in my areas of the RPC/failing to notice things that do not impact me. Since I do all my edits and graphics, it falls into the first category for me. So, thank you for moving that up the list and informing me that it really is more prevalent and not my imagination!

My take on seeing it was a combination of business logic and anxiety, not going to lie.

On the first: charging to do a psd that is just that, just a psd file being used as a template/to act as an easier version of a photoshop "action" in a way, that's 100% legal and fine. Absolutely no muddy waters there. However, charging to do things like icons, edits, etc. that include images of celebrities and stills from movies (or gifs) is quite muddy. Legally, it's not legal. It's a thing we're allowed to do and use (on most platforms) because we're not making money off of it, we're not claiming to hold rights to the images, and so on - it's ignored but illegal. Charging money for it, however, even when phrased as "for my time" (which, absolutely valid feeling), is a more serious form of illegal and potentially attention-getting. This all gets more iffy though when we add donation instead of direct commission/purchase when working with these copyrighted materials. You can ask people to donate and suggest a donation based on your time spent, and that is always what I advise people to do.

Okay, so, that preface is necessary because the thing about stipulating use-rights is that they're iffy, too, there are variables present.

Often, these same people are charging for things like icon packs as well, meaning that even if they're only charging you for a template-style psd file sans imagery they don't own, they've kind of shot themselves in the foot. Not to mention, it's exceedingly damn hypocritical to pitch a fit about someone violating your rights when you're literally using other people's copyrighted materials lmao And that does tend to occur to me, yeah, it's a consequence of attorney friends and running businesses.

The other issues with this are that usage rights have to be stated at the time of purchase and morality clause-style shit, as pertains to products, is not legally binding.

When you purchase something like a psd file, that purchase acts as a sort of contract.

Think of like...buying a photoshop brush set - the person selling it puts very simple rules as to its use, such as: non-commercial use only, brush pack cannot be resold or distributed for free, separate brushes from the pack cannot be resold or distributed for free individually. Meaning that you own the brushes you bought, but you are not legally allowed to make real-life money from anything you use them in, and you cannot send the whole pack or files individually to friends for free or charge other people for them. By buying these, you have agreed to these stipulations of use and ownership.

If the person sells psd's and you agree to what they've stated about the use (you can't use them to do commissions you make IRL money from, you can't give them away to friends, etc.), that's binding even somewhere as casual as RP Land. The exchange of real currency makes it that serious.

However, there are limits to stipulations of use! One of those things is when you agreed - this person cannot, even one literal second, later change their terms of use and retroactively hold you to them. If they were okay with you not crediting them anywhere or using them in works you will gift others or charge others something like game currency for at the time you purchased, then that's it. Tough shit for them, not you, when they decide a month later that they want credit given where the work appears, that they do not want finished products gifted, or don't want you to make even in-game currency from them.

And that absolutely would apply to the morality wank, yes.

Except that this very morality wank comes with its own issues. Reality is not tumblr. In reality, at least in most instances and countries, you can't throw in a fucking morality clause regarding the buyer, use of item, or finished product.

Think of this in this way: Chik-Fil-A starts denying chicken and waffle fries to anyone suspected of being queer. They're legally allowed to run their business (as a private business, everything does have variables) with some things that are morally objectionable that they feel morally aligns with their religious beliefs. They're not allowed to deny queer workers a job or queer customers service, however, in accordance with overarching laws.

While "being gross" online in fiction is not like, making anyone a protected status person lol this is just an extreme example to drive home the point. Legally, when it comes to items/products be they digital or physical, your rights and responsibilities as the seller don't include your moral policing.

What your right is, is to make people uncomfortable to a degree, yeah. You absolutely can do that. You can state some nasty shit about prospective buyers you don't want. For example, they should (I mean, they should just grow up and get some real concerns, but) be stating that they would not like to see their psd's used by people on this following DNI list of idiocy, and they will block those users if possible to prevent interaction and purchase. That's really it, that's what they can do and the least immature way to proceed.

On the second: none of this logic would make me feel comfortable about interacting with them and their psd's in the future once they had outed themselves as morally objectionable and dangerous to me with this nonsense. And I would still feel anxious about using things I had previously bought because once harassed...it doesn't really go away, does it? It would just give me some ease about the latter with things I'd already made. Like, I could keep using the icons I'd made with those psd's with a little bit more comfort knowing that they honestly have not a leg to stand on outside of their harassment.

I might have the tendency to respond to harassment without much upset, but that doesn't mean I want to be harassed. Especially when I am not doing anything that draws that kind of attention. Not that harassment is warranted over anything, but when I make a PSA or answer an ask that I know is likely to get their attention and piss them off? That's an acceptable risk I am knowingly taking. When I'm just going about my life as a RPer, it isn't.

So, I don't feel like you're overthinking it or being too concerned! In no way did you sign up for getting unwanted attention, and because it has happened before, of course, you're trying to insulate yourself from having it happen again. That's totally reasonable!

Now, what you could do about it...

It's another of those situations in which we're only truly capable of controlling ourselves. Everyone else is kind of a NPC.

You don't have to do anything I'm suggesting, but these are things I would do!

I would block the shit out of anyone saying these things/trying to make them stipulations, yes.

By that, I mean that I would also visit blogs they appear to interact with and they'd be blocked as well. We can all reblog something like resources or a shit post from a user we do not agree with without realizing it, but when it's frequent reblogs, direct support, and friendly vibes going on, it's safer to assume that they are aware their friend sucks. More importantly, that they do not think their friend sucks and support their views.

Even if that is not the case, do you want someone else's repeated inattention to expose you to bad actors? Nope! So, don't run the risk of paying and otherwise interacting with the one resource blog in the group that doesn't express these views/"requirements," but does involve themselves with those who do.

Try to find people selling these resources, that are not connected to the problem ones, who do not have those views. Once a trend starts, it is very hard to stop until it has run its course naturally, so, this might be difficult and take some extreme effort. You might want to consider asking like-minded friends who use psd's where they got them so you can check those users out for yourself.

If they're all the same, problem, people...

Look for users well outside of your corner of the RPC(s) who are not asking to be paid. I know it sounds wild, but there really are RPers out there who just enjoy making things for others! I can think of at least one right off on my dash. They might not be advertising for doing psd's or psd packs, but either they might be willing to do so (especially if they do not appear policing-positive) if you explain what is going on, or they could at least fill some requests for you for fully made icons and such. Hell, people who love doing this work usually know others who do as well, and anti-policing people quite reasonably stick together. They could have suggestions for someone not vile selling psd's.

Depending on what it is you want your psd's to do, I promise you that it wouldn't take you very long to learn it. I know...I know lol that's both really easy for me say when I've been doing it for over twenty years and am about to piss some people off. The latter because the most common settings on popular psd's are extremely simple shit, a lot of that is the kind of thing you're expressly told not to do in design work. Like ramping up extreme contrast, pixelating the fuck out of an image, and turning up the primary colors only. Once you get to playing with photoshop or an equivalent, you will totally see what I mean. You can accidentally make an icon look identical to something that is on trend in the RPC. If that was what you were going for? You've hit the mark, and it's just repetition and tweaking it here and there!

Once you start playing with it, too, it's actually pretty intuitive when it comes to the basic things like resizing, adjusting colors and contrast, and doing easy effects like blurs and sharpening. Frankly, playing with it is better than half the tutorials you'll find because they get unnecessarily complicated when all you want to do is crop your muse's face, overlay some color, and add a damn dotted border. Listen, like I said, I have a lot of experience...and I find many tutorials frustrating and overwhelming!

It is not just you, you're not dumb or anything. People get very comfortable with something and when they try to explain it to others, they use terms and methods that are more advanced or specific to them than they realize. That's all!

If you have friends who make their own things, ask them some very basic questions about what you want to do. They know you, so, they'll know better how to explain to you, specifically. Just keep it simple until you've had some time to experiment! Ask things like, "I want to take this image, resize it to be an icon, and add an orange tint to the image while sharpening only my muse's features...how would I do that? Easy mode?"

And! You don't even have to pay for photoshop or pirate it anymore! Photopea is as an exact copy as possible entirely located in your browser for free. It's all overwhelming at first, a real case of too many options and ways to do the same thing, but the only way it gets less overwhelming is just diving into it. Dive in, get a little frustrated, have some successes, make some awesome discoveries, it gets a bit addicting in short order. Then, the tutorials and tips are so much easier to figure out and expand on, too.

If you'd like, you can always send me a pm here and ask me. I'm happy to try to explain how to do things, zero judgment or impatience. Just an additional option if you both decide to try learning and would feel comfortable doing that. Zero judgment as well on not wanting to do either of those things!

Okay, this one is much harder than learning PS basics because it's honestly a bit terrifying...the way these people are, they're going to take issue with you no matter what you do, and in the end, if they notice you and feel like bothering you, they will. There's literally nothing you can do about it. All you can do is try to buffer yourself, stay away from them, and be aware that you are not the problem.

Like with the AO3 thing or writing what could be viewed as toxic relationships. You can never write or be interested in a single, solitary thing that they're on about (and accusing you of doing in real life when the burning Eye of Moron turns your direction), but to them, you supporting the right of other people to do so is just as bad as doing it yourself. To them, the toxic relationships not only would be problematic, they'd be problematic enough. Being uncomfortable with their policing and feeling unsafe because of it is, to them, a red flag of how problematic you are. Writing anything they've deemed objectionable (or reading or viewing it, for that matter) anywhere, doesn't have to be on this platform or RP-adjacent, doesn't have to actually utilize any of their materials, is enough.

They're absolutely including you in who shouldn't use their shit. That's part of the "logic" and methodology of policing. Everyone is problematic, so, everyone can be labeled a pedo and harassed without too many people getting up in arms about it. No one is safe, so, everyone better behave. You don't actually have to be engaging with or enjoying things like underage, non/dubcon, rape, abusive relationships, etc.

It's gross, it's bullying, it's actually a problem...and there isn't much you can do.

All that is truly up to you is making an effort to avoid them, though, this is very often unfair and likely to get more unfair as resource blogs of all sorts deal in it more. At least, in this case, you do have some small bit of actionable power - by not ever buying from them. They wouldn't be charging if they did not either need or want the money, not giving it to them is a bigger hit than things like simply unfollowing/blocking, reblogging PSA's, and so on is!

Nope, it isn't like you're denying them some extreme amount of money by yourself, but every three, five, ten dollars is felt pretty hard when you desperately need money and/or are saving for something.

I know, I mean, I personally do know, that it's impossible to "get over" bullying, Anon. I'm in no way telling you to just get over it and move on, find some great well of not caring somewhere! What I'm saying is that there is power in not giving them power. The power to make you anxious, uncomfortable, unsafe, when you have every right to be here doing your thing and are not hurting anyone. And it might seem to be a deeply contrary sort of logic, but realizing and accepting that there are people out there who irrationally dislike you for literally no reason, that you cannot infallibly escape or avoid, despite doing nothing wrong is a bit empowering. Because it puts into perspective the things you can control, and when we know what is in our control, it's easier to just enjoy our time here without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. If it drops, we can go put it back in the closet where it belongs.

It starts to put a positive spin on the whole, damned if I do, damned if I don't feeling, if that makes sense? I'm probably way too tired to try to be explaining this lol I'm sorry!

Anyway, again, I'm not implying you can or should do any, let alone all, of those suggestions! I just really hope that something will help you feel even a little bit more at ease. It's an unfair situation, it isn't right, and you have every reason to be uncomfortable and stressed. If I could make it happen, you better believe that every policing asshole out there would be writing heartfelt apology letters and sending donations to everyone they've upset lol but...since I can't make that happen, all I can do is say what I, personally, do, would do, or have done.

[cilldaracailin]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Hello weekend! And all my lovely Tumblr’s! I know I am happy to see this weekend and plan to sleep for most of it.

But before that happens, I am here to post the next part in this story.

The pictures for this one are actual photo’s I have taken from the St. Patrick’s Day parade in my home town and shows the same view point that Robyn and Taron would have.

Hope you all enjoy. Thanks so much for all the love and comments! :)

Suze xxx

2

“Sometimes you just have to jump in a mud puddle because it's there. Never get so old that you forget about having fun.”

Once they had pinned their shamrock plant on the left side of their jackets and pulled them on, the typical Irish weather threatening to literally rain on their parade, Taron draped his flag back over his shoulders, leaving his hat on the bed, deciding he wasn’t going to need it. He felt completely safe in Robyn’s home town and together they walked into what was called ‘The Square’ in Kilcreen, Robyn taking up her usual viewing spot at the top left corner of the The Square, the best spot in her opinion, standing with Taron behind the metal barriers that stopped the spectators from getting onto the road.

“Well this is a different viewpoint for me. I am normally the one on the opposite side of these.” Grinned Taron.

“I am counting on you to catch the packets of jellies that are thrown into the crowd Taron. You need to stretch and grab and get me some. I miss out every year ‘cos I am too short and they are thrown over my head.”

“Robyn, those jellies are for the children.”

“I am someone’s child and I want jellies.” Pouted Robyn.

Taron laughed at her pout and was waiting for her to stamp her foot at him, but his laugh turned to a smile and he moved a little closer to her. “I will try to catch a packet for you but only if you share with me.”

“Deal!”

“Robyn!” They both looked up to see Robyn’s mam Lizzie walked towards them. “You giving my spot to Taron?”

“There is enough room for both of you.”

Lizzie grinned and continued to walk around the barriers to move in to stand beside Taron, who she gave a hug too. “Nice to see you again and haven’t you come prepared.” She said taking in his completely green outfit, jacket included and Irish flag around his shoulders.

“Robyn told me I had to dress in green.”

“Oh she did, did she?” Lizzie looked past him to her daughter who was smiling. “What else has she told you Taron? That you have to put green hair dye in your hair too?”

“No.” Interrupted Robyn. “That was all his doing.”

“I saw that Robyn had some so I got some too.”

“And the shamrock tattoos?”

“You know that comes out every year Mam.”

Lizzie looked at the two beside her and was jumping around with delight on the inside to see Taron and her daughter together once again. Despite her initial concerns and even though she still had a few, it was a relationship she was routing for and was more than happy to see them standing close together, sporting the same shamrock tattoos on their faces.

Taron excused himself as his phone rang and took a few steps back to answer the call, letting Robyn and her mam move a little closer to each other.

“He looks exhausted.” Whispered Lizzie to her daughter.

“He is. Absolutely shattered. He’s been prepping for a new film and there have been a lot of long days and hours for him over the weekend. He was working right up until he had to leave for the airport last night.”

“But yet he still made it here for you.”

“I told him not too mam but he insisted. Changed his flight.”

“For you.” Lizzie grinned.

“Don’t start.” Moaned Robyn.

“You two are spending a lot of time together lately. You have seen each other every month since you met and he has been very kind to you with his invites.”

“Got another one yesterday.”

“And where is he whisking you off to this time?”

Robyn rolled his eyes and gave her mam a look of disapproval. “He is not whisking me anywhere mam. Just asked me to go with him to his movie premier in London.”

“And…”

“And of course I am going to go. He asked me to go with him.”

“Another beautiful dress too?”

Robyn sighed. “Probably.”

“And hotel stay?”

“More than likely.”

“And pictures in the newspapers.” It was the one part of her friendship with Taron that worried Lizzie. Snaps from her latest adventure with Taron on the red carpet had been mostly well received but even when her daughter kept away from social media, Lizzie couldn’t help herself and was disgusted at what she had read, needing a serious chat with her daughter for her to explain exactly how Taron’s publicist actually dealt with any media backlash. Lizzie was also just as mad as Robyn was when the article appeared online before Christmas, the Irish woman ready to follow her daughter to New York when she had heard what Taron had done, honesty thinking Robyn gave into Taron much too easily, letting him off the hook but when he did such a quick and thorough job of getting his publicist to sort the mess out, her anger faded a little. Then when Taron sat in her kitchen after New Year’s, she could see the developing chemistry between the two, the same spark they had when she had first met Taron and if Robyn trusted him, Lizzie was prepared to do so too.

“Just comes with him Mam.”

“And you go where he goes.”

“Yep especially when he has asked me to go.” Robyn turned to face her mother. “He changed his flight and came straight from work to see me, to spend less than two days with me because he promised me he would be here if he could. He did that, not me. He is coming to see me in RENT, the least I can do is accompany him and support him with his premier and I want to go mam. I want to be there for him.”

“And so you shall. You are good with him and I think he needs someone like you to look after him. You are going to have to introduce me to his mother at some point Robyn. I would very much like to get to talk to her.”

Robyn smiled a little nervous grin. “He hates it when I have what he calls girl talk with Tina, his mam.”

“I really think us mothers could do with some girl talk of our own.” Lizzie gave her daughter a hug. “You know I trust your judgement and always have and made sure I raised you with morals, independence and responsibility. I can see how connected you two are but I need you to make sure that he does not hurt you again. I won’t have it Robyn. I also installed in you compassion, caring and love and I can see you giving your all to that man but make sure you get the same love and respect back Robyn because you deserve it as much as he does.”

“He does mam. Taron is a wonderful man and he looks after me too. I promise.”

With the assurance she was looking for, Lizzie let go of her daughter. “I can see how he looks at you but I really need to make sure he does.”

Robyn took her mother’s hands. “I told about his speech in the car in London and you know how he has worked his arse off to keep my name from the media as much as possible with his publicist and he is ridiculously affectionate.”

“New Year’s Eve’s kisses?”

Robyn let go her hands. “You know that was on me and not him.”

“Bet he didn’t protest though.”

“And here we go again.” Robyn took a step back so she could really look at her mam. “Taron is a remarkable caring man who despite his and mine faults and how we clash sometimes, he has been nothing but a friend to me.”

“A friend?” Grinned Lizzie.

“Yes mother a friend. My best friend.”

“Ok then.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “I cannot even begin to explain it to you.”

“Well start because a mother needs details!”

“Details?” Taron walked back over to the two, a little smirk on his face hearing some of the slightly heated tones of voice from his friend. “Details about?”

“Your Kingsman premier.” Robyn interject before her mother could say anything. “I was just telling her about the invite you gave me last night.”

“It sounds exciting. Going to a movie premier.” Smiled Lizzie not missing the exchanged looks between the two but followed with the change of subject her daughter made.

“Naturally I was going to invite Robyn to go with me. She is the reason I was able to finish filming in the first place and she’s a pro at the red carpet now.”

Some cheering made them all turn their heads and they saw a garda car slowly driving down the road, the indication that the parade was on the move and would be moving through the main street very soon.

With the distraction and Robyn’s mam’s attention now taken by the person standing on the opposite side, Robyn linked her arm with Taron’s, pulling him a little closer to her. “You ok?”

“Yep.”

“Taron.” Robyn warned. She felt the heavy sigh that came from his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Just some scheduling conflicts.”

“Taron…”

“I will be here for RENT, Robyn. I promise.”

“Taron…” Robyn didn’t get to ask what has actually happened as she was pulled in for a tight hug, Irish flag and all as Taron buried his face into her shoulder. Robyn freed her hands from the flag so she could get one to the nape of his neck and one around his back. “Hey Taron. It’s ok.” Robyn felt the second weighty sigh against her.

“I fucking hate my job sometimes.”

His words made her smile a little. “Talk to me rocketman.”

“Phone call was from Matthew. He knew I needed the Friday off to come and see you and some PR stuff got organised that weekend, so we’ve just had to shuffle some interviews around.”

“I thought your PR stuff didn’t start until that Monday.”

“That bulk of it and traveling but some radio interviews were slotted into that weekend and the week before and Matthew just wanted to see what my plan was.”

“Taron you know your work comes before…”

He quickly let go of her and placed his hands on her shoulders, a little more roughly then he meant too. “Absolutely not.” He said sternly. “This was something I told Matthew about during the whole audition process. I will be there front and centre cheering you on.” Taron lifted his hands from her shoulders and used his index fingers to try to lift the corner of her lips. “It’s sorted Robyn. I will just need to leave on Saturday instead of Sunday to fit the interviews in.”

Even as he tried to make Robyn smile, her lips stayed in a sad downward position. She took his hands from her face and held them tight in her hands. “Your work comes first.” She said quickly.

“No Robyn not for this. This was something I had planned weeks ago and it was planned around my promotion and I am not missing your performance. There would be no Kingsman movie if it wasn’t for you.”

“Please tell me you did not say that to Matthew.”

“No Matthew said it to me. He was the one to jumble things around with some help from Lyndsey. He just wanted to let me know about Sunday. I am sorry our time will be cut short. Fucking usual shit.” Taron spat the last words.

“Taron…” Robyn let go of his hands placed her hands on his face, her thumbs immediately rubbing his cheeks. “Stop and take a breath.” Frustrated green eyes stared at her. “I am serious. Take a breath. I am not going to let go of your face until you do as I ask and you know how well known I am in this town. People are going to start to talk, not too mention my mother, who is already asking questions about us.” She whispered, leaning a little closer to him. She felt the two deep breathes he took. “Ok. So, we lose out on Sunday but we still have some of Saturday, right?” He nodded. “And we will take one night together over no nights together?” Another nod. “And you still get to see RENT and have a cosy duvet sleep before your promotion really starts and then we have the premier and that is three nights Taron.” As she spoke Taron’s whole body visibly relaxed, the tension he carried gone from every part of him. With her thumbs, she copied what he had done to her and pushed the corner of his lips up, her actions making him really smile as he sighed.

“How do you do it.” He asked her his hands going onto hers on his face.

“Do what?”

“Just knock some sense into me.”

“Just lucky I guess.” She answered him. “Please don’t start worrying over things that haven’t happened yet Taron. Matthew knows how much you want to come and see me in RENT and it sounds like he worked a little magic to make it happen but you can’t help the twists and turns that life brings us and this just is one.” Robyn took her hands from his face and her voice turned a little quiet and troubled. “Taron, I love that you want to do these things for me and support me but don’t forget that your health comes before anything.”

“Robyn…”

“I am serious Taron. This constant tiredness is not good for you and with your work getting busier, you need to look after yourself, especially when I am not there all the time to do it for you. I can get to you easier than you can get to me and if we need to switch up who visits who, we are doing it. I refuse to be a reason to add to your fatigue.”

“I am used to it Robyn. It’s not my first rodeo.”

Robyn frowned. “Yeah I know and I don’t like it.”

Her answer made him smile. “You sound so like my parents. Just comes with the traveling chicken.”

“Still don’t like it.”

Taron grinned and Robyn found herself wrapped up into another hug, Taron gently rocking her from side to side. “You’re adorable and this tour I have my throw. I sleep like a baby with it and you are right about the worrying. It’s just what I do, especially when it comes to work but I will try to let some of it go. I can only try.”

“It’s all I ask for. Is Matthew travelling with you?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

“Why good?” Taron chuckled.

“Because he thinks a little like I do and I can count on him to look after you.”

“I am able to look after myself Robyn. I was actually doing that before I met you and was doing a pretty good job. Now granted I didn’t get fed rainbow coloured food but I managed.”

Robyn broke the hug and pushed him away from her laughing. “I am slowly seeing a pattern here of why you keep me around. Cosy sleeps, blue dinosaurs and rainbow food.”

“Don’t forget about the rainfall shower, the corner of your couch and most importantly head massages and now shoulder ones too.”

It was laughter that filled the air, taking the attention of Lizzie and the people standing next to them as Robyn and Taron, giggled with each other, whispered words between them as they stood close together. “I just want you to look after yourself. I am invested Taron and you know that.”

“Invested?” He grinned, grinning wider as Robyn pushed him away from her once more. “I know Robyn and I will try but the promotion is tiring for me. It’s just natural that I get a little run down from all the travelling and long days.”

Robyn never got to answer him as the first people walking in the parade were cheered on by the crowd around them and Taron’s attention was immediately taken away as he took a step to the barrier. “Ok chicken, start commenting.”

Shaking her head, Robyn moved to stand closer to Taron’s left side, while Lizzie was on his right and Robyn explained every single float in the parade to Taron who asked question after question about everything he saw, enjoying the little show the local Irish dance group put on.

“This what we are going to be doing at the céilí?” He asked her as the dancers walked by.

“Kind of. Céilí dancing is more like group dancing rather than solo dancing. You will pick it up really fast.”

Taron threw her a doubtful glance but as Lizzie cheered louder beside him, he looked back to the people walking down the street. “Hey isn’t that your dad?” He asked Robyn.

“Yep. Mr President of the GAA himself leading Kilcreen GAA!” She laughed giving her dad a wave as he walked by, receiving one in return.

Robyn continued on explaining every truck, float and car to Taron who listened intently to everything he was being told, watching with a grin on his face as Kilcreen’s parade of trucks and children walked past him, the participants exactly as Robyn described them but he didn’t mind. He was happy to be there at all, standing beside her, being Irish for the day and any tiredness Taron had been feeling earlier that morning had been replaced by an excitement and pure joy as he soaked up the atmosphere around him. He thoroughly enjoyed his first experience of a St Patrick’s Day parade, loving how happy Robyn was when he managed to catch a packet of jellies for her, her arm going around his waist to give him a sideways hug as a thank you. The little rush of sugar from the jellies she shared with him was more than welcomed too and once the parade was finished, he let Robyn lead him towards the canal for another perfect viewing spot for the duck race.

“I have this in the bag.” He said as he stood close to her, the flag now tied around his waist.

“Taron I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

“I have told you already. You are my lucky Irish chicken. I am going to win.”

“Don’t be too disappointed rocketman if your duck comes last of the two thousand or so.”

“Taron!”

His head turned so fast as he heard his name called, he cringed a little as his shoulder pulled uncomfortably. He felt Robyn step a little behind him so she could look too and his heart started to hammer hard in his chest as he heard his name called once more. He was looking through the many faces around him, trying to see who had called his name, starting to worry he had been recognised and that his cover was blown, knowing it going to mean a shit show for Lyndsey as the story of his visit to Ireland was flashed all over every newspaper and social media outlet, Robyn’s home and privacy now at risk.

“Taron!” He squinted as he looked deep into the crowd again and knew he exhaled loudly as a little red-headed girl ran in his direction. He hadn’t realised Robyn had even taken his right hand as he fretted but now could feel her thumb running over his knuckles as they both saw that the voice calling his name was from little Beth who he had met in the doctor’s surgery last year.

“Hey Taron! Hi Robyn!” Beth came to a halt in front of them. “Happy St Patrick’s Day! I like your shamrocks and your hair and your flag Taron.”

“Hello Beth.” Taron slipped his hand from Robyn’s and crouched down so he was eye level with the little girl. “Thank you very much. I like your ribbons in your hair.”

“Beth! Beth!” The little girl’s mother with a jog, came to stand beside Robyn. “Beth! You cannot just run away from me like that!” She scolded.

“But it’s Taron and Robyn!” She turned to tell her mother as if that was a good enough excuse.

“You do not run away from me Beth. I could have lost you in the crowd.”

“I am sorry mammy.”

Margaret, Beth’s mam looked to Robyn who was standing behind Taron, who still hunkered down at Beth’s level. “Robyn I am sorry. She saw you and wanted to come and see you, again and just ran.”

“No need to apologise.”

“She was very excited to see Taron.” Margaret looked down to see her daughter in full chat with him. “She really hasn’t stopped talking about him.”

Robyn smiled. “He has made quite an impression on the pre-schoolers despite his short time with them.”

“He’s back for a visit?” Margaret asked, taking a second glance down to her daughter and Taron, Beth showing him her little flag she held in her hands, Taron fully engaged with the little girl.

“Yeah. I invited him over for St Patrick’s Day. He has never had one.”

“He is a good friend to you.”

“He is.” Agreed Robyn, crouching down beside Taron, smiling as Beth spoke a mile a minute to him.

“And then we are going to go and see granny!”

Taron grinned. “Well that sounds like a wonderful day Beth.”

“What are you and Robyn going to do today?”

Taron took a glance to Robyn. “Well we are going to go and have some dinner after the duck race and then well then I am not too sure.”

“Have you been giving Taron lots of hugs Robyn? He needs lots of hugs.”

Robyn chuckled. “Yes, he does and of course I have Beth.”

“Good. You still like her hugs?”

“Still love her hugs Beth.”

“Ok Beth I think we had better go.” Beth’s mother, who was still a little embarrassed at her young daughter’s escape and interest in hugs, decided it was time for them to go. “They are going to start the duck race. Robyn, Taron lovely to see you both.”

Once Taron had stood up, Beth threw her arms around his legs to give him a hug before she moved to Robyn. Robyn picking the little girl up in her arms to hug her. “Enjoy your day Beth and I will see you on Thursday.”

With another goodbye, Margaret and Beth walked away from Taron and Robyn who moved to take up their position again at the railing in front of the canal.

“Well that was a surprise.” Said Taron as he leaned on the railing. “She remembered me.”

“Those kids still bloody talk about you.”

“Maybe I need to come and visit them again.” He grinned. “You know, help with your popularity in the creche. Make you the favourite.” He laughed as she pushed him, Taron leaning back into his place.

��You come and visit, you will be the favourite.” She corrected.

“Are you allowed have visitors?”

“Yeah of course. Parents come in and do activities with the kids, read stories, make playdough.”

“I could do that.”

“And probably enjoy it more than the kids.”

“Maybe it’s something I could do.”

“And fit it in your schedule where?”

Taron closed his eyes. “Maybe at the end of the year.” He sighed.

“It’s a wonderful idea Taron and if you want to do it, I am sure I can talk Emma around to it.”

“Let’s keep it in mind.”

“Let’s.” She agreed.

Even though it was a small town, the excitement and noise from the crowd was building and every now and again Taron would throw his own shout into the air, laughing as Robyn chastised him each time.

“Thought you were keeping a low profile!” She complained.

“But it’s St Patrick’s Day!” He countered, nudging her with his left hip.

Robyn had no control over him once the duck race started and she was nearly ready to push him into the canal, slightly annoyed the railing was in the way. The ducks were emptied in at the lock the other side of the bridge and as the little yellow plastic ducks slowly bobbed their way along the water, Taron whooped and called along with everyone else, trying his hardest to see his duck that Robyn had bought for him.

“It’s not that hard to miss Taron.” She laughed. “It’s the one that has the love heart glasses and orange jumpsuit with feathers, sequins and two large feathery wings!”

Taron stopped mid-shout to look at Robyn and then to the water, his eyes finding the decorated duck near the front of the floating bunch. “You make a mini Elton John duck.” He asked.

“Nope. I made a Taron Egerton dressed as Elton John in Rocketman duck!”

It was so wonderful to hear Taron laugh, and his giggles came from deep inside his chest and he cheered on even harder for his duck, almost yelling at it at one point to get a move on.

“Jesus Taron! It’s a plastic duck!”

“And it’s winning!”

Robyn was ready to stand behind Taron and put her two hands over his mouth to keep him quiet but his words made her look to the water and she couldn’t believe her eyes when the duck she had made an orange fabric jumpsuit for was floating in first place towards the water polo rope that had been used as a finish line. Getting completely caught up with the drama unfolding on the water, Robyn was soon shouting along with Taron, as if their words were going to make any different to the flow of the slow-paced canal water.

“Go go go!” Yelled Taron. “Go on duck!”

“Go go!” Repeated Robyn standing on her toes, her hands on the railing and she felt Taron’s little finger link with hers. “Go on rocketman!”

“No no no! Stupid green duck!” Taron’s face fell as another duck fell in line with his and was threatening to take first place away from his duck. “Get away from my duck! Move your arse Rocketman!”

“Taron!” Robyn gently slapped his arm, apologizing to the people standing around them as Taron got extremely over excited and a little too loud.

“Go duck GO!”

Robyn’s face fell into her hands on the railing as she was ignored by the Welshman as he became extremely animated, willing the duck on with more words of encouragement, a few Welsh ones thrown in for good luck too.

“Go go go go!”

A huge cheer went up around Robyn and she suddenly found herself wrapped up in a generous squishy hug, her whole body lifted from the ground by Taron. “He won! Rocketman won!” She could feel the vibrations from his laugh against her and she could only laugh with him. “Knew I’d win!”

Locked in his arms, Robyn was still able to turn her head to look at the water and see for herself that the duck she had bought for Taron indeed was the first one to cross the line and was now being fished out by members of the canoe polo team, followed by the green duck in second place, a plain old yellow one in third.

Taron placed Robyn carefully down on the ground his arms still wrapped around her. “Told you.” He whispered to her, kissing her temple.

Robyn unfolded herself from Taron and turned to him. She was ready to give him a biggest scowl she could muster up but his face was lit up in one of his trademark giddy smiles, dimples on full show, eyes creased at the corners and even with the horrible dark circles under his eyes, Robyn heart triple jumped and her stomach dropped. “Yes, you did.” She sighed.

“Lucky Irish chicken.” Taron placed two hands on her cheeks and gave her forehead a soft kiss. “You are my good luck charm, without a doubt. So, what is my…”

“And in first place is duck two two zero two and the winner of the five hundred euro is Dean Edwards!”

Taron’s question was cut off as a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Dean Edwards?” He asked. “Really?”

“Well I couldn’t give your real name, could I?” Grinned Robyn. “I know Kilcreen is small but I still want to keep you a bit of a secret, so I went with Dean for Dean Karny and Edwards for Eddie.”

“Might be a bit late for incognito when Beth practically yelled my name many times and keep me a secret?” He smirked.

Robyn stalled. “You know what I mean Taron. I know Kilcreen is a safe haven for you and I want to try and keep it that way.”

Taron’s heart swelled not for the first time at Robyn’s need to protect him and make sure there was one place he knew he didn’t have to hide and could be himself. What Robyn didn’t know was that he had already found that place and it was wherever she was. “Do you know how glad I am I met you?” He asked her. “How much I need this time with you away from the rush of my work life so it makes me stop and breathe and just…” Taron let a long breathe fill his lungs before he exhaled.

“And you know I am always here for you when you need the breath of air away from the madness.”

“I definitely know that.” He agreed.

Sensing a turnaround in Taron’s mood, Robyn didn’t want him to linger any more on any thoughts of work when he had a day of fun ahead of him so she gave him a large smile. “Let’s go and claim your prize Dean.”

Robyn didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed his hand and half pulled, half led him onto the road, through the crowd and towards the corner of the bridge where she knew the table was set up for the duck race. She stood him in front of the table. “One Dean Edwards.” She grinned.

“Well Miss Quinn. After all of these years you finally won the duck race?” The lady at the table asked.

“I wish, Jane, but it was my friend, Dean here who won. I bought it for him. It was his duck.”

Jane grinned. “Devastated for you.” She winked. “So, Dean, congratulations.” Jane pushed the now very wet and soggy decorated duck towards him. “This is yours and this too.” She handed Taron an envelope.

Taron picked the envelope up and the duck too.

“I just need to see a photo ID please.”

“Thank you Jane! Enjoy your day!”

Robyn placed her hands on Taron’s hips and with a push, he got the hint and took a few steps before he was walking properly and Robyn slipped her hand into his free hand and together they walked up and over the bridge a little and down the steps that led towards a small green beside the train station.

[mcrmadness]

I really shouldn’t do this. Just thinking about people who are no longer a part of my life either because they decided to stop talking to me or because I decided it was better to part ways. And it’s making me sad and I hate it. Mainly because I’m again starting to feel invisible and lonely and apparently I then tend to torture myself even more by making me go and do things that I then associate with these people.

But I also hate it how I feel like I don’t have a normal concept of human relation(ship)s at all. Sometimes I wonder if I have played just too much The Sims games in my life (I started when I was 9 so I have played these games for 20 years) because I feel like the way I see the relationships is exactly how it is in the sims games. Don’t interact in a while and soon you get a message “you are no longer friends with X”. That’s literally how I feel friendships in my head. I feel like whenever there’s a long pause, that will mean that the friendship will be automatically reset back to 0 by time. Whenever there’s something we both like and have in common, it’s immediate green plus marks on the friendship and a positive moodlet. When we disagree or don’t have something in common, it will give red minus marks. And maintaining relationships feels as difficult as it is in the sims games too - tell them the same thing twice and it will be minus points. Tell them a thing they don’t like and it’s minus points, if you’re too close to 50%, maybe it drops from friends to acquintances. If you tell a succesful joke, you’re friends again. And right now I’m feeling like I’m “losing” all my friends because there’s been too huge pause with everyone and I feel sad about anything I associate with them because I feel like a friendship is over even when no one has said anything like that. It’s all in my head and it’s like a delusion because the second someone talks to me again, I forget ever even having such feels. But when the next pause comes, I again start to prepare myself for the moment where I’m left alone and never talked to again. Maybe I just have had this kind of situations so often in my life that I’m already preparing myself for that moment so that it won’t be that big of a shock when it happens.

I know it’s not healthy and it’s not RIGHT towards my friends to constantly be like this but can I change? Is there anything I could do to change this? I don’t always even recognize when I’m doing this, only lately I have woken up to this and it makes me feel bad because, like that one post I made several weeks ago, I’m really concerned that am I one of those unstable friends that will drive everyone around them into exhaustion eventually. Are people getting out of my life only to protect themselves? I feel like I’m always just too much to everyone and that I’m left alone in the end because I’m the only one who cannot escape me. I have to live with my brains and listen to all the shit it comes up. I’d love to cancel myself too if I could, but I can’t.

When my depersonalization/derealization was at its worst, I acually felt like I was invisible. Some days I was legit wondering if I was even alive. I was wondering if I was a ghost or idk, in a coma but just had no clue. I felt like people did not see me anywhere, I still can remember being to a grocery store and almost being run over by someone with a shopping cart and so many people almost walked against me and I just remember that moment so well as I got really frustrated and I was almost certain that I must be invisible, how else would people almost run over me with a shopping cart and they did not even look at me, as if I was not even there! Some days I thought maybe my minor car crash in 2010 put me into coma (yeah, Life On Mars uk much???) because I haven’t felt like the time would have passed AT ALL since that. I still feel like I’d be 19 and I’m supposed to be 29. Like, HOW???

And now I’m starting to have that feel of being invisible again. I have a nice amount of followers on Tumblr and this is something that I don’t really want to address at all because I appreciate every single one there and I could not care less about the number itself. But I’m starting to feel like... how could I gain more followers who would be interested in my stuff too? Like, I feel like talking to walls here. I bet no one is reading this post either. I so often feel like venting and writing down my thoughts but then I feel like there’s no point in that because I could as well write in a diary, which I hate, because as many people are going to read these as there’s people who can read my diary. Aka none. Not even me. I don’t like reading my diary and usually I also do not come back to these posts I put in Tumblr. Sometimes I browse my posts and am like “wtf have I been writing???” but I guess that’s the main point too, just to get it out of my system and I don’t need them back, mainly because they never really leave, they just evolve into new stuff I will vent here sooner or later too.

I am an attention whore who is afraid of being the center of attention. Sure if I tagged my posts more I might get more people to find me but I’m also afraid of being found or that my personal posts get reblogged. I don’t really want these to be on anyone’s dash except when it’s my original post. My social anxiety is afraid of notes and my HSP is afraid of the reactions I might get because of notes. But whenever I do something that I wish would get notes, I get none. And every time that happens, my perfectionism feels violated and I feel like a failure and that I suck at everything ever. Sometimes I am even shocked by the fact I post something like this and then suddenly remember that I have no idea how many people out these even is seeing these on their dash. What do they think? Do they see these and be like “oh god again that pathetic creature is whining some shit *eyeroll*” or do they just skip because idc.

I have so many times in my life felt like I am less than everyone else. It’s because when I was 13, my best friend turned out to be a narcissist (if that is possible for a 13-years-old) and we stopped being friends and eventually I made everyone else mad at me too and was alone, lonely and hated by everyone for a couple of years and your teens is the worst time for that to happen. I still don’t know if I was the villain or those girls. So I start feeling like a failure and worse than everyone very easily. AT some point I tried to get attention with my art but I didn’t succeed and I always felt like a failure then. “I should be better at arts, maybe I’d then be seen and approved.” During my worst time I actually thought I was relating to Garfield’ Jon so much and I legit thought I exist in this world only so that everyone else can feel a little bit better about themselves because there’s always at least one person who is worse than them. I literally felt like the meaning of my life was to make others feel better just because of how much of a loser I am. That’s why I feel sad when I see people getting asks all the time. I’m not really jealous or angry, I’m just sad because it just makes me remember how useless I am and how boring my life is and how bring absolutely nothing to this world and how... just invisible I am. I bet all ask posts have been on people’s dashes but no one just find me interesting enough to send questions. But I can’t blame them, because would I send myself asks if I was someone else and saw me on their dash? No. (Well, soon I will if no one else does, let’s see how out of my mind I will look for other people then lol.) I’d probably just unfollow my user because of what a pain in the ass I really am after all.

So whatever, a long post and useless blabber and just letting out some steam. I’ll go to watch some TV now and try to get over this. I’m also feeling like I hate Tumblr, I don’t want to come here to be disappointed because no one wants to know anything about me but I also can’t keep myself away from here because I want to know if I’ve got any asks because that would be some interesting stuff to do for my brains. So it’s like I have my hopes high only to be crushed in a minute and I keep doing this cycle every 5 minutes because I can’t decide if I should be a pessimist or an optimist.

Gosh, am I being selfish or what? I hate being selfish and I hate selfish people. But why am I still constantly talking about myself? Hypocrite much??? I wish I could unfollow the “blog” in my brains.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {10/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Will my posting schedule ever make sense? Probably not. Anyways, thanks for reading, my pals! You guys are the best, and I love love love you all for loving this story and these two crazy people💜

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her love and support and artwork!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Tag list:  @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

No part of her understands why their cable bill is mailed to her. They’re a cable company. They provide TV and internet and yet they’ve never heard of paperless online billing. It’s ridiculous. And yet the minute she’s late with her payment she gets an increasingly nasty series of emails that shows they obviously know how to use the internet. And since Storybrooke Cable is the only company that provides internet in a sixty-mile radius, it’s not like they don’t have the funds to set up a website. Hell, she’ll take a class and learn how to program the website for them if she has to.

Well, probably not. That’s all a little dramatic, but she really hates having to go down to the mailboxes in the basement to get her mail so that she can go upstairs and write a check and buy a stamp to mail the payment in. It’s not the biggest deal in the world, but she hates it.

She obviously would not have lasted in a world without internet.

The old stairs creak beneath her, a sound that she’s used to when she’s carrying her laundry downstairs (it’s how she knows when she’s on the unsteady step since usually she can’t see over the full height of her clothes which is what procrastination gets her), and she quickly descends downstairs to the row of mailboxes that rest against the wall in front of the washing machines and dryers that work at least ninety percent of the time.

She and Belle need to move to a nicer place. They can afford it, but then again, if Belle moves, it’ll probably be with Will. It’s a constant thought every time Emma thinks about it, so she never quite works up the courage to bring up moving somewhere else. This place is just fine, they’ve made it their home, and so what if she has to walk to a bit of a creepy place to get her mail to pay her cable bill. It’s not like anyone in this town is actually going to do something to her.

They’d have hell to pay.

The stairs could use a little work, though, maybe a few new light fixtures for the hallways too.

Pulling out her key, she twists it in her box, opening it and grabbing the few envelopes that lay flat against the metal. She closes the box, locking it back up, and as she walks up the stairs, she shuffles through the mail, tripping on a loose board as she sees neat black script inked across the white in the upper left corner.

Killian Jones.

What the hell?

What the hell is he doing sending her a letter? Even though her toe is still stinging from how she jammed it, the pain worse than some of her injuries she’s gotten on the job, she stops in the middle of the staircase and rips the letter open.

Dear Emma Swan,

You’ll have to forgive me because it’s been awhile since I’ve written a letter that’s not an e-mail. I’ve been told by a rather reliable source that it’s a bit old-fashioned to write like this, but I do like a bit of a challenge. So, Swan, I’m sitting at my desk writing you a letter on stationary that Ariel found me and with my very favorite pen. And while I don’t expect you to write back, I have included several stamps to encourage you. You wouldn’t want me to waste money, now would you?

Anyways, I find myself wondering about you because you intrigue me. There are things I’d like to know. For instance, how long have you been a secret nerd watching the History Channel and National Geographic? I, for one, have been a fan for years. It’s fascinating to learn about things that have happened in the past. What other interests do you have? Do you enjoy sports? Read any good books lately? What is your ultimate favorite baked good? Do you like cooking them yourself? Are you one of those people who have a favorite flower? I am partial to sunflowers over roses, preferring the brightness of yellow, but then again, there are yellow roses.

I’m simply but a curious man who enjoys knowing the answers to my questions, and in return, you can feel free to ask me anything you want. I’d even tell you what kind of underwear I wear since you seem to be averse to answering that particular question.

Sincerely,

Killian A. Jones

“Oh my God,” she mumbles, scanning over the words one more time before opening up the envelope to see several stamps with pictures of sailboats on them.

A part of her absolutely cannot believe that he wrote her a freaking letter, but then again, she’s not really shocked. That’s exactly something that he would do just to annoy her, and the fact that he included stamps is really over the top. She’s not going to complain. She needs stamps, but damn, the man is persistent.

But she’s not going to write him back.

Absolutely not.

She folds his letter back up and puts it in the envelope before walking up the rest of the stairs and turning in the stairwell so she can get back to her floor, quickly moving into her apartment to write a check so she can send off the cable bill before she gets to work this morning. Belle is still sleeping, so she tries to stay quiet as she grabs her purse and walks right back out the door, all of her mail in the front pocket of her purse.

All day she ignores the letter that seems to be burning a hole through the leather material of her purse that’s hidden under her desk, but it’s more of an attempt at ignoring it than actually ignoring it, because when David leaves to go question a fight that broke out down by the pier, she grabs a piece of paper out of the printer and starts writing something back.

Damn it. Has she lost control of her limbs?

Jones,

You’re ridiculous. Seriously. I can’t believe you took our texts as a challenge, but then again, it is you. I have no idea why I’m writing you back, but you did say that I could ask you any question I want, and, well, I simply can’t pass up that opportunity.

So tell me, what is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you? And spare no detail.

Sincerely,

Emma Swan.

PS: I am a mean ping pong player, and I agree with you about the roses. If you’re looking for a good book recommendation, though, I suggest Belle. She gives me all of mine.

Oh, and bear claws.

And I want to know what the A in your name stands for.

Quickly, she stuffs the paper in an envelope, seals it, writes his address on it, places a stamp in the corner, and puts it in the mailbox outside of the station so that she literally can’t take it back without tampering with federal law. She’ll bend a lot of rules, but she’s not going to break federal law over something as dumb as a letter.

Two days later, she gets a letter back. There’s no formal address this time, and she kind of likes that…not that she likes this.

Really went straight for the kill then, eh Swan? It took me a bit to remember what exactly my most embarrassing memory is, simply because I’m so suave that I don’t have many embarrassing moments.

However, when I was a young lad of twenty-three, I had the night off and left base to go out to a pub with a few of my mates. This was something we did often, something we’d done for our five years together, but on this particular night I indulged in a few too many glasses of rum. My tolerance wasn’t quite what it is now, even if I do wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck now, and while I don’t remember the night but in a few glances (particularly me telling the lasses that I was the Captain when I was not), I do remember waking up in the flat of a woman I didn’t know without my clothes anywhere in sight. Either she stole them, my mates somehow stole them, or something else happened, but my options to get home were either walking in the streets of Birkenhead in the nude or wearing this lass’s mother’s nightgown. It was this billowing, flowery thing, and while I fully believe I can wear anything I want, let’s just say my actual Captain did not take too kindly to me walking back onto base in something that was not approved. I was written up three times for one incident, and I’d just like you to imagine me having to explain why to my superiors why I was wearing a nightgown when I had no idea myself.

I have to say, though, nightgowns are quite comfortable. Lots of air to breathe. It’s likely a good thing that my mates thought it would be funny to buy me a nightgown when I was promoted. It was much more my taste. Silk is wonderful, though I don’t think I ever wore it. I much prefer my briefs.

So, there’s a story of one of the brightest moments of my youth, and while I’m sure you’ll somehow use it to torture me, it’s yours to know.

My middle name is, Andrew, by the way, and the lovely Belle has recommended me to The Guest Book as reading material. It’s rather good. Feel free to borrow my copy if you’d like. Speaking of Belle, I hear Mr. French makes rather delectable bear claws, but he’s in a fierce rivalry with Mrs. Lucas over who makes the best. Personally, I think they’re using pastries as a bit of foreplay, but that’s simply a theory from an observer.

Now, Swan, I’ve metaphorically shown you mine, so you should show me yours.

Have a good week,

Killian Andrew Jones.

Emma doesn’t realize it, but by the time she’s finished reading the letter, she’s got tears streaming down her face, just a few of them, from laughing at the thought of Killian running around in a nightgown. That’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, but for some reason, she has no issue imagining him walking into base in a flowery nightgown that hits at his knees and shows off all of the hair on his legs with the shoulders being a little tight. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and she’s glad that Belle is still at the library so that she doesn’t ask what in the world Emma is laughing at.

It would be a little hard to explain.

Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to explain. Because her explaining any of this would make her have to explain other things, and since Belle already knows that Killian sent her the basket of baked goods months ago. So it would be too difficult to explain her...having to explain. This is kind of like some sort of bad inception.

But Belle’s not even here, so it definitely doesn’t matter.

While she’s still laughing, she gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass out of the cabinets and pouring her a glass of the wine that she and Belle didn’t finish drinking last night. If she’s going to spend her time writing letters to Killian, which is a ridiculous concept in and of itself, she should at least have some alcohol in her.

Not enough to make her have to wake up without clothes and have to borrow an ugly nightgown from the mother of the person she’d slept with but some alcohol all the same.

She doesn’t have any paper here, so she has to shuffle through some of the old notebooks Belle keeps on their bookshelves, and takes out a lined page from the back, settling down on the couch with her wine and paper and pin while Drain the Oceans plays on the TV.

Killian Andrew (Asshole) Jones,

I’ve added the “asshole” because I really did think that was your middle name. You did say you would respond to it, but I guess Andrew is okay. Is that a family name? Your father’s maybe? I don’t have a middle name, didn’t even have a last name, only my first, but I’ve always kind of thought it would be something classic since my first name is.

Shit. I just got wine on the paper. Oops.

So you and that rum, huh? You seem to be a fan of it. And also nightgowns. Are you sure you don’t sleep in one of those? Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? You scare them all away with your nightgown. I imagine it makes easy access to...things, so really, they should like it better than the briefs. It’s just a great mystery that may never be solved.

Granny’s bear claws are better than Mr. French’s hands down, but Mr. French has better pastries overall. Plus, he’s like my dad, so you implying that they have a thing going on is really kind of freaking me out. I bet Granny wears a nightgown, though, which makes my earlier joke about easy access so much creepier.

Some things simply shouldn’t be imagined. But if you’re going to, make sure to tell Ruby to scar her for life.

I haven’t read that book, but if Belle recommends it, it must be good. I’ll have to check it out. I’ve been very into historical romances lately, which isn’t really on par for me, but there’s simply something about Jane Austen, you know?

Thanks for telling me your most embarrassing story. You’re right. I’m totally going to use that against you, and no, I will not tell you my most embarrassing story. It involves karaoke, though, so it’s a good one.

Emma

If she hadn’t had the wine, she probably would have realized that she revealed a bit too much in her letter, but after she seals it that night and sends it off in the morning, still using the sailboat stamps Killian provided, she doesn’t think about it.

Not at all.

What she does think about is the fact that eight days go by without a new letter. She didn’t even realize that she wanted another letter, that she got a weird sense of excitement over them, until she wasn’t receiving one in her mailbox.

Who has she turned into that she’s checking her mailbox daily?

What decade is this?

But her week has gone by as normal, spending her days at work, reveling in the hour break she gets to eat lunch with David or Ariel, and her evenings at home, sometimes with Belle, sometimes not. On Saturday she, Ruby, Belle, Mary Margaret, and Ariel all spent the day at the beach, waking up early enough to beat all of the tourists there, and settled down with blankets and umbrellas with bags full of food and a cooler full of drinks. They didn’t bother moving, not unless to dip into the ocean to cool themselves off or to run up to the pier to use the restroom, and even if her eyes constantly trailed down to the pier to look at the fleet of ships and boats and what not resting outside of the Jones’ office.

And if her eyes kept checking her texts even if most everyone she spoke to was already there, no one had to know. Though she does think that Ruby noticed.

She wasn’t very subtle in her desperation.

But she didn’t see him, not that she wanted to, and she tried to push it all to the back of her mind to enjoy the day as the sun beat down on her skin so that she got the slightest bit of a tan that she hopes stays with her until the fall.

Okay, so she thinks about the lack of a letter a lot.

However, she wasn’t thinking about it when she was driving home from work, but now that she’s standing next to the door of her apartment with Will holding a stack of their mail, it’s all she can think about.

Shit.

Why didn’t it occur to her that she and Belle share a mailbox and that Belle could see one of these letters? How could she have missed that?

“Hey,” she cautiously greets, placing her keys down, the clanging loud in her ears, on the table and stepping further into the room, “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Belle and I are going to dinner. Why do you have a letter from Jones?”

“Huh?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart is beating wildly in her chest, the sound louder than it has been in a long time. She can feel it all the way down to her toes. “I have a letter?”

Will raises his eyebrow, obviously not believing her, and as casually as she can, she steps forward and takes the letter from Will, stuffing it away in the back pocket of her jeans.

“So where are you guys going for dinner?” Emma asks to change the subject.

“Eric’s place. He gives me a discount.”

“Ah, yes, because everyone wants discount fish.”

“Oi, it’s not like he’s giving us the old fish.”

“So you think. If you guys die in a few days, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“We’ll be dead, and you’ll be bragging about it.”

“Exactly.” She steps around Will and sits down on the couch, reaching down to unlace her boots and kick them off. “I guess I’ll miss you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Emma,” Belle shouts, and Emma leans her head back to look down the hall to see Belle standing in the hallway, “can I borrow those teal heels that you wore last week?”

“Yeah, they’re in my bathroom.”

Belle doesn’t say anything back, but less than a minute she comes into their living room wearing the teal heels and a little black dress, fluffing out her hair over her shoulders while Will grabs his coat off the chair, stepping up to her and kissing her cheek, whispering something that Emma doesn’t pick up on, which is good. It’s private, and she doesn’t need to hear things about their private life.

Her hearing thing has been wonky lately anyways. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

“We probably won’t be back until late,” Belle tells her, and Emma reaches her hand up over the couch to let Belle grab onto it. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nah, you two go have fun. Don’t do anything that I’ll have to investigate.”

“Well, that just takes all of the fun away.”

After the two of them leave, she leans up on the couch and pulls the later out of her back pocket, hoping that Will forgets about it and doesn’t mention it to Belle, and quickly opens the sealed envelope, her nerves running over every inch of her skin and making her fingers shake the slightest bit as she straightens the creases out of the paper.

Emma,

I apologize for my late reply, but you seem to have caught me at a bad time. I had a client call and request a refurbishment on his seafaring vessel (his words, not mine), and I’ve been consumed with it. I love this job. It’s a way to keep me connected to the ocean, a place where I spent so much of my life, but this is different. And it certainly didn’t help that my wrist decided to act up a bit this week. It’s the weather and all.

Regardless, I do wish you would have told me your most embarrassing story. I feel like it’s a real ice breaker, and I love karaoke....if I’m drunk. But then again, bad things seem to happen when I’m drunk. So wine? That’s your vice? I always took you more as a tequila or whiskey type, but then again, I’m learning that I know very little about you, love. Though, I like that it’s changing a bit, if I may be so bold.

Jane Austen is bloody brilliant, and it’s nice to hear of someone else appreciating her. Mr. Darcy and I have a lot in common, you know? I, too, screw up with strong-willed women and then have to realize the error of my ways to have them allow me back into their lives. Or, at least, I hope. Tell me, if you’re a fan of historical romances, how are you not a fan of letter writing when that is such a core piece of the story? Is it simply that you don’t like modern day letter writing because it, for practical reasons, doesn’t make any sense? We could have had this entire conversation in ten minutes, but it’s taken eight days. Yet, this is a bit more fun, even though talking to you does incite other kinds of fun.

As to my middle name, it’s my mother’s maiden name. My father’s name is Brennan, and the only thing I carry from him is the Jones name, which is likely a good thing. He wasn’t a good man. He was a drunk, and he abandoned us when I was ten. I’m proud to be a Jones because of my brother and my mum, so like you, I suspect that my last name carries a weight that most don’t.  

Anyways, that’s much too much information about me. Tell me, Swan, there’s a Summer Regatta coming up in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be at the festival? I know someone who can get you a free ride on a boat.

Killian.

He’s got a screwed up family too.

That’s what she gets out of all of that. It’s not that he loves the same books that she does, not that he correctly guessed her drinking vices, not that he practically invited her to be his date to the regatta in over Labor Day weekend. It’s the fact that he has a screwed up family, a drunk deadbeat dad and a dead mom. She knew his family life wasn’t great, if only because Elsa never mentions having to take the kids to go see Liam’s parents.

Huh.

She can kind of see it now, can see that he is a bit of an orphan too, and even though he had parents, it breaks her heart. No one should ever have to grow up without having people love them, and she’s thankful that Killian had Liam and their mom. That’s a nice thing for them to have a family, even if it’s not what most people would call complete.

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that she suddenly understands Killian in a way that she knows only a few people can, but she pulls out her phone and lets her fingers move without thinking about it too much.

Emma: So not a fan of karaoke then? Is your voice that bad?

The three dots pop up almost immediately after she presses send only for them to disappear, only coming back every few seconds. He’s either trying to think of what to say or realized that he’s texting back incredibly fast. It’s nice to know some things never change.

Killian: For someone who is incredibly attracted to my voice, that’s a bold thing for you to suggest.

Emma: Touché.

Emma: So it’s not bad then?

Killian: I’ve been told that it’s actually pretty good, but I find that karaoke does nothing but bring embarrassment unless you’ve been drinking all day.

Emma: Okay, but say you have…what’s your go-to song?

Kilian: Easy. Anything Elton John. He’s so easy to understand.

Emma: You’re kidding, right?

Killian: Nope.

He definitely has to be kidding.

Emma: I figured you’d be more of a Queen or Beatles guy. I’m pretty partial to Queen.

Killian: Well, I could do those too. Or pretty much anything from the eighties. I feel old, but I don’t know a lot of the new songs.

Emma: That’s because you are old.

Killian: Being older than you doesn’t make old. And as you can tell, I’ve retained my youthful glow.

Emma: Sure, we’ll call it that.

She takes another sip of her wine and turns the volume up a bit on the television so that she’s not simply staring at her phone waiting for him to text her back. That’d be pathetic. Then again, she’s sitting at home drinking wine and watching the History Channel while her roommate is out on a date. That could be considered pathetic. Or very, very smart depending on who is asked.

Killian: What are you up to tonight, love?

Emma: Watching Drain the Ocean, though I’ll be honest and say I have no idea what’s going on.

Emma: You?

Killian: The same, actually.

Emma: Creepy.

Killian: Believe it or not, I think we have similar taste in television shows.

Emma: Ugh, I know. I can’t believe I have so much in common with an old man.

Killian: If you keep flattering a man like this, he might get the impression that you like him.

Emma: Never.

Emma: At least we don’t like the same foods. Unless you secretly like junk food.

Killian: I enjoy certain kinds, but I don’t think I have the same propensity for grilled cheese, onion rings, and bear claws like you do.

Emma: I also like poptarts and brownies. Oooh and lots of icing.

Killian: You’re a child.

Emma: Oh, come on. You don’t like icing?

Killian: If there’s cake attached, yeah.

Emma: No, no. You’ve got this all wrong. Straight out of the can.

Killian: You also eat raw cookie dough, don’t you?

Emma: Duh.

Killian: I do like cookies, though. And mostly pastries that involve fruit. It makes it all feel a little healthier.

Emma: You’re in shape. I think you’ve got the healthy thing down.

Killian: I knew you liked staring at my ass.

Emma: I said nothing about your ass.

Killian: Just my general body then? The abs? The biceps? My collarbone? What about my left ankle? You’re into period romances. I bet the left ankle really does it for you.

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, putting her glass down on the coffee table and standing from the couch, smiling to herself as she reads the message and walks to the kitchen. He’s such an idiot.

Such an idiot.

And now she really wants something sweet to eat, so she presses up on her toes and gets a can of chocolate icing out of the pantry popping open the top and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer so she can at least be a little civilized about the whole thing. Without putting much thought into it, she holds the spoon full of icing up to her mouth and takes a quick picture, not checking to see what she looks like before sending it to Killian.

Emma: See? This is the way to eat sweets.

The three dots pop up before they disappear just like before, and she doesn’t really have time to think about it before the front door is swinging open and Belle is walking inside, an obviously bright red flush on her pale cheeks.

“I’m engaged,” she squeals, holding her left hand up as she walks into the apartment, a small diamond ring resting there.

“What?” Emma gasps, nearly choking on her icing before she puts the spoon and the container down, running her tongue over her teeth to wipe up all of the excess icing. “You’re engaged?”

“Yes! Will asked at dinner. Oh my gosh. You know, I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those girls, but I did the thing where I put my hands over my mouth when he got down on one knee.”

“Of course you did,” she laughs, reaching forward and wrapping Belle up in a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she can while she sees Will walk into the apartment, bags of takeout in his hands and a smile on his face that tells Emma he’s just as happy as Belle is. Good. They deserve all of the happiness. “I’m so damn happy for you. Both of you.”

“And you’ll be so much happier when you know that I brought you earplugs for tonight,” Will tells her when she hugs him.

“That is so gross.”

“I’m simply trying to be helpful.”

“Babe,” Belle laughs, walking over to the two of them and leaning into Will to press a kiss into his cheek, “stop grossing Emma out and give me five minutes to tell her what happened before we can let her put the earplugs into use.”

“Nope, nope, no,” she refuses, putting her hands in the air, “you guys just go. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Perfect.”

“Please ignore him.”

“I promise you I’m trying.”

Will and Belle go back to their room, and she takes the opportunity to grab her phone, her icing, and plant herself in front of the television, turning to volume up so that she doesn’t have to risk hearing anything else. Tonight will probably be the night that her weird hearing thing picks up again.

She is so damn happy for the two of them, a bit of a buzz of happiness spreading over her skin, but she can’t help the little voice in her head that wonders what’s next for her if the two of them are getting married.

She hates that she thinks that.

Her phone dings, and she looks down at it, forgetting that she was texting Killian before Belle and Will came home.

How long were they texting for her friends to get engaged during that time? That’s…a lot of time. Did it really all go by that quickly? She didn’t even notice.

Killian: I mean, there’s definitely something sweet in that picture that I’d like to eat.

Emma chuckles under her breath, unable to help herself, especially when accompanying the text is a picture of him holding a banana over half of his face, the scars on his wrist and the chain around his neck visible even in the dimness of his apartment. And damn it. This was not supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

She likes Killian Jones.