#but felt like doing some editing so i just queued up some stuff i had in my backlog!

[simspaghetti]

Hello again Piccolos!

☑️ Master a Non-Required Skill (Gardening) +1 ☑️ Master the Martial Arts Skill +1 Current Gen2 Points: 21

[usmsgutterson]

hello! i was so excited to see you have requests open! so, without further ado:

I wanted to request a fem!reader x nikolai lantsov, smut/fluff combo, fic with the "one character kissing the other character in a spot that they’re insecure about" prompt

tysm! so excited to see what you write! <3

Nothing At All- N.L x fem! reader

Hi! I am so sorry that this took me so long--I meant to do it the day it came in but I've been veeery sidetracked by novel stuff lately and between that and getting stuff queued for when I start working in the fall plus the random wave of demotivation that hit me this week, my requests kind of slipped my mind a bit.

Thank you for sending this in and after our convo because no specific spot was specified and I wanted to double check, I decided to go with a spot where I am also very insecure--the thighs! I hope that you enjoy this fic and thank you so much for requesting it!

THIS FIC IS 18+. Minors, do not interact and if you do, you will be blocked once I spot you in my notifs.

Fic type- this is the best kind of smut--FLUFFY SMUT!!

Warnings- oral (fem receiving) and some not-great editing on my end--I rushed this because a new episode of Ghost Files comes out today and I REALLY want to watch it lol

You were grinning as Nikolai pressed a kiss against the space behind your ear, the two of you relaxing in your shared bed on one of the few evenings wherein you both had absolutely nothing to do.

All you could feel was the press of Nikolais body against yours, the warmth of the silken sheets as Nikolai pressed kiss after kiss down the space behind your ear and your neck, turning your brain into water as his lips moved deftly down your neck and across your collarbones.

One of your hands was in his hair, the other on his waist, laughter occasionally escaping your lips as Nikolai moved with a carefully delighted kind of precision.

"I love you," he said, hands sliding up your thighs and finding your hips. "I've missed you lately."

You'd both been so busy with things around the palace that you'd hardly seen each other in weeks. That moment was the first in far too long wherein you'd found yourselves in bed and able to do more than just a kiss to the cheekbone in good morning or goodnight.

You'd missed the feeling of his hands on you, the feeling of his lips pressing against any available area of skin, and the return to that part of your life felt as good as waking up and finding that it was raining outside, as good as it was to walk the halls while you went about your day with the pitter-patter of rain against the windows continuing on in the background, drowning out most of the other noise.

"I love you too," you whispered, hands going to his bare shoulders as his hands undid the buttons of one of his shirts, which you'd taken to wearing to bed instead of your typical nightwear. "Fuck, I've missed this so much."

His hands slipped from your hips to your lower back, pressing himself against your naked form as the long sleeved shirt slipped down your shoulders and past your elbows, leaving you exposed in front of him.

He bent up a bit, drinking your form in like he was a man who'd been dying of thirst. You fought the urge to curl in on yourself in a flashing moment of insecurity, finding surprise in the laugh that came up from your throat as Nikolais lips found your collarbone and kissed down your chest, past your navel.

You felt him smile against your skin in response to the sound of your laughter, hand reaching up to find yours and giving it a squeeze.

"I love you," he said against your skin.

"I love you more," you responded, pressing your eyes closed as his lips moved down one side of your lower stomach, finding your right thigh with a bit of pause.

Your thighs had always been an area about which you were insecure, and your eyes opened when you noticed Nikolai had paused for he knew too of those insecurities.

"Is it okay if I--" his eyes bore into yours, the eye contact direct. He was being cautious, careful, incase the press of his lips against your thighs was too much--in case it amplified the insecurities you felt about them, in case you just weren't even up to the idea of it.

You glanced up to the light alabaster colored ceiling for a few moments before meeting his gaze once again, nodding.

He loved your thighs, so he said, and so he proved as his lips pressed against them. Your thighs had always been one of your biggest insecurities and Nikolai was good at proving the love he held for them time and time again--a hand was always on your thigh in meetings, a hand tracing shapes into the skin of your thigh as the two of you drifted off to sleep, a hand gently against your thigh when he found you sitting somewhere shady in the palace grounds during the hottest days in summer and bent down to drop a kiss onto your lips.

He kissed them delicately, kindly, like they were priceless pieces of art which he appreciated endlessly.

"Love these," he whispered against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before moving from your right to your left.

He took his time, leaving you a mess by the time that he was done focusing on your thighs and pressed his lips against your clit, sucking it gently with eyes fluttering closed as his arms moved under your thighs, resting there as he licked a stripe up your folds.

One of your hands found his as your eyes fell closed and you pressed your head against the pillow, moaning somewhat lewdly into it as you pressed your face against it thereafter.

Sex had been something at which Nikolai had been absurdly good, just as all of the other talents he had. He'd proved it time and time again and that time was no different--he'd managed to make you something of a writing mess within mere minutes, groaning as your free hand fell to his hair and gave the hair at the base of his neck a gentle tug.

You felt his groan against yourself and with little more effort from that point, you were releasing and moaning his name lewdly into the room.

He grinned to himself, licked his lips and pressed kiss after kiss to your thighs once more after a brief asking of consent--which you gave with an enthused nod as your head fell back against the pillow, skin glowing with post-orgasm euphoria--and feeling very content with things himself, not the least bit worried about his own pleasure.

He gave you a kiss before you left to clean yourself up and when you returned, had cleaned the bed to the best of his ability and put the shirt you'd taken off into a hamper that would be taken the following day by someone on the cleaning staff to be washed and returned to his wardrobe.

He grabbed you another and joined you in the bathroom as you washed your face, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck as you redid the buttons and smiled at the feeling of his touch.

"Anything to do tomorrow?" You asked.

"Nothing at all," Nikolai said. "I asked that my advisors clear out my schedules for the rest of the week. Haven't had time with my beloved in far too long, so it seems. You don't have anything to do, do you?"

"Zoya and I handled everything in need of doing last night and this morning. My schedule is completely clear until Monday."

Nikolai grinned as his arms wrapped around your waist. "I'm sure we can think of ways to occupy our time until then."

You smirked, pressing a peck to his lips. "Off the top of my mind, I can think of several."

Nikolai took your hand and let you lead him out of the bathroom, laughing a bit as the two of you once again approached your bed.

"Do tell," he said as he fell back and took you with him, neither of you eager to lay over the sweat stain that wouldn't dry for at least thirty minutes. "I am indeed eager to hear your ideas."

You laughed. "They start here," you said.

You pulled him into a breathtaking kiss, and Nikolais arms found your waist as he grinned. The two of you had a very fun few days ahead indeed.

[minka-cola]

geh. anxiety a bitch

edit: oh man and the read more broke when it looked fine in the preview. oh man oh man oh man

i just don't understand why this social paralysis has gotten so bad in the last year. i can look back on reblogs from halfway through 2023 and see that i was still being really expressive in my tags then. and i was still even knocking out the daily reblog limit on some days just going back through my timeline from the night before

after steamrolling through the splatoon 3 hero mode and side order stuff across the past few days, i actually entertained the notion of playing splatoon online again today. it felt so paralysing as i stood there in the lobby. what am i even scared of? you can't even talk to people in the game

then i did it! i queued up! i don't know what actually pushed me through being able to do it. i've frozen up even doing roulettes in ff14 more lately just because it's so overwhelming to be around even just 3 strangers for a quick 10 minute thing. i still want to try crystalline conflict sometime but i black out on actually queueing up. thinking about fighting other people makes me queasy and weak

i kept thinking i could just leave the splatoon queue. i still had time for it. i could even just buzz salmon run so i don't have to fight other people. then it popped!

it felt like i was back in the saddle. i had a whole lot of fun, probably the most genuine fun in a while. there was even splatoon 2 maps on rotation and it felt almost as nostalgic as splatoon 1 at this point for me

then a few hours later, just in the middle of a perfectly normal match, anxiety hit me like a truck again. why am i here, putting myself through this, surrounded by people. i don't want to fight other people. i could really feel my performance slipping away and it felt like a genuinely crushing defeat that i abruptly stopped pulling my weight in. i had to close it and just stew for a while

then here i was on tumblr, immeadiately paralysed and ready to close it after opening again like i've been doing more and more, but then i see a recommended piece on the side and it's like "oh, maybe just check that quick". and then i end up reblogging a bunch again, before suddenly it feels like anxiety was creeping up again. i backpedal out of the tab and just stew again

this feeling sucks. it sucks so much

[someonestolemyshoes]

Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one! 

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration) 

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.  

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

**

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

**

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.  

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.  

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."  

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."  

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

[bluearson]

Dancing King in Quarantine

Warning: ‘Daddy’ mention once & Reader’s contact name for him is Daddy D The news played quietly in the background as breakfast cooked on the stove. You were getting ready to go out and buy more groceries before lockdown, slipping on a hoodie that threatened to drown you in its folds. At least it smelt just like your boyfriend. You shot Dabi a glance across the room, a grin plastered across your face ear to ear. There was something comforting about seeing the raven haired man impatiently holding a spatula as he watched over pancakes. “This fucking sucks.” he complained as he shuffled through a playlist looking for the perfect song.

“The song.. or cooking breakfast? You know I-” You reached over to snatch the spatula out of his hand. Dabi’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist firmly but not enough to hurt. “I said I was going to cook us breakfast today. Thank you for your offer to help though little mouse. I promise, Daddy has it covered. Let me take care of things.” He kissed your cheek and slapped your ass with his free hand. “Don’t worry about a thing, I wouldn’t burn down the house on purpose.” You traced a pattern onto his bare chest before pressing your hand firmly on his chest and giving him a kiss on the lips, “You sure you don’t want me to wait to eat breakfast with you?”  “Stop worryin’ bout me and get that cute ass in gear before all the good stuff is gone sweetheart. Breakfast will still be warm for you, I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee ready. Maybe even a warm bath if you’re back within the hour.” “Okay... I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.” With one final parting kiss you left the warm comfort of your apartment and made your way to the grocery store. You spent most of your time sending texts back and forth with Dabi asking if you had enough of something and then trying to explain what you were talking about when he couldn’t find it easily. To: Daddy D -I’m on my way home!  ( ˙꒳​˙ ) Read 2:15pm From: Daddy D -Plain, Blueberries or Chocolate chip? Read 2:17pm To: Daddy D -Surprise me! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ -I’ll eat anything you make  („• ֊ •„) Read 2:17pm You struggled to get your key out when Dabi opened the door, he traded you a mug full of coffee for the bags in your hand. He offered you a small smile as he stepped aside and gestured for you to come in. The kitchen island counter was cleaned except for a plate of pancakes, eggs and a small bowl full of fruits. Dabi kissed your cheek again before taking the rest of your bags away from you.  You made yourself comfortable, staring down the man who made a pretty convincing double of your boyfriend. The pancakes were neither gooey nor almost burnt, the eggs were a perfect consistency and you swear you got a few whiffs of bacon. “Did you eat all the bacon, Dabs?” He froze in place for a moment, offering up no response for what felt like an eternity as the silence stretched on between the both of you. He shifted his glance from his task of putting away groceries for you to your face as if he was calculating what to say next. “No.” He pointed to the microwave, “I saved some for you.” You beamed as you sipped your coffee.  You thanked him for breakfast and showered him in compliments about how much better his cooking was getting. You swear you saw him even blushing as you paid your compliments. Together with your beloved you lazed around together on the couch for a cuddle-movie night session to forget about the state of the world outside the comfort of your home. “I’m boooooored” you bemoaned as you stretched out and sprawled across your boyfriends lap.  “What do you want me to do about it?” He asked, absent mindedly trailing a hand across your tummy and tracing patterns into your skin with a finger. He leaned down and peppered kisses along your jawline as he played with your hair. “Care to dance with me?” He whispered. Your dominant hand searched for his hand lacing your fingers together as you pressed a kiss into his backhand. You nodded solemnly, releasing the hand that you had momentarily captured to get up on your own. Dabi managed to swiftly scoop you up before you had the chance to stand up on your own though and rose up off the couch like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes to him. He gently set you down and smirked as he snatched your phone off the couch to surf through your collection of songs and queued up a bunch that he liked after connecting it to a portable speaker. He held his hand out as the first song began to play. It was a little slower than the usual upbeat music you were used to hearing him blasting through his headphones.  Together you glided across the living room, careful to mind the furniture and not cause one another to have a fresh set of bruises peppered along the others thighs from unremarkable circumstances. You both got lost to the rhyme and sway of the music together. The rasp of his laugh makes your heart swell, it’s almost musical to your ears. You took a seat as you watched him lose him himself to one of his favorite songs, singing along at the top of his lungs and god.. you loved every second of it. It sent flutterers throughout your core, to watch him become so comfortable with you. You sung along after the chorus repeated, joining him on the “dancefloor”.  After three more songs passed you both began rearranging furniture so that you had more room to dance. Dabi was ecstatic when you gave him the go ahead to play whatever he wanted. Proudly he belted the lyrics after the G note hit. Your eyes lit up as you realized what song it was.  Together you both got lost in the throws of the dramatics, pantomiming along to the lyrics, thrashing around, the occasional headbanging, and of course.. you’ve both had your fair share of rockstar moments. It was a night to remember. “If you were a rockstar would you write songs about me?” You asked tentatively as you nursed a warm cup of tea while Dabi made himself comfortable sprawled out on the floor.  “Uhh.. yeah?” He popped himself up on an elbow, “I’d write total bangers about you. The media would ask me who’s my muse and shit and I’ll tell em it’s all bout the MVP.” “Would you keep me your little secret if it meant you’d be more popular for not being publicly taken?” You mused as you took a long sip of your tea. “Do you have some sort of fantasy about me becoming a world famous rockstar you failed to tell me about?” He laid back down to stare up at the ceiling, “I dunno.. I don’t think I’d really care about being like.. you know popular just because of my looks.” He grimaced, “I’d want to be popular for my music, cause people like my sound and it resonates with them. If you didn’t mind the problems that could occur with being public about our relationship in that scenario.. I wouldn’t mind.”  “What if I made a recording of your laugh and sold copies of it? You know.. in this scenario.”  “If it’s made into a song I want a cut, if it’s just my laugh straight up I think that’s really weird but I hope it’s overpriced and limited edition so you know the super fans would be all over it.” “You didn’t even need time to think about it huh?” “If I can make money off just laughing I would. Sadly there’s not really a market for it considering the only people who hear me laugh well.. are my friends and you.” Taglist: @some-kindofgnome @humanitiesstrongestchicken

[atsunflower]

Rated: SFW

Author notes: *sigh* for the third time the damned app ate up the tags. This one took me too long and I'm excited for write about my man suna again. This is also pretty different from what I'm used to write, but why not? Please enjoy your reading.

Warnings: cursing, substance usage/mentions, break-ups and me trynna be funny.

I – Cancel me.

Previous || Next

He looked at them with expectation as the beats smoothly faded, indicating the song's ending. 

If he were to be honest, the pair before him was a pain in the ass, but their opinion was that important because, when it came to music, they were the best at it. He felt no shame nor jealousy in admitting it.

"Dunno, the hook sounds like a Vice headline ta me." The bleach-haired male said, hearring the song's outro blaring through the studio speakers.

"Isn't it a Kid Milli reference, tho?" The other asked while munching a chip. He frowned at them, not understanding their point.

"Whatever. You two are no help anyways." Hearring their bullshit, the brunette already regretted this collab. He paused the queued song, turning to the other two with a blank stare.

The twins before him snickered, knowing they successfully hit a nerve. They couldn't help it, provoking Suna was one of their favorite hobbies.

"The song is good, but I gotta tell ya this butt hurt phase of yers is pretty lame." The faux-blond opened his mouth again, spinning around the studio with the desk chair. 

"Fuck you, Atsumu" He snapped, almost giving in to the desire of decking them both on the face.

"Tsumu's right, ya Lil Peep wannabe. Can't believe this break up ended up that bad." Osamu said in mockery, throwing the empty Lay's wrapper at him. He scoffed, disposing the wrapper on the bin before getting back at the screen to look at the FL studio interface.

"It's not that I have a broken heart. I just wanna know what's wrong with my life" He shrugged, blindly tacting over the desk in search of his Juul.

"Yeah Samu, he's just grieving over those fancy ass Dior Jordans. Sunarin is incapable of mundane things like a broken heart." His blond friend was partially right.

Suna Rintaro was many things: alt model, music producer, cloud artist and a decent volleyball player that almost went pro. But if there was something he could never be, it was a lucky man on love matters.

With his fair share of failed relationships, the artist could never pinpoint when things went wrong. It would always be the same: he would meet a girl, they would have a good time and then, the chick would turn out demanding as fuck.

In the end, every single one of them would slap him across the face and leave his life banging the front door shut like crazy — last week, it was Mika who broke things off, but not before setting his limited edition pair of jordans on fire. He would never get over those sneakers.

"Good for him, those kicks were kinda ugly." Osamu said in a bored manner. Suna felt his soul leaving his body.

"The hell, Osamu?" He was ready to fight, deeply offended by the attack at his taste in fashion.

"Yo, you two." Atsumu butted in, checking something on his phone "Y'all are drifting away from our problem."

"That is?" The other brother asked.

"Cheer up Sunarin before he fucks up with the Album." If Suna had the energy, he would kick both Miyas out of his studio "And I gotta the perfect thing. Let's hang out at Akagi's tonight, he just invited us." The already distressed musician felt the soul leaving his body for the second time that afternoon. He was sure both twins wished his death.

"Not a fucking chance. Last time I went there I almost died because of that weird stuff we smoked." 

"Aw, Sunarin, Kita'll be there too." The faux-blonde tried to persuade. The mention of their older, responsible and straight edge friend made Suna look at them with interest. But he needed more, though. Based on the last experience, he didn't have the will to risk his life going to Akagi's house once again. A shiver descended his spine as the male recalled how much he threw up that night.

"Suna, man, I gotta agree with Tsumu. Yer feelings are showing in your music." Osamu said as if he was some kind of genius.

"Isn't art about it, tho?" He deadpanned "Expressing feelings and shit?" He asked, staring them dead in the eye. The males before him shivered because of its intensity. Suna snickered.

"Man says art, but most of his songs are about the Nikes on his feet and the Tesla in his garage." Atsumu mocked "What the fuck?" The blonde barely dodged the moleskine thrown at him.

"Don't chew on me when you do the same, asshat. This is called character development." As unnerving the twins were, he felt a whole lot better in their company "Just lemme produce my sad stuff in peace."

"Cut us some slack, ya dumbfuck. We're just worried about ya." Osamu protested " 'Sides, no wonder no girl sticks by yer side. You know what the chicks find sexy? Seizing the means of production, not yer dumb car."

"You two are so la—" The musician was interrupted mid sentence, startled by the blond figure clutching his phone with enthusiasm.

"Oi Samu," Atsumu's loud voice startled the other two, as he excitedly fisted the air.

"What the fuck?" Suna asked, dropping the Juul on the floor.

"She'll be there tonight." The blond said, looking at his brother with a new wave of joy.

"The fuck? She who?" The brunette frowned.

"Ya gotta go and find out, man." The gray haired twin said with a knowing smile, matching his brother's excitement.

The night out felt somewhat draining. The booze, the music and the company were great, but his lack of energy was a mood killer.

Cheer me up my ass, Suna cursed internally as he observed everyone getting wasted all over the place. He grimaced at the sight, realizing the meeting with the twins was enough social interaction for the day.

He didn't know what's gotten into him. The male knew it wasn't necessarily caused by the break up, but he couldn't help the feeling down.

Right now, life just felt lowkey suffocating. 

Being a public figure meant being under the spotlights the most of time.

People talked.

People assumed.

Media was all over him, ready to catch a scandall.

And of fucking course his name was on gossip headlines. It even occupied a spot on twitter trending topics for a day or so.

"Fuck me." He said before the lukewarm beer went down his throat.

"Sunarin!" He heard Atsumu shouting from his right "I want you to meet someone!" And only now he noticed the blond had his left arm over a girl's shoulders.

Oh, that's the one they were talking about, maybe? the brunette realized. What's the hype, tho? He asked himself, eyeing your figure.

"[Name], this is Suna. Sunarin, this is [Name], best girl ever and the mastermind behind the visuals of mine and Samu's last album" The bleach-haired male said with a proud smirk, ruffling your hair. You were obviously shy.

How cute, the brunette thought.

"Dumbass, don't embarrass me in front of others!" You nudged the Miya with your elbow "Nice to meet you, I saw your name on TMZ last week—" You said beaming and he grunted.

I take it back. Not cute at all, the man internally screamed, not ready to talk about the recent events. He didn't even want to listen to the rest of your speech, your cheery voice went through his ears in a white noise.

"And this makes me really excited for your album. The interview about the collab with dumb and dumber was lit." You continued, the words were genuine and you seemed really interested "And I also relate on a spiritual level because I know working with them is hell."

Oh, she's talking about the album. He realized in relief.

"Yo, I heard good things about you too. The design of their album was hella sick, even though they two suck ass." Suna snickered when he heard Atsumu protesting. You only left out a giggle, joining him on the teasing.

The blond kept ranting about how bad of friends the two of you were.

"I didn't introduce y'all ta gang up on me. Bye, I'm finding another company. Ya two suck." The blonde Miya said, leaving only you and Suna in the sofa area.

"Uh, so…" He drifted off, trying to start some small talk

"Yeah..." You both giggled at the awkwardness "Not enjoying the night?"

"Too much happening right now. Lots of people talking shit 'bout me." He sipped the beer, grimacing at the stale taste of the drink "Hope they cancel me already. So all this shit dies down." Suna looked away, suddenly shy for opening up to a stranger.

"You're a famous guy and the break-up wasn't that scandalous. It'll be over eventually, just beware the sneaker cult." Your amusement was comfort enough. You didn't make intrusive questions about the events and merely joked it off. He felt so worn out by the situation but, at least, your presence wasn't overbearring.

"How is it everyone knows about the jordans?" You shrugged it off, laughing at the distressed face he mocked. Sighing in relief, Suna couldn't deny how refreshing your presence was. Not to be a jerk, but usually, the girls either were all over him or judged every single move he made. You were just that easygoing.

"Well, I don't think you came here to sulk on the sofa all night long. Why don't we join them by the pool and down some shots?" You hopped off of your seat, pointing to the glass doors. All the boys were waving at you two and suddenly, Suna felt a wave of joy run down his body.

Atsumu was right. Best girl ever.

At some point of the night, everything became about you.

All he could hear was the sound of your voice and all the time, his eyes were drawn to your figure. He couldn't figure out a reason for it, but the rapper wasn't complaining either.

A sharp pang at the side of Suna's head broke the trance he was in. Osamu had a shit eating grin on his face, eyeing the ravenette with amusement.

"We told ya so." The younger twin mused whilst he handed a long neck of vodka to the other.

"Stop. This is dumb."

"Yer dumb. But you ain't that dumb ta dare ta mess with her." The gray-haired Miya squinted at him, menacingly pointing the bottle in his hand at the brunette. The latter shrugged it off, opening his drink.

"Nah, I'm good." And he meant it.

But how could he explain the situation he was in?

Lips and hands wandered over the expanse of his skin. Everything was too hot and too good at the same time. Overwhelming, even.

He wanted more, more and more. There wasn't enough of you.

And if it wasn't unfair enough, his body felt lethargic. He was desperate, but couldn't keep up with the rhythm you imposed. Be it the alcohol or the stress, his body gave up and blacked out, even before you could undress each other.

In the morning after, a pounding headache woke him up. Suna didn't dare to open his eyes, but the morning breath fanning over his face was unbearable.

"I can't believe a cutie like you have a stinky breath like this." The complaint came out in a raspy voice, accompanied by an annoyed grunt.

Someone snickered on the other side of the room.

"Man, I didn't know you had the hots fer Samu." Atsumu was somewhere across the room, laughing at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Hearing the other, Suna's body jolted, dizziness made his head spin in the process. He felt sick in the stomach and the morning light made his eyes sting. "When did I get back here?" The male looked around, realizing he was sprawled over Akagi's floor, right beside Osamu, who didn't even squirm at the loud voices in the room.

"What do ya mean? We never left" Atsumu frowned, uncaping a water bottle he was holding "Ya puked on Kita and passed out. The boys were too wasted ta drag yer sorry ass back home so we all crashed here." The blonde was dumbfounded, trying to figure out how wasted Suna got last night.

Suna wanted to know too. After all, there was no way the events envolving you were a product of his drunk mind.

facts:

• Suna's artist name is yosemite.

• He has a Tesla Model S because of Frank Ocean.

• He takes his Nikes very seriously.

• No, not all of his songs are about the car and the kicks.

• He and the Miya twins got a sports scholarship because of volleyball, but they dropped out of school to make music.

• The three of them created Inarizaki, the label they're making music under. Kita and Aran manage it.

• Both Miya twins are beatmakers and music producers. They recently debuted as artists and now are making a collab EP with Suna, thus Atsumu's concern about the album.

[steves-on-a-plane]

Life Hack

Written for: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021!  (& All Caps Flash Bingo!)   Words: 1970 SSB Square Filled: Alternate Universe AU  All Caps Flash Square Filled: Science Experiment   Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: None, E for everyone!   Summary: Tony & Steve have created a Youtube channel both as a way for the Team to stay busy & for them to communicate with the outside world. Participation is highly encouraged and when Reader finds out Bucky hasn’t contributed to a single video yet, they enlists his help in testing out some life hacks. 

“What are we doing again?” Bucky questioned. He was standing next to you in the makeshift recording Studio Tony had built in an unused office.

“Making a video for the Youtube channel.” You commented. You inventoried the items on the table in front of you and made sure you had everything you needed.

“And why are we doing that?” Bucky grumbled.

“Because Tony and Steve want everyone to contribute to the channel.” It would surprise no one that the idea to start an Avengers Youtube channel had been Tony Stark’s idea. Actually, the team had always had one, as far back as the early shield days. It was more for publicity. Things like showcasing highlights from non-classified missions, charity events and press conferences were the types of clips that were typically uploaded. There were even occasional interviews from new members as they joined the team.

After the virus had struck, Steve and Tony had been looking for more ways to connect with the public. Tony wanted to have a way to talk with civilians about the real science of everything. While Steve’s motivations were a little more home grown. He wanted to give people on the outside a chance to see what life was like for the Avengers. He wanted people to know that the team was just as suspectable to the virus as the public and that the public could have as much of an impact on fighting this thing as the Avengers did.

“Peter may have let it slip that you haven’t contributed one video to the channel since we started it months ago.” You explained to Bucky. “I know cameras aren’t exactly you’re thing so I figured you could help me out with my segment today. Plus, you’re my favorite.” You said before tapping him on the nose with your index finger. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He complained beside you. You nodded to Peter who was standing behind the camera and began the video’s intro.

“Hey everyone! It’s [Y/N] here with another segment of the Avengers Quarantine Fifteen! That’s where we give you a fifteen-minute glimpse into what it’s like here at the Avenger’s Compound in Washington, DC.! Today I have a special guest with me, in his Youtube debut, Sergeant Bucky Barnes!” You paused to indicate Bucky who was standing next to you.

“Hey.” He nodded to the camera and offered it an awkward half wave.

“Okay, everyone,” You said looking into the camera. “I know we’re all bored out of our minds. We’ve been quarantining or sheltering in place for what feels like forever! I have to admit I’ve become addicted to watch those weird life hack videos; Buck you know the ones I’m talking about?” You asked him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He shrugged. He looked past the camera at Peter who tried to wave his attention away.

“Don’t worry you will very soon. For those of you at home who, like Bucky, have no idea what I’m talking about, a life hack is something that’s supposed to make things easier.” You explained.

“Like waterproofing your shoes with beeswax?” Bucky asked excitedly. “That really works!” He insisted.

“Yes, like that.” You nodded. “So today we’re going to be testing out if these internet hacks actually work in a little game I like to call Helpful or Hustle. Okay, here we go.” You pressed play on a video that you’d already queued up on your iPad.

“Is Parker just going to film us watching a video for fifteen minutes?” Bucky asked you with uncertainty. You couldn’t help but laugh.  

“No.” You told him. “We’re gonna watch the hack first, then we’re going to try and recreate it.”

“But they can’t see it.” He commented pointing to the camera.

“They’ll see if after. In editing.” You assured.

“I’ll take care of everything Sergeant Barnes!” Peter called from behind the camera.

“There’s no way that works!” Bucky commented. Together the two of you watch the first hack where a woman deflated a balloon around a phone to act like a protective case. “They think because it’s made of rubber it’s going to protect…Do we have balloons?” He looked down at the table. I want to try this!”

You handed Bucky a balloon and an older cellphone that no one was using anymore. He began to inflate it immediately. At first it took Bucky a few tries to deflate the balloon like the woman in the video did. His initial attempts left him with a completely flat balloon, but after realizing he had to release the air more slowly, He had a rubber seal around the device. Bucky held the phone in his vibranium hand before letting it drop several feet the floor. You both heard the distinct sound of touch screen glass shattering.

“Well, Bucky, Helpful or Hustle?” You questioned as he bent down to pick the phone up.

“I think you already know the answer, [Y/N].” He said, holding the shattered screen for Peter to capture on camera. “I like this game. What’s next?”

“Back to the video.” You said, pointing to the iPad. You both watched the next “hack” Which involved filling a balloon with hot glue, tying it off and then using it as a sink stopper.

“I mean I guess that works.” He commented, scratching the back of his head. “But you know what else works?” He looked into the camera. “Fixing your sink so it has a stopper. If you can’t fix it yourself, hire a plumber. That’s a Hustle, next!” He pressed play again.

“I think you’re going to like this one.” You told him. You watch a video of someone blowing up a balloon using a water bottle, a funnel, vinegar and baking soda.

“Tell me we have the stuff to do this one.” He asked excitedly. “I very much want to know if this works.”

You and Bucky each picked up a balloon. You poured a cup of baking soda into each of the balloons using the funnel. You then filled the water bottle about halfway with vinegar. You had to guess with the measurements as the hack hadn’t provided them.

“Parker, you’re a science kid, is this safe?” Bucky asked Peter as you portioned out the vinegar.

“It’s what most schools use to make volcanos. Should be fine.” Peter nodded.

You and Bucky stretch the end of your balloons over the mouth of your water bottles. You nodded, and on your signal you both held up the balloon so that the baking soda dumped from the balloon into the vinegar. Almost immediately the balloons began to expand.

“[Y/N] look! It’s actually working!” Bucky exclaimed with disbelief.

“Well, I think this is as good a place as any to leave things. I’m afraid to see what happens when we try to remove these balloons. I’m [Y/N]…” You left a pause for Bucky.

“And I’m Bucky!” He said, thins time giving the camera an animated wave.

“This has been the Avengers’ Quarantine Fifteen!” You called, peering over your expanding balloon.

“Cut!” Peter said to let you both know he’d finished recording.

“That was great you guys!” Peter said enthusiastically. “Uh, [Y/N], you might want to take those things outside.”

“Good idea, Parker. I’ll take care of it.” Bucky offered. “Thanks for making me do this. I actually had a lot of fun. We should do it again sometime.” He collected both water bottles and carefully escorted them from the room.

“I have a few more things to film and then I can start editing. I’ll let you both know when it’s live.” Peter explained. You thanked him and started cleaning the room so it would be ready for the next person who needed it.

A little time passed, and you’d help some of the other team members film their own segments. You’d been staying busy doing other things too like raising a quarantine kitten. Yes, even the Avengers were not immune to the desire for new pets after being trapped inside. In hindsight trying to raise a tiny mammal in a giant military compound probably wasn’t a good idea, but you and Mittens were adjusting to each other. You’d almost forgotten about the segment you’d filmed with Bucky until Peter texted you the link one day.

You pressed play and started watching the video. You were surprised to see that Peter had been recording the banter between you and Bucky before you’d officially started filming. He kept every second of it in too, even the part where you booped Bucky on the nose and told him he was your favorite. You felt your cheeks get hot knowing the others were going to razz you about that later.

“Hey [Y/N]!” You heard someone calling your name down the hall. You poked your head out of your dorm room door. Bucky was walking towards you.

“Did you see Parker posted our video?” He pointed to his phone.

“Yeah, I was just watching it. What did you think?” You asked.

“I haven’t watched it yet. I’ve been reading the comments.” He told you. You scrolled through the commented on the video. Your eyes growing wide. It seemed the videos viewers liked seeing Bucky on the channel. They also seemed to really like you and Bucky together.

“I came to ask you, what does ‘Ship It’ mean?” He said.

“Where did you…” You assumed he’d read it in the comments and sure enough as you continued to read on there were plenty of posts with things like ‘Why and I shipping [Y/N] and Bucky so hard?’ and ‘I’m calling it, Bucky x [Y/N], I’ll go down with this ship and in this TED Talk…’

“Well, Bucky Ah…” You fumbled with your words trying to think of exactly how to explain the situation. “Shipping is an internet term for…”

“If you don’t want to tell me, I can just ask Parker or his friend…Ed?” He started to turn.

“No!” You caught him by the elbow. “Trust me, you do not want to ask anyone else about this one. Shipping is a term people use as a way to say they want two people to be a couple. Sometimes they’re already a couple or they may not be together any more and people aren’t ready to let that go. It’s usually about fictional characters but sometimes celebrities too.”

“Oh…Oh!” Bucky stared down at this phone with sudden realization. “So, when they’re saying that they Ship you and I, they’re implying…”

“That they want us to be a couple, yeah.” You nodded uncomfortably. You wished you could melt into the floor or fly away on a jet pack because the truth was, you’d always had a bit of a crush on Bucky. You never thought he’d be into you. You knew that the opinion of hundreds of people online wasn’t going to change anything, but at least someone else had seen a spark, as imaginary as it may be. “It’s a pretty common thing.” You added, trying to fill the awkward air. “Like I might say I ship Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson together because they seem really happy together. I don’t really know them, so it’s not really my place to say…”

“But I know us. So, would it be completely inappropriate for me to say that I also Ship us?” He questioned, looking up from his phone.

“Does being in a video on Youtube with the man you that gets tons of people commenting what a cute couple you’d make, so you’re both finally brave enough to admit that you have feelings for each other, count as a Life Hack?” You asked back.

“As usual, I have no idea what all of that meant, but I’m going to kiss you now okay?” He asked. You nodded ‘Yes’ in response.

[wexhappyxfew]

Shannon! I have a question for today, it might be a little broad, but how did you come up with Natia’s character? :)

AMY!!! hello! sorry that i have *just* gotten to this as my weeks have increasingly gotten insanely busy between my job starting back up, school, college stuff, and ap exam chaos as well haha! i did this at about 11pm(?) and i'll be queuing it up for the morning for you, but outside of tumblr, i've thought a lot about this question and what i really wanted to include in this question. having almost spent 10 months spent writing and developing natia to who she is today makes a whole lot of stuff move through my brain when i go back to my developing stages for her! thank you for the question (and the broadness, never fear, i absolutely love it!)

Natia's character really came from the idea of just wanting to really push myself out of the box and *out there* to see what I could do. And I will say Landslide is one of my most *out-there* projects in terms of content - I mean we have Death as a personified character, crazy Agent Mortem, all these past connections to Natia? It's chaos haha! But, I had experimented previously with a partly Polish-OC, Hazel Parker of "The Soldier of Stars", and from that, I went, well there's no centrally focused Polish OC yet that I have seen (this was back in like June-July 2020 mind you, so there probably has been Polish OCs created since this time!!) and I had always felt that the Warsaw Uprising was inherently important! I also read up on the Polish Resistance and how they were the most effective resistance group of continental Europe during the war, with ultimately the Warsaw Uprising being their last final push that did sort of end that.

Something I've really enjoyed about creating Natia's character was putting a great focus on her flaws. Now, her strengths are just as important - she is a great soldier in the field, she's highly intelligent and can make quick decisions on the fly, she withholds a lot of strength when it comes to situations where she needs to focus, she's observant, and she keeps herself fairly humble when not bursting at the seems. She doesn't let herself get stepped over very often (unless it's Mortem) and if anything she will insert herself, and show what skills she has, but she won't go overboard. She's also passionate about her country and her people and she always has something to fight for and even when she feels all hope is lost, she withholds a tiny little sliver no matter what, even if she doesn't feel it. But her flaws I feel are a massive part of her character. She's stubborn, she won't let people help her, she has trouble expressing emotion, she numbs herself more often than not to not feel the pain that she is supposed to feel, she blames everything on herself, she gets hot-headed quite easily, and grows to the point of nearly irrational at some moments in time and even will let her emotions get the best of her in times like this. But that makes up who Natia is as a character and who she is as a person in general.

But even with the strengths and flaws of her character, it makes her very much still a human being. And that was one of my main goals when creating Natia - make her human enough to make that angst HURT, but make her human enough that when you see her succeed or even the little wins here and there, you want to cheer. Because those are human moments. And I know this sort of character creation is not for everyone, but for me over the past near-year, this has been one of my favorite things about creating Natia because I've found myself able to relate to her even though I'm so vastly different from her.

I did some research on a British-Polish SOE Agent, Krystyna Skarbek otherwise known as her alias Christine Granville and I took a few liberties from this amazing woman and used it on Natia. But things such as Agent Mortem, Death/War connection and the eventual introduction of another character Solomon Campbell (who will be in Part 3), as well as the Resistance group of Part 1 and her siblings and parents, are all more of my own ideas and connections!

Something I have had a LOT of fun doing is showing that even though on the exterior Natia seems cold-hearted and dark and numb, and whatever other *cold+dark* ideas can be thought up, she is very much underneath -- not that. We can see how much evidently she cares for someone like George Luz; I mean even Joe Liebgott has pointed it out to her. She always is just trying to do her best and do what is best in the situation - no longer it is about what is good or bad anymore to her, it's about doing what's best in the situation for the time being, and I really love that aspect of her character a lot! We can see that when the war ends, she wants to live on the English coast, far away from war all alone with a dog and even a little goat in a seaside cottage. She grew so attached to the word AWOL after Joe Toye came and sat with her that night in Holland and they talked for once about something other than war. She even withheld her name, her nationality and just about everything else to keep the idea of the cold-face agent she thought she was up so the men of Easy Company don't have to know the real her. But -- was it to protect her...or to protect Easy? All these little ideas I threw in there to show that she is actually, very, compassionate in many ways, and caring and attentive and observant of the men and women she works with.

I really try to show that Natia listens when she listens to someone speak and she observes and she pays attention more than anything. And she ends up, holding information like that close to her and finding comfort in it.

My goal with Natia was to show that there can be a balance to "the bad-ass fighter" idea who fights for what she believes, but also remain human as well. We can see how much things affect her, especially the loss of friends. Of course, she doesn't show this to other people, but to use as readers, we see this and we see her occasional breakdown - and in a way, she continues living on their legacies because she listened to what they had to say. For example, Zdzich told her to not let the war overtake her, and throughout the story so far, we've see her sort of repeat this to herself in various ways. Because Zdzich meant that much to her. She's lost so much by this point in war that almost it's so sad to see that she, from what we all know of BoB, still has to go through so much, but at that point, she's fought so much, that all she can do it keep pushing on with it.

I think one of the most interesting moments from writing Natia was when the first few chapters were actually uploaded on platforms and there was someone really coming after Natia for her decisions and for this, that and the other thing (amy if i vaguely remember i think you remember who this person is as well because you clapped back at them once, and man your response was GOLD!!!). One of those things was Natia's approach with food (TW: mentions of struggling to eat with food, references of depression and struggling to eat, mental health issues relating...) and the person who commented would always be saying something about how she needs to eat, and she needs to remain strong and she needs to snap out of it with her depression and all this other stuff and to be honest, I sort of sat there for a moment like??? But there's reasons WHY she's not eating? Why she's holding back? (And of course ones I had mentioned so...) But let's move on.

Mental health was a prevalent thing in World War 2, though it was not looked upon fondly and Natia essentially does have depression as well as a border-line eating disorder. And so when the comment said that she had to snap out of it, I don't know it sort of off-put me because I have family with both those disorders and they've had treatment for it for years and you can't just snap out of it. I really tried to stress that 'the snapping-out-of-it" does not work, and the person kept firing back a bit at it, so I just moved on from it and ignored it. Natia's struggle with eating, as one can see, also comes from the heavy guilt and grief that is slowly uncovered throughout the story of what Natia has done and what has happened throughout the course of the war to her. Natia's number one thing she constantly does and has now become the focus of many character relationships with her (ie Doc Gene Roe) is the clenched fists, that she squeezes until they bleed and eventually need wrapped up by the Doc. Something she also refuses to accept she has a problem with. As we can see, acceptance is a concept she struggles with more than anything and something she will essentially have to learn to simply, accept.

That's just sort of one of the many bits of information about her character that I added, especially in society today as mental health is so important and so I just wanted to share a bit of the backlash I got from someone for it. But I guess that's life, but I'll continue to write Natia Filipska as an OC who does struggle with depression because of her life in war.

Natia's character and her story is probably one of the most complex characters and stories I've written and crafted and created and I'm just extremely happy with how she ended up coming out in the end! I'm about to go and do some writing and editing for her and it's just so exciting writing her because of all these various levels she withholds and she slowly lets uncover as the story unfolds! I just love it! OH - and we can't forget about the infamous mentions of the piano....yep that'll be coming up soon haha!! <3

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION AMY!!! IT MEANT SO MUCH!!!! just getting to talk about Natia a little bit and her character and what my mind set was creating her - it means so much. my mindset with her is somehow always changing and shifting as she goes through her character arc throughout the story and how her developmental shifts and it's just something i really love and enjoy more than anything!!! <3 so thank you for letting me just talk about it for a little while as well as my thoughts and opinions, it means a lot :)

[cluelesslesbian]

Check-In Tag✨

AKA a very long post about moi and this account bc I was tagged by the lovely @katelfiredemon <3

IF YOU SEE THIS, PRETEND I'M TAGGING U like this is completely optional (and long omg) so I don't wanna FORCE anyone to do it but asjhkl I think it's cute

1. why did you choose your url?

My og url was something dumb bc I only used tumblr to keep up with artists and writers I admired… this one is revamped to be ~relatable~ bc I wanted something that I felt comfortable adding on my art?? But ok-

clueless = because THERE’S TIMES THAT I’M A LIL SLOW TO GET A JOKE SDFHJKL

lesbian = bc I’m not out to my family but my sexuality is something I like about me,,, so I wanted to acknowledge it somewhere (and the anonymity of tumblr = ideal tbh)

2. any side blogs? if you have them: name them and why you have them

I made one like yesterday lol! It’s @blue-dragon-shin-ah and it’s for Akatsuki no Yona (an anime and manga I TOTALLY rec! It’s like a historical themed fantasy, comedy, romance WITH a found family trope it’s so good)

but ngl I have no clue how to keep track of more than 1 blog so it'll be a lot more inactive than this one asdhkl

3. how long you’ve been on tumblr?

hmm according to my tumblr account it’d be 2016 since that’s the oldest post I’ve kept (I deleted everything and revamped this acc in december 2020)

BUT I did the math and I would’ve made this account in middle school so around 2013-2014 lol I don’t think I used it much until voltron was booming in like 2016-2018.. Then I lowkey stopped… until now!

4. do you have a queue tag?

oof no

……...I probably should? like 90% of my blog is queued or scheduled… but ngl I barely remember to tag posts at ALL some nights so I probably won’t (rip if that’s annoying,, but I don’t make much og content so I figure anyone following me is chill with this lol)

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

In middle school?? To see funny posts and not be pressured into having an ~online presence~ tbh. That’s literally it lol

6. why did you choose your icon?

Matching with @lesbianklance rn! and keith's expressions r hilarious

Before I just,,, chose sokka bc I love that blue boi and the edit of him had a yellow bg that I LOVED (and matched with my pink theme)

7. why did you choose your header?

Matching with @lesbianklance rn! and klance sdjfhk

Before it was just a colour palette bc I wanted my blog to be my fav colour: PINK

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

My zukka art omg- like I did one that I put effort into which I KNOW is my top post (it’s got like 600 notes??? I still can’t believe it I love that!! 🥰)

BUT MY SECOND TOP IS A POST OF REALLY REALLY ROUGH SKETCHES OF THEM AND I LOWKEY CRINGE AT IT (it’s got like 500 notes.. And I’m like… y ?? I can DO BETTER 😭)

9. how many mutuals do you have?

…...listen I’ve literally never had mutuals until this year (minus my one irl.. I love u bitch!! but u know that bc we text on other platforms too)

idek am i supposed to be keeping track??? I just smile a lot when i see the darker-tinted notifs in my activity feed

10. how many followers do you have?

hmmmmmmm ok i lowkey don’t want to answer this bc my whole love for tumblr is that followers don’t matter? You could follow me today and unfollow tmrw bc i ship something you don’t and life moves on??? So yeah no answer here

11. how many people do you follow?

1807 babeyyyy

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

...wait define shitpost- technically any original post under #yeetidk might be a shitpost cause they’re all just?? my shitty rambles tbh???

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Sometimes i’ve got the app open allll day long but other days?? I’ll go on like once in the morning or at night just to check my notifs and then that’s it

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

lmaoo bold of you to assume i interact with anyone enough to have a fight (AKA no)

If i did tho?? I’m the type to try and come to some middle ground before dropping the issue so idk- i’m more likely to lose bc i’m willing to （づ￣3￣）

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

Wish-granting/curse stuff: no.

Politics/Donation posts: depends! I try to only reblog posts like these that I know a bit about bc I don’t really wanna contribute to misinformation ykno?

I did start tagging these posts as #important but I’m not like?? gonna be mad at anyone for not reblogging political posts (also a heads-up if you wanted to block #important: I also tag some lgbt+ stuff under there so you’ll likely miss those too, not a huuuge loss but just an fyi yknow??)

16. do you like tag games?

asdfghjkl this is honestly the first tag game i’ve ever been part of so i have no opinion 😭 tho formatting this post has been a bitch asdhjkl I gotta get back to my homework when I'm finally done this

17. do you like ask games?

I've done a grand total of 1 and I felt so?? ashgjl awkward and bad for asking people to talk to me about myself- maybe if I do one that isn't about me I'll like it more

I do love sending other people anons to compliment them when they do these games tho 😌

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

....this requires me to pay attention to people I follow more than I have been so I literally have no idea??

19. do i have a crush on a mutual?

yes. the one readings this. love u, sweetheart 😘

/jokes

I don't?? usually get crushes? idek.. thought I was aromantic for a while bc of that lmaoo (but then I got a crush on someone irl and I was like "oooh ok so maybe im just gay then")

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Dumbass

Seifa

8 loss streak at cards with Ven and Eli

EIGHT.

Couldn’t cope, went from talking cocky bullshit and swanning around their table to grab her favourite spot against the wall, to swearing under her breath and stink eyeing Ven when he won for the 4th time.

How. She was good at poker. She was made for poker, this wasn't luck anymore - he was clearly cheating. Took no time accusing him of this either, brandishing a shaky lipstick tube at him like a switch blade, snarling that it wasn't funny anymore and to stop using his jank-ass future bullshit to WIN.

Got smirked at lovingly, he wasn't! Swore on his damn life, a laughing Eli joined in and tried to help convince her. Ven wasn't doin’ nothing, she was just losing! This shit happens Sei, calm down!

Absolutely refused to, got more worked up as the drinks kept coming, the wins kept stacking against her, and whatever little injoke the brothers were enjoying apparently kept getting funnier.

Tried to storm out but only managed a half way confident wobble after way too many tequilas, swore up a storm that she'd never come back, they weren't worth her time, bled her dry and cheated. Eli had called after her that they'd see her for a rematch tomorrow.

They did, and she kept losing.

This went on over a week, her intense stubbornness refusing to acknowledge they were just better at poker. I mean they couldn't be, she'd been reading tells since she was FIVE. Her pride wouldn’t let her call it quits - she kept her coming back nightly, and her wallet kept getting slimmer.

It eventually all made sense on the final night when she was ready to flip their goddamn table and Eli was on the verge of needing an oxygen mask with how hard he was pushing his lungs laughing at her red-faced little egotistical shithead tantrums.

He managed to catch it all on E-Time with Troy, the exact moment she finished another volley of slurs and turned to grab her coat, catching her filthy glare in the wall mirror as she did.

The mirror she'd been sitting in front of... every night.

Tyreen and Troy - Early COV

Some of the bandit clans like Troy better. It doesn't upset her, people think it would but it doesn't, it makes sense. Her brother and her are very different, there have always been the groups who shrink away from her and side-eye him in awe, just like there were ones who'd carve their own skin off to offer her praise and not even notice her brother.

The brute clans, the muscle, those always seem to swarm to the God Queen. The Slabs, the Rippers, the cannibal hoards covered in gore and screaming for glory, but the others always flock to her brother. The schemers and the more technically orientated like the Tink-Tanks and Bloodshots... then there's the Rats.. but she doesn't like to think about those.

She prefers not accompanying him when he's visiting a compound she knows he'll get all the attention in, I mean, what would be the point in the end? She'd rather just stay home and wallow in priest's adoration, but he was harder to convince.

He was meant to have left hours ago but was still prowling around the cloister, muttering and complaining to himself as he rushed to try and organise content. If he goes, who's going to cover the editing? They've 4 uploads ready for posting but he's not scheduled them yet, who's going to organise it? What about the media tags, there's a merch push that has to be released 2.5 hours prior and blah blah blah blah.

She told him to shut the hell up and leave it to her. She'd got this, bro! Stop worrying, it's no problem, everything would be fine. She could manage this without breaking a sweat, just fucking shut up and leave already, the escort caravan was hours overdue.

He'd narrowed suspicious eyes at her and asked if she was SURE about this, they had sponsor contracts for the upload times, shit had to go up when it was due to or they'd breach serious deals, and she'd groaned sarcastically at him. Just go. This stuff is easy. Of course she can do it. If he can, she can. Duh.

Troy had gone silent for a moment, glaring daggers as he hissed out controlled breaths, then turned and stalked out of the cloister - the crackling atmosphere dragging behind him like a stormcloud.

Idiot. She had everything sorted that hour. Queued the whole list at staggered intervals, date and times scheduled and planned exactly as he'd left notes for. Easy, just like she'd said.

Tyreen woke up to an e-dev on the verge of crashing and Troy's contact alerts covering the homescreen in flashing warning panels that made her eyes swim.

What the fuck did you DO. WHERE ARE THE UPLOADS?? 6 hours late, 3 flays missing, one product review, ALL THE SPONSOR MERCH DROPS. FUCKING MORON, WHERE ARE THEY.

Her stomach dropped as she checked the queue. Empty. Gone. Nothing. Where were they... she'd.. scheduled everything?? It was done, she'd triple checked before bed she'd... when she noticed the date in the screens corner, time froze around her.

It was the 1st. She'd scheduled for the 30th... and last month had 29 days. System error, queue wiped, content gone.

All his media team's work, his editing, she.. she hadn't backed up the files, why would she have? It was done it was all done she.. she..

She couldn't handle replying. Knew it was just making things worse but couldn't do it. Felt her guts turn inside out at the thought, so climbed under her duvet to wait in dread. Easier to block things out right now than face what was coming. Easier to pretend.

He said nothing when he got back. No contact, straight into Sanctum and at work placating enraged sponsor contacts, organising his team to botch together replacements from cuts, covering the COV's ass silently and efficiently as always.

Said nothing, till she got a ping later that night -

I'll be controlling content management fully from this point on, keep out of my way and stick with whatever the fuck kind of things YOU have talent in... if any.

I mean hell, having an IQ high enough to know how to count days clearly ain't one of them is it, you IDIOT.

Doesn't matter that she knew she deserved it, or that she'd been such a tool to him while insisting she had it covered, that stuck with them after. He'd been too blunt, and she was never able to shake the confirmation that her brother really did think she was stupid.

Ven and Eli belong to the amazing @hieroglyphix​

[causticsunshine]

twenty questions

tagged by @are-you-quite-finished-giovanna thank you babe!! 🥰

1. why did you choose your url?

simply put i adore louis and i like purple and it just rolled off the tongue lol, but i also had a list of possible urls i also liked and i had to snatch this one up while i could!

2. any side blogs?

yes i have four....i'm not one of those 'everything goes on main and you can deal with it' type people.... but i have an inspiration blog @prickelndauge (art insp, lots of fashion, cool photography), an art-only blog @swmpwxtch, one just for spooky/creepy content because i'm really into horror manga and scary movies and that kind of stuff but i keep it off of main because i know a lot of it can often be triggering to others! (i also don't post much there but @bonepickng) and one for art references, life tips, random resources, and more donation sharing @am-ref!

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

soooo long i thought i'd be gone by now tbh. i know i signed up in 2011 after just browsing the site through random blogs and tags for ages, but i didn't start actively using my own account until early 2012!

4. do you have a queue tag?

when i actually remember to tag things i have queued i'll use 'i'm sleep queue' because all my early morning posts everyday are queued....i am an insomniac rip

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

keeping up with my interests better! i was like 15/16 at the time so it made sense. back in Ye Olde Days much like now—i really have come full circle lmao—it was mostly just for 1d and then some random tv shows/franchises i just to see content of semi-often, as well as finding cool art!

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

rn it's just a regular pic of louis! as much as i like using my collages or little edits as my icons, you can't see much of anything and it looks too busy sometimes (but also the photo i have rn....i am always thinking thoughts about it soooo)

7. why did you choose your header?

it's pretty! i wanted everything to follow a color scheme + i love embroidery and fancy gowns!

8. what's your post with the most notes?

ok i thought it was gonna be one of my old larry chibi doodles because i know a few of them hit 1k+ notes, but i deleted those in 2017 and apparently now it's this 6 year old like....funky photo study i did of dan howell from 2015 when i still watched him and amazingphil a lot?? i mean at least it's something i was once proud of lmao....there's a few art posts i have with semi decent notes that i pretend i Do Not See

9. how many mutuals do you have?

i think rn 40 something so not very many, although i unfollowed a lot of people i was moots with when i left my last fanbase so that's probably why 😬 i've been meaning to check out more HL/ot5 people though!! i love mutual interaction but i'm afraid of being annoying if i'm any degree of attentive

10. how many followers do you have?

overall i have almost 2.4k rn, but there's a decent amount that are totally inactive or at least don't interact with me so it feels like....a lot less lmao but since re-joining 1d i've already made up like all the people i lost when i left my other fanbase of almost three and more so thank you for actually liking my work and maybe me as well 🥺💗

11. how many ppl do you follow?

around 370 rn!

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

half of the stuff that comes out of my mouth is a shitpost fdngjkdf like my tags are bad enough lmao, no one needs to properly share the bs i have to say

13. how often do you use tumblr?

pretty regularly rn but there are times i'll go completely MIA depending on what i'm into/how busy i am!

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog?

in the past i have had some....issues with other people i've met on here but never directly had confrontation with them? most of the time that's happened i figure it's been one-sided though because i can get irritated with certain behavior really quickly—like i always say my heart is big and open but my bullshit tolerance is dangerously low—but when that's the case i'll just unfollow or block without saying anything?

although back in the day there was one instance (and seriously if anyone remembers this you deserve a medal because this shit was Ridiculous) where i kinda but not really called out another 1d fanartist who posted untagged noncon fanart they'd done of at least two of the boys, and then acted like it was no big deal (like. 1. those are irl people my dude and 2. untagged noncon art?? in front of my salad??) and their friends kept defending them for it and tried to come for me claiming i was a proponent of Purity Culture when i'm not and literally all i said in my post on it was that in my own opinion it was kinda fucked up to draw noncon art of real life people—not characters played by actors! but actual real people as themselves—in the first place, but if you felt the need to post highly triggering content like that the least you could do was tag it accordingly

but i think that was the last time properly so i guess times within this fanbase are still chaotic as ever just in a different way?

15. how do you feel about "you need to rb this" posts?

Annoyed™️ like don't guilt trip me over a post lmao i do what i want !!

16. do you like tag games?

YES i love to talk about myself after years of trying not to show any personality online out of fear of judgement dfjkngdf

17. do you like ask games?

yes! i want to do them more but i'm always afraid of reblogging one and then getting nothing and looking like a Fool :'(

18. which one of your mutuals is tumblr famous?

i guess i have a few moots that are kinda well-known or at least get good interaction within the community we're a part of? also isn't that phrase kind of an oxymoron at this point adfjkdf

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

not past platonic friendly affection lmao but honestly what is it like to have a realistic crush on an actual tangible person versus someone in the public eye who doesn't even know i exist.....it's been so long and i am so lonely please send help

20. tags?

@niallnailme @bolitodequeso @milkcurls @exzouis @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @got-my-devotion @aliensyndrome uhhh anyone who'd like to please consider yourself tagged by me! literally if there was an 'all my moots' button i'd just pick that lmao and as always no pressure/sorry if you've already done this and i haven't seen!

[ellipsesarefun]

DAMIRAE DAY 5: Soulbond

A/N: SO THIS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE I SWEAR HAHHAHAAH. It’s probs the coffee talking but damn. Finished this baby todaaayyy after reviewing for a subject (and damn is this a weird day because writing and studying feels like two different worlds) so this will be queued to post on the 14th or 15th? Maybe I’m too excited but it’s been awhile since I’ve been excited to write something.. Been awhile since I’ve used 1st POV. This is probs a bit messy :( But I’ll edit some stuff out someday..

May not be participating anymore but I hope to come back to DamiRae <3 It’s been a comfort to me during my study breaks.

------

There are some things about my magic that I cannot fully comprehend nor explain. 

Ever since I’ve healed the young Robin, I’ve been receiving vivid dreams. I can’t fully grasp the images but the emotions that wake me to reality are always filled with heartaches, pining, and desperation. I never bothered to clue anyone in on what they are. Kory knows I have dreams but I can never tell her what happens in them because I don’t know how to describe them.. Damian has his ways of knowing. The little bird never lets me forget that. But he never asked, just implied. And I never said anything, merely let him draw his own conclusions.

I’ve been harboring feelings for him for a long time but I never acted on them for a number of reasons... Sometimes, we were romantically and sexually involved with other people. Other times, there never seemed to be a time and place to voice it out on the open. The moments we spent alone meditating, reading together, flying during my nightly rituals are the moments I cherish too much to let him feel my burden.

But out of all the reasons I've expounded, My father is the center. Even when I have created an enchanted fortress created out of his and my own demonic magic (with the help of Constantine and Zatanna), I still fear that he may one day break through those chains and destroy Earth... and kill Damian. Trigon senses the bond between us and it disgusts him.

His insults hit right through my own insecurities. I mean technically, he is trapped in crystal that’s stored in a small box that I carry around but damnit there are times when his thoughts crowd over to mine and... it terrifies me.

The mechanics of the bond isn’t the “if he dies, then I die too” but more of “I feel his presence more than I let on”. I still have no idea if it also might be the former, but the latter is one that I experience often. I don't always know what he is feeling (I may be an Empath but I have my mental barriers to maintain). It's only when he's in danger do my senses burn right through my barriers. It probably comes with this strong sense of protectiveness within me, a desperate need to keep him safe... and it’s becoming a little too obvious.

Throughout the six years as Titans, training with Damian has gradually become a torture... Every urge to shot turns into every urge to shield him from the pain... Every scar he receives fuels my anger against those who dare to hurt him, especially the enemies we’ve faced during missions and/or patrol. 

The last one was worse. I arrived at the scene with him on the floor, body tainted with bruises and then..

I saw him on the floor.. suddenly burnt into ashes.. face barely recognizable... I heard my screams of agony, despair, and heartbreak as I watched my other self enveloping him in what seems a spell..

I love you...

And it wasn’t a dream but a memory... It all felt so real, like I was in Apokolips (what the hell is Apokolips?) once more and the Earth has crumbled to its fucked up state and he was gone and I needed to save him (from what?)...

I didn’t even stop to comprehend what it was and I lost my control. 

AZARATH. METRION. ZINTHOS!

...

I blacked out, I think, and now I find myself back in the infirmary of the Titans Tower. Not a single glimpse of a sunlight reached the room and nothing stands out from the dark except a figure sitting beaide me.

"Hi." Is the only greeting I offered. Damian stands and turns the lights back on. He sits back down, burning holes into my skull. I squint at the brightness and immediately force myself to focus at some place that isn't him.. I couldn't bare to look at him.

I hear a sigh but I let my gaze linger at the clock far longer than I liked, matching my breaths with the ticks and tocks of the arrows of the clock. His agitation prickles at my senses like a thorn to my side. The damned urge to come and wrap him in my arms gradually resurfaces once more. 

He clears his throat just in time, like he already knew what I was thinking and I look down, hoping he doesn’t notice the heat pooling my cheeks. 

“Look,” he says and I pause my train of thought, “You and I both know there’s more to this that letting your demon lose and almost killing Dr. Light, so let’s not beat around the bush.” I couldn’t look at him, I just can’t bear to.. But I nodded, just so he knows that I’m taking his words seriously (and I always do)..

I might as well tell him..

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since the first time I healed you.” There’s movement from my periphery but I ignore it, “Of you.. dying...” Silence is his only answer so I continued.

“It wasn’t that bad at first but through years it’s been difficult to fight this desire to protect you all the time.” I haven’t reached the most important part yet and I’m already feeling the rising tension in the air. He holds up a hand, and I wait for him to speak as I try to calm my heartbeat. 

“Raven, I was trained by the League of the Assassins. I know how to handle myself-” 

“I know you do, Damian.” I cut him off, hearing my voice rise a bit,

(And I realize later that he didn't need to say this because damnit the smart ass saw right through me. He only did so to bait me into confessing.)

“But these aren’t nightmares.. not really. They’re from another timeline.” I let out a sigh. This conversation is beginning to exhaust me but he needs to know. I turn to him this time and he’s not holding back his own concern etched on his face. He gets up from his chair and sits at the edge of my bed. My gaze drifts to his hand. I remember a lingering feeling, probably from another memory of that timeline, that he’d reach out and hold my hand in his. 

“There was a war.. We were around at this age..” I continue, “We were trying to stop someone and... you died in the process. I revived you.. brought you back from the dead.” I watch him watch me. Not a single gasp was uttered nor any ounce of surprised was showed on his face. I didn’t sense any of that. There was so much I can pick from that unreadable frown. 

Longing, concern, understanding.. and it’s only occurred to me that he knows. He’s known this whole time. I was too engrossed to what he felt and what Trigon may do that I didn’t stop to read through his actions. But does he...

No.. I shouldn't ask... not when I haven't laid all the cards out..

"We have a bond.. sort of." I say, and he nods, confirming of his own assumptions, "But I'm not sure if this will get us killed. So far the pain inflicted on you does not mean I receive the same kind of pain. It just fuels my drive to protect you."

"And you think that this was a result from our previous affections to one another in that timeline." He concludes.

"We never really spent time together as... together." I say. It feels out of the blue but something about what I said needed to be heard, "You left for the League of Assassins. You offered me a place there because you had feelings for me. I would have went with you if Trigon hadn't threatened me to kill you if I stayed..."

I face him, feeling this odd confidence swelling within me. "I do still have feelings for you. And Trigon still wants to kill you so.. that hasn't changed.." 

There is a slight elation and giddiness within me as I catch a mixture of bewilderment and amusement on his features. But my heart begins to soar as I watch a tiny, tender smile drawn by his lips.

I've seen that smile before.. a couple of times. There were only glimpses of that smile during our many glances throughout the years, hidden beneath the layers of his mask.

And now the last of his mask has finally come off.

"Raven," he says and I feel the tingle in my ears at the sound of my name, "You should know by now that my perseverance exceeds the fear of being devoured by demonic conquerer of worlds."

I frown at him. "You sound so sure of yourself..."

"You've defeated him twice, Raven." He reasons, "In this timeline and probably in other timelines. You were lucky, you say, but now.. you're--no, we're, more than four times as lucky."

"Damian.. where is this all coming from?" I ask, because he makes it sound so simple. Like he's up against merely a strict father who wouldn't let his daughter marry the person she loves in those cheesy romcoms. But this isn't a romcom. This is Trigon, for Azar's sake..

"He isn't called a Conquerer of Worlds for no reason!"

"And that doesn't stop you for creating a tiny fortress that entraps and gradually diminishes his demonic magic instead of trapping him in a crystal and sticking it to your forehead from your other timeline. Look Raven,” he continues, “You and I both know that there’s something between us? Why wait for the inevitable?” Why wait till I leave for the League of Assassins? Why wait till the possibility of Apokolips comes around again? He leans in and his bright green eyes search my own.

I keep my frown on my face, not wanting to give in to his charms. He throws back a smirk because he's fucking...

"Insufferable. That’s what you are." I spit the words at him, only halfheartedly at best. He laughs. The cheeky fucker is laughing me.

"But I'm a kind and generous soul." He teases with a grin on his face. And shit, I can't fight my own my smile any longer. He reaches out and I meet him halfway, entwining our fingers together. I haven't affirmed anything but the gesture already is the answer. Our answer. We’ve been dancing around this for a long time. Might as well take the chance before it’s too late.

Something magical, his aura perhaps, loops with my own. I close my eyes let the magic guide me.. and him. A meadow materializes itself and I find him in the distance, his smile warm and inviting. I extend my hand to him and he mirrors my actions. A raven flies out of my hand and another one out of his. At the same time we open our eyes and-

The magic suddenly bursts forth into a kaleidoscope of colors, a plethora of shapes of any kind. They all coalesce into a giant raven. A white raven. It soars above us, circling around the room with a happy tune. It eventually disappears into a sparkle of fireworks. We laugh and turn our gazes to one another. 

With foreheads pressed against each other, we guide our silent conversation with twinkles in our eyes and smiles forming on our lips. It's like those typical chessy lovebird montage things people see in romantic subplots. It might be the calmness of the air or the sleep edging its way through my train of thought but I can sense our heartbeats in sync. A lullaby to my woes, perhaps, but someone like me can hope that this bond is knitting our souls into a comfortable blanket, however mysterious and unpredictable it may be.

Trigon's box rattles on the table. I almost forgot that it was there in the first place. I feel his presence, cursing disgusting words at the edge of my aura but I pay no heed. 

After all, I'm a billion times luckier now.

[filleguernesiaise]

My lockdown feels

Ever since lockdown begun at the end of March I’ve felt confident that we will get though this as our government have handled the situation expertly and with confidence, there is nothing better than feeling like you are in the best hands and when the whole community does what they are told you know we will be ok. The media briefings were very informative and the experts always gave clear and concise information. I’ve always felt our community spirit would show its true self if it had to and although I never would have foreseen or indeed have wanted to predict a pandemic, these times have shown that we do indeed live on an amazing island full of incredible people.

I didn’t work for 6 weeks so I had plenty of time to do all those odd jobs around home that of course I’ve been putting off time and time again, from photo editing to spring cleaning to craft making and even finally starting to research our family tree. However I also felt incredibly guilty as my work place was still open, we had to adhere to government guidelines so we were only allowed 2 people on site at any one time. Naturally the more experienced machine operators with the machines we could run were called in, I know I wasn’t one of them but I wished I could help. 6 weeks after lockdown begun the guidelines were relaxed a little so we were allowed 5 people on site, honestly I still wouldn’t have been first on the list to be called in but I wanted to help and was prepared to learn a new machine so I got the call which I was very grateful for.

It’s weird but I was excited about going back to work, something I didn’t think I would be as I have been a little unhappy there in the last year or so. I’m not sure if it had more to do with the fact I was getting a bit bored at home, I am not sure bored is the right word as there was plenty I could do but I just couldn’t motivate myself and lazed around way too much. Maybe the whole situation was getting to me and I wasn’t allowing myself to really contemplate it, there were times i tried to reflect on everything that was going on but I would just block those feelings as they just seemed too unrealistic.

Now I am back at work, although on a different shift pattern to normal but then again what is normal at the moment, and I find myself thinking that I could have done so much more over those 6 weeks. I could have learnt a new language, learnt more on photo editing, learnt more on creative writing I mean the list goes on. I did listen to lots of book summaries on leadership and management on an app that work set up for us but well it was more fun to watch animal videos on Facebook or Tiktok videos.

I went on a few walks during the first month of lockdown, we were allowed out for a maximum of 2 hours exercise per day and preferably direct from your home so not driving to a location. Do you know even writing that feels so unreal, allowed out?! I mean what the heck! Anyway it was really nice seeing all the rainbow art and the Guernsey bunting people had put out, it really proved that the whole Guernsey community were really all in this together.

Unfortunately and very sadly we had to have our cat put down early on in lockdown, she started having bad seizures and along with slightly dodgy kidneys and age not being on her side (she was 20!) the vets really couldn’t do anything for her. It was heartbreaking seeing her have the seizures and deteriorate so quickly in such a short space of time, we didn’t want her to suffer any longer but it is always such an awful decision. I read something somewhere that said they are compassionate cuddle buddies and empathetic, emotional companions, at times during lockdown that’s exactly what I really needed so it was really hard not having that.

With all my family shielding I went and did the grocery shopping, we also got deliveries but there was always something you just couldn’t get delivered. Most of the time I found the experience ok, the shops were great with all the safety procedures put in place correctly but of course you always get people who push the limits. I only found one shopping experience pretty horrendous and it was down to people not wanting to observe the 2 metre social distancing rule and generally pushing in, I didn’t think I really suffered with anxiety until then but luckily I managed to keep myself calm, stepped back and took my time.  

That’s the thing I’ve noticed over lockdown especially on social media that people are saying some really silly stuff, generally I think a lot of people even though they probably didn’t realise it and wouldn’t admit it but they were scared. I read so much stuff that irritated me but I just put it down to them maybe feeling lonely and wanting to vent without thinking and realising exactly what they were saying and the consequences of it, I’m sure now things have calmed down a bit that some will regret what they said.

I think that these strange times have made me take a step back and think what do I really want from my life, do I still want to be in the job that I’m in which is ok but not really want I want to be doing long term. To be fair the company have been amazing during this situation and I feel incredibly lucky to work for them and to have been supported so well by them. I also want to travel the world however I tend to spend a lot of money on one or two big holidays a year so maybe I should spend less on each holiday and go on more smaller ones, I guess these times really have been like a huge pause for some people and I am sure many have made some life changing decisions.

So after however many days, feels like so much longer, lockdown is over on the beautiful island of Guernsey where I live, no queuing to get in shops, no social distancing required and every shop, bar and restaurant is open. Unfortunately a few places have decided not to reopen which is really sad, now is the time we really must support our local businesses.  We still have controls on our border so only essential travel in and out of the island allowed with strict self isolating rules in place, I think it will be a while before we open them fully as other places still do not have the virus under control.

For now though it is great to be able to meet with family and friends, go back to our favourite cafes and restaurants and enjoy great food and company, but most of all it is great to be able to hug people again! 

[aroworlds]

The Vampire Conundrum, Part Two

When Rowan Ross is pressured into placing an aromantic pride mug on his desk, he doesn't know how to react when his co-workers don't notice it. Don't they realise he spent a weekend rehearsing answers for questions unasked? Then again, if nobody knows what aromanticism is, can't he display a growing collection of pride merch without a repeat of his coming out as trans? Be visible with impunity through their ignorance?

He can endure their thinking him a fan of archery, comic-book superheroes and glittery vampire movies. It's not like anyone in the office is an archer. (Are they?) But when a patch on his bag results in a massive misconception, correcting it means doing the one thing he most fears: making a scene.

After all, his name isn't Aro.

Contains: One trans, bisexual frayromantic alongside an office of well-meaning cis co-workers who think they're being supportive and inclusive.

Content Advisory: This story hinges on the way most cishet alloromantic people know nothing about aromanticism and the ways many trans-accepting cis people fail to best communicate their acceptance. In other words, expect a series of queer, trans and aro microaggressions. There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual", but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with romance.

Length: 3, 737 words (part two of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks.

“His name’s Aro,” Melanie says after lunch, showing a new volunteer around the office. She pats Rowan on the shoulder as she walks behind his chair, startling him enough that the clipping path he’s making around a photo of Damien’s head goes veering off to the side. “He does our website, our flyers and the information guides we send out. Aro like from the Twilight movies!”

Introductions once only encompassed Melanie’s habit of overly-stressing pronouns when referencing him—a dysphoria-triggering reminder that she doesn’t think him masculine enough for people to assume it. Isn’t that bad enough without her also getting his name wrong?

He sighs, frustrated. Complaining about this, when trans people are in desperate want of a working environment free of outright antagonism and discrimination, feels unreasonable. Hell, Rowan knows aromantics who’ll revel in being named “Aro”, so isn’t his hurt just pettiness? Isn’t this why he’s no longer welcome at home, a man too intolerant of his family’s mistakes? How many times did they tell him that his harping on about little things demonstrates a concerning lack of gratitude for their acceptance?

His co-workers do seem to believe in Rowan’s masculinity; he shouldn’t take that for granted.

Instead, he feels like he’s failing at being both transgender and aromantic.

After a fair amount of editing, he places Damien’s image in the brochure mock-up and exports to PDF. The office will make suggestions, some useful, some ignorant and some so absurd that Rowan will laugh with his friends later on, but that’s fine. He can’t expect otherwise in a workplace where everyone considers him possessed of unknowable ability with computers. They’re good people, in the main, and they care about their work.

It’s just complicated, and Rowan hates the feeling that complicated is the best cis people will let him get to a normalised acceptance.

“Aro? An Arrow fan called Aro? Really? Do you like comics or are you one of those people only into DC TV?”

Rowan looks up from attaching his PDF to an email to find the volunteer sitting on a creaking office chair and crab-walking it over to Rowan’s desk. “Comics?”

“Oh, good.” The volunteer sighs as if in relief. “I mean, the TV show? It isn’t terrible—better than most of DC’s movies, at least—but I’m so tired of people who call themselves fans but have never touched a comic book.”

Rowan glances at his journal cover, ponders its possible similarity to the show’s motif and nearly bursts out laughing. He’s never read a comic and doesn’t plan on doing so. He prefers indie podcasts and audiobooks on account of increased representation and greater ability to sew and cook while listening. “I’m not an Arrow fan. Sorry.”

Another show about cis people possessed of everyone-should-pair-up amatonormativity?

Hard pass.

“You’re not?” The volunteer gapes, waving his hand towards Rowan’s cluster of pride mugs. Three, now. Only one contains coffee, which feels like a terrible oversight. “Is this a joke, then? Are they getting you arrow stuff because of your name? Like some office thing?”

Aro.

His name is not Aro.

Rowan once thought the concept of snapping a mere storytelling device, something as ludicrous or impossible as “glittering eyes” or “romantic interest that lasts after getting to know someone”. At best an experience had by people without a brain that doesn’t devote most of its time to screaming alerts at the prospect of anything dangerous. Absurd, irrational, void of any real-life relevance.

Not even with his family has he felt this chilling, all-encompassing moment of enough.

He looks back at his computer, attaches a second PDF file to his email and, before he considers pesky things like consequences, clicks send. Then Rowan climbs up on his office chair, steps up onto the desk and whistles like a country boy who owned a border collie prone to sneaking off the property and rounding up the neighbour’s sheep.

Everyone in the office gapes up at him with a motley assortment of parted lips, unblinking eyes and, in Melanie’s case, the pointing of a long, vermillion-polished fingernail.

Up high, the room reeks of nesting rodents and the popcorn ceiling desperately wants refinishing.

Now Rowan’s brain tells his limbs to shake and his chest to heave; of course, he thinks as he shoves his hands behind his back, anxiety kicks in after he’s neck-deep in it! “My … my name is Rowan. I chose it.” He looks at the vent on the opposite wall, fighting to sound collected. Is that black mould? “Dad told me if I rejected my deadname, I was rejecting them. That I was being cruel and selfish. I earnt my name!” He stops, gasping for breath like a hooked fish—which, given his terror, feels far too appropriate a simile. “My identity is aro, short for aromantic, like being queer—one way of my being queer. So ... there’s a PDF booklet in your inbox about aromanticism. Read it! I’m proud of being aro, but you need to call me by the name I chose! It’s Rowan!”

He jumps down off the desk. The creaking laminate and the thud of his dress shoes, a little too large for Rowan’s feet, sound abominably loud in the sepulchrally-quiet room. Heading past giddy into faint, but pushed on by a heedlessness of the “this can’t possibly get worse because I’m going to be fired” variety, Rowan snatches up his satchel and reaches into the side pocket to pull out his handful of print leaflets. He drops one in the lap of the gaping volunteer, tosses the rest on an empty desk for luddites who prefer paper, and returns to his chair.

Seven sets of speechless eyes bore holes through his skull, shoulders and spine.

Rowan jams on his headphones, opens his no-romance metal playlist and turns his music up to a volume just short of deafening before queuing new posts to the project’s website.

When he invented the God of Trans Men as flippant rhetoric to cope with Melanie’s questions, is it right to pray to him?

***

Two hours later, doing his best to radiate an aura of do not disturb on pain of your bloody death, Rowan fights to pay attention to the last event write-up. Leaving early means asking permission and walking down the row of desks, risking stares and comments; he instead corrects Melanie’s idiosyncratic punctuation. Didn’t Melanie go to school at a time when they taught more than English comprehension? How doesn’t she know when not to use an apostrophe?

There’ll be consequences. Warnings? A formal discussion in the private office the supervisors only use for interviews? A request that he undergo counselling? A strong recommendation for psychiatric assessment? Firing? It isn’t like they can’t throw a rock and hit thousands of people under the age of forty with general computer skills and design ability who aren’t prone to standing on desks to make unwanted announcements.

No. Focus on the damn comma splices.

Should he ask his psychiatrist for the soonest possible appointment? New meds?

A tap on the shoulder makes Rowan’s head threaten to brush the probably-asbestos-riddled ceiling; he gasps and yanks off his headphones, trembling.

Melanie stands beside his chair, holding out her phone in its glossy pink case. “Those words that are underlined? Can I click on them to find out what they mean, like on a website? Like ... al-lo-sexual?”

“Hyperlinks in an interactive PDF—the file on your phone—work the same way as on a website,” Rowan says without thinking: in the last three months, he’s been asked this ten times. “If you click on those links, they’ll take you to a glossary at the end of the document with definitions.”

Damien sits facing his usual computer, his head tilted as if watching out the corner of his eye.

Melanie smiles the expression of a woman in an alternate dimension where Rowan doesn’t engage in embarrassing outbursts. “You’re so good at all this stuff, Rowan.” She stresses his name just enough that he can pretend she didn’t. “Where did you learn it all?”

He once tried to explain his philosophy of clicking on things only to realise that while the concept of generational divides requires excessive generalisation, a difference exists in terms of his willingness to fearless experimentation with electronic devices and programs. “School. Uni.”

“You’re so lucky. School was nothing like that when I was a girl. You have so many more opportunities now. And identities.” Melanie sighs and pushes a wisp of grey hair back from her eyebrows. “It’s good, it really is.”

Rowan blinks, startled into silence by a rare glimpse of validation stripped of performance and demonstration.

He hadn’t thought anyone here capable of it.

“It says that some people feel repulsed by romance? Are you like that? Should we do something? Do we need to not talk about romance in the office? Like, if I describe my daughter dating her boyfriend, not that I want to, is that bad? Do we need to hold a meeting? Damien—Damien—”

Damien turns, wearing the blinded look of a rabbit frozen in a spotlight. “Yes...?”

For how long has Damien worked with Melanie? For how long has the office rolled with Melanie’s interruptions and proclamations, her meetings called about the slightest of issues? For how long has the office accepted Shelby’s incessant reminding and Damien’s inability to surrender event photography to someone who knows how to modify their flash settings? Isn’t there a chance that they’ll tolerate Rowan’s occasional moments of desk-blathering?

A trans aro should be able to sew a patch on his bag reading “aro” without provoking cis weirdness. Since when does someone read a new word on his bag and assume that’s now his name? Isn’t that another over-the-top demonstration made by awkward cis people trying to prove their acceptance, something that’s never made Rowan feel safe?

Even when he’s aromantic, he never gets to avoid cissexism.

He slides his hands between the seat and his legs, aware of Melanie’s once again drawing the office’s unbroken attention. “I, personally, don’t care if people talk about their romances,” he says, certain that Damien needn’t answer Melanie about meetings, “but I do care when people assume I must want one. I do care when Sh … some of you just keep asking if I’m dating anyone.”

Rowan long set aside the need to bother with romance. He isn’t aromantic in the way most people first think of the word, as he does fall in love, but it describes his frayromanticism nonetheless. Why put himself through the inevitable messy, angry break-up when his partners don’t understand why what started as romance ends up to him as a friendship? When dating isn’t without trans-related challenges, why force himself into a type of relationship that he knows won’t last?

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks, in the same way it sanitises his equally-threatening bisexuality. If queers are holding hands and exchanging rings, just like cis and heterosexual couples, they’re safe.

He wants to be normal, but not that normal.

Melanie surprises him again by nodding. Opaque red only colours the corners of her lips; the worn centres reveal the brownish-pink beneath. “Like how we now don’t assume everyone’s—what’s the fancy word you use for not being you?”

“Cis. Yeah.”

“At my first job, I never dared yeah my elders. Can I ask what’s this a-sexual thing? Not-sexual? That’s a thing that can go with your a-ro-manti-cism? Am I saying it right? Is that something people can be?” Melanie grabs the volunteer’s vacated chair and wheels herself up to Rowan’s desk. “Tell me about this. Please.”

Damien gives a theatrically deep sigh, winks at Rowan and turns back to his keyboard.

Rowan’s tangle of feelings bewilders him too much to be simple relief, but he doesn’t appear to be at immediate risk of losing his job.

***

“We need to have a meeting!” Melanie announces ten days later, striding up to where Damien peers over Rowan’s shoulder to approve the touch-ups on a series of scanned photos. Rowan grasps the want to have a section on the website showcasing past events, but surely Damien’s film-camera predecessors weren’t all unable to take decent pictures? “Today. Perhaps before lunch?”

“Do we?” Damien doesn’t bother to turn his head. “What’s the number on the urgency scale, remembering that whiteboard markers aren’t a five?”

“I’m aro-ace.” Melanie stresses the words, beaming with the confidence of a child presenting a new finger-painted masterpiece. “I didn’t know, but I definitely am. I’m aromantic and asexual.”

“I’m glad for you.” Now Damien faces her, scratching his shock of unruly brown hair. “I don’t know why this needs a meeting? Do you want something addressed?”

Rowan leans back in his chair, too startled to do anything but watch. Melanie’s interrogation of him about all things a-spec over the last few days left him certain that she was questioning, but he didn’t expect this announcement—or Damien’s reaction to it.

“I’ve been reading, and I sent around a list of links everyone else should read, too. We must do something about our website. And, of course, everyone should know I’m aro-ace, and then let people ask any questions. Then we should consider changes to our submission forms, and then...”

Already, Melanie has done more to integrate her identity into the office and its projects than Rowan ever dared risk. Why, then, does he feel as though he’s being pressed inside a metal suit three sizes too small? Shouldn’t the end result be worth enduring a staff meeting in which she announces she’s aro-ace? Melanie being Melanie, she’ll gladly answer questions about aromanticism. Doesn’t that give Rowan everything he wanted—ability to be out as aromantic but someone else’s dealing with allo nonsense?

Matt’s right.

Rowan’s just a coward.

Damien nods at Rowan. “What do you think about that?”

“Uh...” Rowan draws a delaying breath, fighting against a brain too bewildered to be useful in forming comprehensible speech. “Uh … you’d have to run form changes past someone higher up, wouldn’t you? We have to ask about everything else? But...”

He doesn’t name Melanie a friend, but fellow aromantics aren’t common enough that Rowan will reject a companion—even if they’re cis and have subjected him to half a year’s discomfort, anxiety and alienation. He slides his restless hands under his legs, biting his lip against the sickening realisation. Melanie’s enthusiastic fearlessness may make this office and program better for him as an aro, but how can it answer all the attitudes that made Rowan fear coming out in the first place?

If he’s a coward, doesn’t he have reason?

“We do need a meeting,” he says slowly, his heart pounding in his chest like blast beats in death metal. “On better integrating marginalised people into our office. Because the way you emphasise my pronouns, Melanie, or the way Shelby reassures me five times that I can correct her … that doesn’t make me feel safe. It makes me feel reminded. Different. Too visible. And that’s why...”

“You ended up standing on a desk?” Damien asks with the gruffness of a middle-aged cis man trying to sound gentle.

“Yeah,” Rowan mutters. “That.”

Melanie clasps her fingers to her lips. “Oh! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just wanted people to get it right!”

How many times has he suffered through well-meaning people explaining that in response to his saying that they made him uncomfortable? How many times has he heard people justify their actions as though good intent always mitigates bad impact?

“You’re … you’re still making this about you! The only answer I want or need from you is thanks for telling me, Rowan, I won’t do it again! That’s all! Not your reasoning, not this effort to justify! I want to know that you hear me, that you’ll acknowledge that your intent however good still made me come home crying from dysphoria, and that you’ll stop because I don’t want to put up with it anymore! That’s all!”

For the second time in less than a fortnight, a chilling silence envelops the office.

“We need a meeting,” Rowan says breathlessly, reminding himself that at least this time he isn’t standing on his desk, “discussing how to include marginalised people in our office. Discussing all the microaggressions. Maybe you need to find … educators, trainers who come in and do this. I don’t know. I’m just so tired of never feeling safe or normal, never feeling like I can say anything because this isn’t hate and at least you’re not my parents! Like I don’t ever get to have anything better!”

He stands up, unsure what to do past fetching himself a distracting cup of coffee.

Maybe, then, he’ll be able to survive the way Melanie looks at him—as though he just ran over her puppy.

She just came out, and he did run right over it.

“I’m sorry.” Rowan sags onto his chair, leaning forwards to grab his satchel despite the unpleasant giddiness. “I’m sorry. It’s wonderful, Melanie, that you now know who you are and that you can come out. And it’s amazing that you’re doing things already, when I needed like six months just to get used to my knowing I’m aro. I just...” He reaches inside the satchel and pulls out a rough oblong shape wrapped in white tissue paper. “Here. I’m sorry.”

He, an allo-aro man, screwed up an aro-ace woman’s coming out. Shouldn’t he know better? He wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to curl up in a ball and hide under his desk. Even now, when he’s trying to get what he needs as a trans man, he’s being the worst kind of aromantic!

Her lips pinched, Melanie takes the present in her hands, worrying at the top piece of tape with her long, pink nails.

“We’ll have a meeting.” Damien runs his hand through his hair as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I’ll talk to the heads about … sensitivity training, I suppose this also is. Would you be willing to write me an email outlining some of these behaviours and any ways we can make this office safer for you? Is that an appropriate thing to ask of you?”

“I don’t mind,” Rowan says. As long as he doesn’t go ignored, he’ll send a few emails—and he already has a few blog posts on which to draw. “Thank you.”

“Do you … want anything, now? To talk privately to me or anyone else? Or to a senior supervisor? Or someone with the government body? Can I do or arrange anything else?”

“Coffee. Please. And … and then to go back to fixing photos as though absolutely nothing happened because I don’t … do this sort of thing.” Rowan heaves a shaking sigh, pushing aside the thought that nobody can have failed to observe this. “Thank—thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

He notices Damien gesturing at Melanie, notices that Rowan’s aro flag mug leaves with both and returns a few minutes later—now distracting from the office’s musty odour with its rich bitterness. He takes a few sips, but only by throwing himself into his work can he survive the gibbering, chattering thoughts building into a crushing tsunami of what the hell. Why did he do that? Why—no. Photos.

The soft clunk of crockery hitting laminate makes him look up.

Melanie leans against the edge of Rowan’s desk, her hand resting atop her new orange, yellow, white and blue aro-ace flag mug. “I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me.” She draws a deep breath, tapping her nails against the rim. “I didn’t know I could … that there’s an explanation, until I read your booklet. It described me. Things I didn’t realise about me! Things I’d been feeling! But … I’ve been learning about things like micro-aggressions. I didn’t know I’d been doing them myself. I’m sorry. I’ll keep learning. And thank you for my cup.”

“I know,” Rowan says softly, thinking back to the day when he realised the words “aromantic” and “frayromantic” describe him. A belated voicing of confusion and alienation; the naming of a constant sense of difference from the world. Revelation, understanding, explanation. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I don’t like … scenes. Or asking people things. I’m an anxious coward. So it just...”

He waves his hands, trying to mime an explosion.

Melanie, wide-eyed, jerks her head. “I couldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t done it first—and I wouldn’t have known to say anything if you hadn’t! And you’re asking us to do things knowing that we don’t understand, which must be frightening at least. You’re brave. And you shouldn’t be sorry.”

Rowan stares at her, unsure what to say in response. Never has anyone in his life freely offered such a sentiment. Never has anyone offered him something so generous without subsequent critique of Rowan’s intolerance for and impatience with their struggles to deal with him, praise softening the following reproval.

Brave.

His throat tightens and his eyes blur.

“Would you work with me on a proposal to put together for the submission forms? Damien insisted that I work with you, if you want to.”

“Uh … yeah?”

Melanie grabs a stack of papers from her desk and a chair. “I’ve gone through the old forms and highlighted passages. Do you want to read through and see if there’s anything I’ve missed or anything that should be left?”

He nods and takes the papers. Is this an alternate universe, the world flung upside down? Or, if people possess a minimum of decency, can he make needed change by addressing his problems instead of letting everyone talk over him? Can he build a world where he doesn’t endure cis or allo microaggressions by believing that their inconveniences aren’t worth more than his discomfort?

If his co-workers doesn’t object to correction, if they’re willing to make changes and investigate training, is the problem one of Rowan’s overreaction?

Does that mean he can talk to Matt the way he spoke to Melanie and Damien?

“Is something wrong?” Melanie asks, frowning.

Rowan shakes his head and plucks a pen from his frayro mug. “No.”

For the first time in a long time, that’s mostly true.

[percussiongirl2017]

New Family

Title: New Family

Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader

Summary: Life just keeps kicking you while you’re down. Can you hide your troubles from the Winchesters?

Word Count:1651

Warnings: Mentions of death, Slight angst, Fluff, Kinda hurt/comfort

A/N: (Queued on 6/5/19) Okay, I lied. This is the last fic in the queue. It’s technically a repost, but it’s been edited for content. Any feedback would be appreciated. Tags are below the cut.

Buy the Winchester Brothers’ Scent Here!

******

      You trudged down the street and braced yourself against the wind. The weather had been getting colder and you had no idea what you were going to do. You had been on your own for about a month and it wasn’t going so well. You pulled your jacket tighter around you. It was the one possession you still owned besides the pocket knife in your boot. You passed the store and saw the newspaper setting in the window. There had been another murder. This made 4 in the last two weeks. You decided to take a chance and go to the scene. Maybe you could figure out what was killing these people. Making note of the address, you started walking across town.

      You finally reached the address and looked at the cop cars surrounding the driveway. Taking a deep breath, you headed for the sheriff, but stopped short when you recognized the gentlemen standing next to him. You quickly moved behind one of the tall trees and peered around. Both men were tall, but one was about three or four inches taller than the other. It had been years since you had seen the Winchester boys. Dean hadn’t changed much. Even from this distance you could see his bowed legs. Sam, on the other hand, had changed a lot. He didn’t look like the same shy boy you knew. His hair was longer and he had finally grown into his lanky limbs. Both boys controlled the scene and took down notes. You weren’t going to interfere if Sam and Dean had the case. You sneaked one more glance before leaving. 

      However, when you looked up you saw Sam looking right at you. You bolted the opposite direction and hoped he hadn’t recognized you. You continued running and ducked down a small alley to catch your breath. You slid down the brick wall and sat on the cold ground. You couldn’t believe that you had seen Sam and Dean. You were nine when you saw them last. Sam was ten and Dean was about fourteen. You spent a lot of time with them when your parents weren’t home. Their Dad and your parents were hunters and they worked together often. A tear rolled down your cheek when you realized that Sam and Dean turned out so much better than you. Granted, you knew from the minute you met them that Sam and Dean had a brighter future than you. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard someone call your name.

“Y/N?” Sam called.

      You stand to run when someone grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

You turned and faced him. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“You remember me, Y/N? He asked. “It’s Sam Winchester.”

“I remember.” You whispered. “You and Dean are kind of hard to forget.”

Sam seemed lost for words. “So…umm… How have you been? How are you parents? What are --?”

Sam stopped when he saw the tears forming in your eyes. “Y/N…what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“You could say that, Sam.” You said with a shaky breath.

He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Dean and I are staying in a motel a few blocks away. Come on, we have some catching up to do.”

You looked up at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impede on you guys.”

Sam laughed. “Come on, Y/N. It’s fine. Dean will be just as excited as I am to see you.”

       You followed Sam to the motel as the sun started to set and recognized the glossy black Impala in the parking lot.

“You guys still drive her?” You joked.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “That’s Dean’s baby. Dad passed it to him when he died.”

      You heard about John’s death through your parents. It was hard to imagine Sam and Dean without their father. Dean was sitting on the bed with a computer in his lap. His jacket draped across a chair, leaving him in his white button-up.

“I’m back.” Sam announced.

“What’d you find?” He asked without looking up.

“More like who.” Sam laughed.

       Dean looked up and you gave him a small smile. You could see the gears turning in his head as he put two and two together.

“Y/N?” He said slowly.

“In the flesh.” You stated.

        He set his laptop on the bed beside him and moved to give you a hug.

“It’s been years, kid.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” You whispered.

     He stepped back to take a better look at you. You brushed a strand of hair back and knew you could use a shower. Dark circles lined your eyes from lack of sleep. You looked rough and you had done the best you could in your current situation. 

“How’s life been treating ya?” He asked.

“It’s been better.” You admitted.

      Sam tossed something at you and you caught it before it hit you. It was a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“Dean and I were about to about to get some take-out.” He started. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“Actually,” Dean corrected him. “You are staying. So, go take a shower while we get food.”

“O-okay.” You stammered out.

      The boys chuckled as you went to the small bathroom. You slid your jacket off and placed it on the hook hanging from the door. You stood under the hot water and you felt the stress leave your body for a moment. It felt so good to take a shower. You quickly washed your hair and body before shutting the water off. You didn’t want to hog all the hot water. You pulled on the pants that Sam had given you and tied the drawstring tighter. You also had to roll the legs up some. Sam had always been long-legged. You tugged the shirt on and towel dried your hair. You folded up your old clothes and grabbed your jacket. Opening the door, you set your stuff down on the floor beside the bed and moved over to where Sam and Dean were sitting. Dean handed you a takeout container as you settled onto the bed.

“You still like Chinese, right?” Sam asked from the table by the bed.

“Yeah.” You chuckled. 

“Told you!” Dean boasted to Sam. “I told you so!”

        Sam rolled his eyes while you ate from the container in your hand. Chinese had always been your favorite when you were younger. After the three of you finished your meal, the boys told you stories of what they had been up in the last 14 years. A pit formed in your stomach as they continued. You had moved over to Sam’s bed and were fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“What about you?” Dean asked. “How are you? What have you been doing and hunting? How are your parents?”

You took a shaky breath as the boys looked at you. “I’ve been better, boys.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

You wiped away the tears that had somehow streaked down your face. “Dad…Dad died about a year ago, and Mom hasn’t been the same.”

Sam and Dean were silent as you continued your story. “Mom stopped hunting and when she did hunt she would nearly get herself killed. She blamed me for everything. About a month ago, I came back from a hunt and all my stuff was gone. She kicked me out except for what I had on me, which wasn’t much. So, I just started walking because she took my keys. I only have my wallet, my clothes, and what money was left from Dad’s investments. I haven’t exactly figured out what I’m going to do.”

       The tears followed freely as you finished explaining your situation. Sam moved over next to you and pulled you against his chest.

“I hate to ask.” Dean stated. “How did your dad die?”

“It’s my fault.” You muttered into Sam’s chest.

“How?” Sam asked.

You pulled back. “I left. I wanted to go to college. I wanted a new life and Dad was okay with it. Mom wasn’t and she tried to get me to stay. I packed what I could fit into a duffel bag and I headed off for college. I was supposed to stay and help with one more case, but I couldn’t handle Mom’s harassment anymore. Dad told me to go. He said they could handle the case, but… I got a call a few days later that I needed to get home. I got back and Dad was in the hospital. The shifter case had gone wrong and the doctors said he probably wouldn’t make it. Mom blamed me. She said I was selfish for leaving and Dad getting hurt was all my fault. Daddy never woke up. He never woke up and it’s all my fault.”

“Hey,” Sam said. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know that would happen.”

“If I stayed…” You started.

“It could have been you in the hospital.” Dean interrupted. “You’ll never know, but you can’t blame yourself on what if’s. It’s not your fault.” 

“Where have you been staying the last month?” Sam asked.

You wiped the rest of your tears away. “Bouncing from motel to motel with what cash I have left. I hustle pool to earn some cash when it gets tight.”

      You felt Sam and Dean exchange a glance while you leaned against Sam’s shoulder.

“Come with us.” Dean suggested.

“What?” You asked. “I can’t do that to you guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sam said. “Trust me when I say we have enough space.”

“I don’t want to burden you guys.” You stated.

“I would give up trying to change our mind.” Dean laughed. “We’re still as stubborn as we were as kids.”

You chuckled. “Fine. If you guys insist.”

Sam wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “We’re family, Y/N. We’ve always been family and we’re here whenever you need us.”

******

Tags:

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[yavannah]

Part 4, The Journey

The days passed surprisingly quickly and things were taken care of. In addition, he had planned to send Alejandro to relatives for the duration of the trip, but this had said he preferred to be homesitting, which Cale accepted. He wanted to trust his son not to destroy the house while they were away and of course it would always be good if someone kept an eye on the house for possible burglars as they were quite a nuisance.

Eventually they were ready, the goods packed, and after a long queuing and waiting, they sat on a plane, en route to Manaus, from where the journey would continue on a river boat. Cale experienced a slight bit of Deja Vu, as memories of the past came to his mind clearly, including those he preferred to forget.

After many hours and another long queuing, they finally got out of the airport and into the hotel for one night.

The next morning they got up early, ate breakfast, paid for their hotel nights, and headed for the ferry terminal where the actual trip was supposed to begin. In fact, everyone was very tired as they had not slept very well.

There was quite a hustle and bustle at the riverboat when the trio got there. The goods were packed and here and there flashed very new technology, quite different from during their first trip. The technology had indeed changed from those days.

Danny was happy with some of the changes, as it meant he no longer had to carry heavy equipment when shooting could be done with a small, but good-quality, lightweight digital camera. In addition, editing would be easier because of the digital camera era. No need to fumble with tapes and think about takeovers all the time.

Cale had memorized the contents of the memory stick carefully and the memory stick itself was included just in case, although he had wisely copied the files elsewhere in case they were needed. Now he looked at the people moving on the riverboat and pier next to it, trying to look with his gaze at the people who also needed to be on the way. There had been pictures of them on a memory stick. He hadn’t seen any yet, so presumably these people only helped with loading, as there seemed to be a lot of stuff, some of that grocery, of course.

Eventually, he saw a cold-eyed man standing outside the guide bar, leaning against the railing, watching the people underneath below.

“He must be Carl”, Cale muttered, and after taking his way to the cabin assigned to him, he headed for the ladder, climbed up and greeted the man.

Sure enough, cold was the word he used to describe this long, slender man with cold colorless eyes, bumps, albeit narrow faces, and road-colored short but neatly cut hair.

“You must be Carl Smith,” Cale said, holding out his hand to greet the man.

“You’re right,” the man said with a smile, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and grabbed Cale’s outstretched hand, “and I assume you’re Dr. Cale,” he added lightly.

“Yes, you’re right,” Cale admitted, squeezing the man’s hand lightly but surely. They exchanged a few more words, after which Cale faded back down to the others. He had just gotten to Terri when suddenly a very familiar person stepped out of one of the cabins.

“Alejandro!” Terri howled and looked at the young man very sharply.

“Oh, hey mom,” Alejandro said a little embarrassed.

"What are you doing here? You had to be the janitor, ”Cale asked.

"Uh, uh, I'm working here," Alejandro muttered, and does not see his parents.

“At work?” Cale asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Alejandro replied, “well, when we’ve been tight and I thought I’d make my own money for college,” he explained, “and I asked a friend of mine to watch over the house”, he said, before Terri and Cale had time to point it out.

Alejandro had heard his parents' conversations so many times, but had never told them anything about it. He had decided to do something himself, now that he was old enough to do it. The university could graduate a little later.

“But, you shouldn’t have,” Cale said, and couldn’t be angry with his son. That's what this meant.

“Yes I needed to,” Alejandro said, looking at the parent stubbornly.

“Ah, you seem to have found my assistant,” said the satisfied Carl walking next to them.

“This your assistant is my son,” Cale remarked coolly.

“Oh, right,” Carl said, looking at both calmly, as if accepting the matter.

“Yes,” Cale said briefly, but decided to let it be.

Eventually, everything needed was finally obtained on the river vessel and it was able to escape from the harbor. The direction was the same as on the previous trip and since it was already familiar to Calle, Terri and Danny, the trip went smoothly this time without any problems.

They even got close to the place where the riverboat was stuck, but because they knew how to be careful, they avoided it that time.

The tree was still fallen where it had collapsed from the weight of the snake and Westridge. Slightly other vegetation had grown on top of it, and the thinnest parts had come off a long time ago and the rest of the trunk had become a vague color.

The waterfall still flowed, as it had flowed even then. Evenly like a beating heart, with light refracting from drops into rainbows of different sizes. It was still just as beautiful, Cale thought and sighed quietly.

They continued their journey, now passing a sawmill completely covered with wild vegetation, of which there was little left but the lucrative parts of the building. The pier had suffered during all these years, and there was little left of it except a few planks and sun-bleached ribs on top of them.

“Anaconda,” Terri said quietly, still remembering what the giant snake had looked like. How it had looked at its victims with yellow eyes and felt the air with its tongue. She even remembered how its scaly leather had felt when it was wrapped around her and Danny. She didn't want to experience it again. Do some big anaconds still exist, for they had had to kill those two giant anacondas they have seen as self-defense.

"That big?" Carl asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Terri replied, “about big and you really don’t want to face one, I can say that from my experience,” she added.

“Oh,” Carl shouted and fell silent.

In the power of silence, they continued their journey and finally, after a few days, ended up at the place where they had last encountered that lost tribe.

The riverboat was anchored ashore and they decided to spend the night there and explore the surrounding areas only in bright weather. The evening and night were calm, only the animals seemed to be on the move, as well as the annoying mosquitoes that would roam around the travelers, hoping for a warm blood meal.

They didn’t care about those teasers, but as night fell into the night, they moved into their cabins, to rest. Cale was not yet asleep, but leaned against the railing in front of the cab. He watched quietly, the landscape resting under the night starry sky. Or well rest was not the right word as the rainforest was full of night animal sounds. Very suddenly he saw movement on the beach and directed the light from his flashlight there. Something slender and dark just slipped into the caches of the jungle, out of the reach of the flashlight beam.

“What was that?” Cale muttered quietly, but decided not to figure it out, as running in the dark jungle was not a good idea. It became clear the last time when Denise and Gary had gone to an jungle at an anchorage with the intention of doing something quite different than recording the sounds of the night jungle.

Cale smiled a little at that memory, even though it had had ingredients for something much worse, but that time luck had been on the way and personal injuries had been avoided. The only one who suffered was the wild boar, which ended up on the menu.

In the end, Cale just thought he had seen the visions and concluded that it was time for him to go to rest too. So he stepped down the stairs and headed for his cabin, which he shared with Terri. The night went smoothly and the expedition woke up early the next morning. A fine mist swirled near the beach and smelled of a damp jungle. Daytime animals began to wake up and make noise in the twigs.

****

Huge thanks again to cc-makers. And sorry about that snake skeleton, I know that picture is not good at all, but I didn’t have any better, so that it will be.

And still thanks to my favourite actor. :)