#comments and critiques are welcome

[moments-divins]

I found one of those things you call a mermaid on the pier the other night. All tied up and thrashing its poor body around like a fish caught in a net.

That image repulsed me. You know I've never been one for fishing. Even catch and release puts me off. I don't like to watch the poor thing slowly suffocating as it waits to be thrown back in, its gills heaving and sputtering for water.

That creature tied up on the pier, the gash of gills on its neck was heaving and sputtering just in that way, dark ocean water flowing out with every failed breath, it really made me sick.

I pulled out my pocket dagger and its attention was on me. Its eyes bulged wide and I wondered if, like a fish, it couldn't blink. The sight of my dagger set it off into another thrashing fit and I tried to calm it down. Poor thing didn't seem to understand a word. It kept opening and closing its faded lips, but nothing came out. Must've spoke some kinda fish language.

I held it firmly in place and slowly brought the dagger to the knots binding its wrists. It calmed down after seeing that I wasn't here to cut its flesh. Or maybe it had just lost all energy from being out of the water too long. Either way, it stayed still as I cut the ropes around its legs.

When it was freed, it just lay there on the pier. So still it might've been dead, other than the weak flapping of the gill at its throat. I needed to get it into the water, and fast.

I lifted it up, one arm under its neck, the other under its knees. Its skin was slightly warm, unlike any fish I'd ever briefly held. But the same clamminess. Warmer than its skin was the water spurting from its gills.

I stepped closer to the edge of the pier and the thrashing returned. It must've known it was going back home, and was getting excited. I took a step back to gather momentum, and pushed forward with all my might, throwing the creature in kicking and flailing.

It hit the water with a splash, and stayed at the surface for a moment. Almost like it was treading water. Must've wanted to say thanks. After a few seconds it slowly sunk down. Back to its home.

I imagined the slit in its neck filling up with ocean water and I could finally breathe easy again. I couldn't get that sick taste out of my mouth for awhile, though. Same sick taste of my first fishing trip.

"Who cut its neck?" I remember asking my mama as the fish struggled in my hand, tail thrashing, scales cold. She told me those were its gills, that's how it breathed. Through the slits in its throat.

"So it's breathing through its neck?"

"No, sweetie. Not now."

I took one last look over the pier into the dark water below, getting darker. That fish is breathing now. It's gotta be.

[loader-bot]

happy new year earth gamers!! ⭐🌈

watch it with those fireworks, okay? careful you don't blow yourselves up! (that's torgue's job)

[fyrets]

Personal Problems on PawBorough's Patreon

So I guess I'm doing this. Kicking this off with some disclaimers.

I don't have a problem with the team putting together a Patreon. Developers need money to live. Get that bag.

I admittedly don't have much experience with Patreon either as a creator or a patron. I might be operating under misconceptions or make incorrect assumptions of what is and isn't effective when running a Patreon. A lot of this is coming from a very subjective perspective of what I think things are worth. To me.

I sincerely welcome any and all commentary or criticism on this post. It's mostly rambling, so I'll gladly try to clarify some points if asked about it. On that note, this isn't like, a full on debate. Let's be chill.

Let's get this started.

Now why am I rambling here? In short, I feel like the Patreon isn't set up to be as accessible or fair to the community as it could be. I am very aware that ultimately not everyone will be able to support the game in this way. Life is hard, and people can't always get what they want. But I think things could still be improved to make more people happy, and potentially more money for the team.

Tiers aren't the best they could be

As of writing, there are four tiers.

$1 tip jar with no benefits. This was added after it was suggested in the Discord.

$5 "Kit" - General support, behind-the-scenes content, work-in-progress updates (digital), Patreon Discord channel, and Discord access.

$10 "Domestic" - All previous benefits and a "domestic supporter" personal credit on the credits page of the game at launch.

$20 "Mystic" - All previous benefits, a "mystic supporter" personal credit on the credits page of the game at launch, and access to exclusive community polls.

As I said in my disclaimer, my opinions are extremely subjective to what I think things are worth, but something about the pricing scheme is incredibly unbalanced to me. Why does it go 5, 10, 20 instead of 5, 10, 15? I see that it's doubling from the last tier, but why? Especially when the added benefits are.. pretty minimal? A credit on the site for an added $5 from the lowest tier, but it's $15 for a different credit title and polls. People can ultimately spend their money however they want, but this seems like a bad deal.

Not only that, but I feel like it's a HUGE missed opportunity to not have a $3 tier (we could call it "Fauna" or something) with minimal benefits. If $5 is for everything, $3 could just be the Discord benefit. (Though if you ask me, I've more often than not seen $1 tiers be used for a Discord role so 🤷). If just Discord isn't a good enough deal, then they could do low resolution images of the previews or something. I think it's also fair enough to say a hypothetical $3 tier wouldn't get a credit, but on that note...

Why no Kit credit?

It was stated in the recent Kickstarter post that all backers will have a credit on the site. This is a good thing, but seeing as the lowest tier for the Kickstarter was $5, it feels unfair to me that the Kit doesn't seem to get a credit. Especially considering the fact that the Kickstarter was a one time payment.

It'll only take another month for a Kit supporter to spend more than the lowest KS tier and not receive a credit. There's already an upcharge of a different credit title when going from Domestic to Mystic, so why leave Kit out of it completely? I just don't get it.

Concerns on Discord

If the credit situation is unfair to Patrons, then I'll be honest, I think doing Discord integration is unfair to Kickstarter backers. I am aware that Patreon has tools for Discord integration that Kickstarter (last I checked) doesn't, but like, if we've already gone this far without exclusive roles or channels for people who have financially supported the project, why start now? On top of that, I think having a Patreon exclusive channel in the main server is a bad idea for a number of reasons.

First, it will create a divide in the community based on money. There are already locked channels based on Borough affiliation, but that is an extension of the game and not connected to money. I don't think Discord integration will create a literal class divide among the players, I have a lot more faith in the community than that, but again, if this wasn't done for the Kickstarter, why start now?

Second, I think there's a bit too much risk when it comes to keeping exclusive content exclusive. I think almost everyone has sent a message to the wrong channel at least once in their life. It ultimately won't be a big deal if someone accidentally makes mention of something in the public channels, but that's still something to moderate for, y'know?

Third, the Discord has already been stated to be temporary, where it'll be phased out sometime after launch. Why include paid benefits for something that isn't going to last? The next alternative to this is to integrate Patreon into the site forums somehow, but Blue already said that wasn't gonna happen.

In conclusion

Idk I think it could be better. I'd love to cough up $3 a month for blurry images. $5 for crisp ones is too much for me right now. That is all.

[lilacs-in-space]

[canonicaly-ace]

But yeah sure keep telling me how the anti-zionists are the good guys here

[praise-suns-and-chill]

Okay I needed to write SOMETHING, and that scene how we get Ogerpon desperately needed a rewrite anyways.

End result is the same, but I feel like... there should be more options than just fighting things out anyways.

Just a small one shot, but maybe I will rewrite more scenes later!

"Kieran, you know it isn't up to you."

Jules glared at Carmine. As if she had any room to talk, considering she usually acted like everything was up to her.

"Exactly. It's up to me too, and to my Team, and if they would get along with Ogerpon as well to begin with."

Now both siblings looked at her, surprised. Jules crossed her arms in defense.

"Yes, my teams opinion matter to me too. We will all spend time together, that means we all should get along! I wouldn't want any infighting, just watching anyone in my team be stressed all the time because they need to be around someone who doesn't treat them properly." She definitely only meant her team with that. Of course.

While Carmine just looked utterly confused, Kieran stared at the ground, his hand twitching as usual when he seemed to think.

"That's... I never thought about that..."

Jules gaze was gentle when her eyes wandered over to him, and she nodded.

"That's alright. Most people don't really seem to think of that. But... they're my team, right? And that means that we all work together, not just that I boss them around without thinking about how they feel." She hoped he would get the small hint.

She looked down at Ogerpon next, gently patting her head.

"If her opinion matters for who gets to train her, then so does the opinion of the rest of my team."

She wasn't fully sure if Ogerpon could understand her, but the little ogre happily nodded along.

"Maybe... instead of fighting over it, we should let our teams decide, then."

Carmina looked between Jules and her brother incredulously.

"Are you serious? THAT'S how you will decide that?"

"Why not?" Jules shrugged.

"...I think that's fair." Kieran also nodded now, his eyes still flicking over to the green ogre, still unsure despite his words.

"On three?" Jules held up the balls her Team was in, and watched her new friend do the same.

"One..."

"Two."

"Three!" And both released their Teams all at once.

Ogerpon jumped slightly back in surprise, but her hesitation didn't last long before curiosity overtook her, just like both of the Teams.

Quaquaval just looked around in nothing but confusion for a moment, before quickly noticing all the eyes on it and starting to fix its "hair", of course, needing to make a good impression.

Her Spiritomb taking one look, shivering and promptly retreating back into its keystone. Alright, she had never been the social type anyway, that was to be expected.

Growlithe on the other hand enthusiastically jumped around, sniffing and playfully barking at all the new arrivals. While a newbie to the team, looks like he would be happy to just befriend anyone.

Kierans team started looking around just as confused for a moment, aside from his Dipplin, who was already confidently crawling over to the strangers.

Yanmega was next to follow, and soon they all started to mingle around each other, Ogerpon a bit overwhelmed, but brightly smiling in the middle of it all.

And so, their trainers simply stood by for a while, watching their teams peacefully play with each other. Kierans nervous fiddling had stopped by now, even a small smile now showed on his face.

All the while, Jules kept her eyes on him from the side, now her being the one to nervously fiddle.

Carmine meanwhile was actually being quiet for once, apparently distracted enough by the cute sight in front of her. Distracted enough that Jules scooted closer to Kieran, sitting down next to him.

He quickly looked up.

"Should we stop them now?" The anxious look was already back, and his hands gripped onto his sweater.

Jules quickly shook her head.

"No! No, we should... Still give them some time..." Her voice was hushed, not wanting Carmine to overhear and interrupt. She now mirrored the boy, her fingers nervously tipping against her shirt.

"I... wanted to say sorry."

She frowned at the ground, not quite being able to look up, as Kieran looked at her confused.

"Huh? Why?"

"Because I didn't tell you right away. I wanted to, but Carmine just stopped me, and then she told me that you would probably run into the mountains, and I was worried you would actually do that too then, and I didn't want you to get hurt so I didn't tell you and the next day I just felt so bad about it and then I told you because I thought at least it was day and I could maybe come along but I had still kept quiet the first day and I wanted to say sorry there too but-"

Her words stumbled over themselves and she crossed her arms, holding onto herself as her voice got more and more quiet, as she struggled to get the words out. Despite her attempts to stay subtle, she wasn't as successful as she had hoped.

Now her Spiritomb burst out of its keystone, quickly turning and hopping over to her trainer. Of course, the ghost type would notice negative feelings first. Growlithe was next to notice, running quickly back on his stubby little legs, and soon Ogerpon and the rest of both teams followed, disrupted by the troubled Teen who was now holding onto the stone her Spiritomb had disappeared back into.

Meanwhile Kieran just stared at her, dumbfounded, as if he hadn't expected any of this.

"I..." He took a moment, not knowing what to say, and before he could continue the two were interrupted.

"What did you do, Kieran!?" Carmine looked at him shaking, but before he could respond Jules jumped up again, as if all her energy had just flooded back immediately.

"He didn't do anything, stop accusing him while knowing nothing!" The glare from her golden eyes matched Carmines, Growlithe did his name justice as he growled in defense of his trainer now, while Quaquaval looked just about ready to kick Carmine off the cliff.

"Jules, don't, I'll deal with it!" The boy held up his hands, trying to pacify the two before an argument could break out, and after a tense pause, Jules sighed and slumped back down as Ogerpon walked up next to her. The cute ogre looking as worried as could be between all three, the sight seemingly melting away even Carmines anger.

"Fine. If you say so!" Still, she wouldn't stop taking control now, looking over this assembly before settling on Ogerpon.

"So? Did you decide by now?"

Ah.

Right.

Jules seemed to slump even further, while Kierans ticks immediately flared up again. There still was a decision to be made, after all.

The two exchanged quick glances before looking away and watching the two, Carmine took over, as usual.

"So!" She clapped her hands and looked down at Ogerpon, pointing to each of the two teams after another.

"Which one do you want to join?"

"Pon?"

The green ogre followed Carmines pointers, confused for just a moment before tilting her head, thinking for a short moment.

Before she eventually wandered over to Jules, waving her hooded arms in the air, the rest of her team swarming around their new friend, as her new trainer gave her a sad smile.

If Ogerpon wanted to stay with her, she would never say no. After all the rejection, she deserved a loving, caring trainer.

But...

She glanced to Kieran, who was just hiding his expression behind his hair. Not showing what he was thinking, not saying a word.

But he, after all the rejection, deserved a loving, caring friend.

[generalluxun]

Pondering a new fic Miraculous Ladybug post S5

Ground Rules:

1)This isn't salt, despite including some hard takes on serious issues. It's not meant to be a diatribe, and hopes to humanize all characters.

2)Ships listed doesn't guarantee outcomes. I'm not even sure if one ship will be romantic or not, but it'll be emotional, so I think it counts.

Ships: Adrienette, and Goldwalker.

Premise: Adrien finds out via Kagami's bluntness about the secrets Ladybug-who-is-Marinette(thanks Kagami) has been keeping from him, and about how many people besides him know. His Senti-personhood, his father, everything. Adrien has an emotional crisis and flees Paris.

Where does he go? He needs someone to talk to, to sort things out in his own mind. Vitally it needs to be someone who isn't Marinette's friend right now. Adrien has only one person in his life who qualifies. He seeks out his first friend. His lost friend. Someone who he had cut out of his life. Someone who would never try to sugarcoat things, who is in no way beholden to his girlfriend(?).

And very importantly, someone who by all accounts is a bad person. Because as much as Adrien needs to talk things out, he also needs a sign. He needs to prove someone who has hurt you, who has done horrible things, can still be good. He wants and needs this with every fiber of his being. He can't return to Paris and face Marinette again until he can believe.

He can't meet her as himself, there's too much baggage there, he'd never get in the door. He can't meet her as Cat Noir. That persona too is full of history and connections. And so, it's Cat Walker who alights on a balcony in New York, and peers in at a girl alone in her suite.

[sonofapunk]

I know nothing about anarky. What makes him so trans?

Thank you so much for asking, anon! I'm gonna go ahead and jump right in! (And I will do my best to keep this focused on gender, with very light context, so if you want to know more about this character in general, please feel free to ask follow-up questions!)

Word count: A little over 2100

Trigger Warnings for: mentions of gender dysphoria, discussions of gender presentation and bodies, assumptions of a character's gender identity, comic-standard violence, transphobia, and death. (Note: If I've missed something that you'd like a heads-up for both in this list, and before it happens in the text, let me know! <3)

So, in 1989, Alan Grant/DC debuted one Lonnie Machin a.k.a. Anarky!

Lonnie was posed as a challenger to Batman, someone who makes him think about his methods and choices. Alfred comments in Lonnie's debut, even, that Lonnie is a "kindred spirit" to Batman. Bruce disagrees, but he does admit that there's some similarities there, which calls into question vigilantism as a form of justice, and what methods vigilantes should and shouldn't be using, in Bruce's mind. (Sidenote: there's this great moment in Tec 609 where Lonnie analyzes how Batman works, and it makes Lonnie and Bruce's similarities and differences extremely stark. It's one of my favorite parts of Lonnie's two-part comic debut).

At any rate, I bring all this up to establish that, as a baseline, Lonnie's character tends to call into question understood norms. Lonnie himself is a subversion of many thought-to-be-truths. Anarchism itself does the same thing. By that idea alone, there is already a baseline for defying things like the gender binary, assigned gender at birth, and expected gender roles and presentation.

With that in mind, I'm going to get into some specific moments that really solidify the many possibilities for a trans headcanon for this character! (I myself headcanon Lonnie as nonbinary, but there's arguments that can made for any identity under the trans umbrella, which is what this essay will argue for!).

The first point I want to make is about Lonnie's first Anarky costume. This one:

I chose this specific drawing of the costume because it's on the cover of Lonnie's debut comic, which means that this is the very first instance of Lonnie that many people ever saw. It also shows very well the aspects of this costume that I want to talk about.

We've got the hat with the circle-A, which draws attention to it by how much it stands out. We have the massive, flowing cloak. And we have the absence of a visible face. I'm gonna talk about each of those in turn.

The Hat - the hat's main purpose is to show you exactly who and what Lonnie aligns with as Anarky. The name isn't just for show; the circled-A, according to its real-world meaning, summarizes how order can found through anarchy, a theory that Lonnie is an adamant believer in, and defender of. Anarky is announcing for you who Anarky is. Think about gender presentation now, and what quick, shorthand ways we use to try and present as our desired gender (not just male, female, nonbinary, but also a flower, the color blue, a certain aesthetic that cultivates gender euphoria-- there's as many genders as we have the imagination to create!) Right away, we are already being shown a person that Lonnie wants you to think of him as.

The Cloak (warning for a mention of dysphoria and body image here) - This cloak is huge and billowing and closed, so there is nothing that you can see beneath it; it's all draped red fabric with no form or shape. It honestly makes me think of dysphoria hoodies, and how they can be protective and comfortable because they hide one's body. And in fact, this is exactly why Lonnie chose this cloak: it hides his frame. In the comic, it's implied to be because Lonnie is a young teenager, and he wants others to think that he's an adult, so that they'll listen to him, but the way I see it: it also serves to hide Lonnie's gender. Anarky is a reflection of the common people, and is determined to be their amplifier. Anarky being of an indeterminate gender is one further way that Anarky could relate to the people that Lonnie is trying to uplift.

The Mask (warning for a mention of deadnames in this section)- In this cover, it's drawn in shadow, but in the comic itself, we see that Anarky wears a gold, full-face mask. It completely obscures any identifying features on Lonnie's face. (As a nonbinary person, myself... what a mood). This is because Lonnie does not want Lonnie to be recognized as a voice of the people, but Anarky. In Anarky (1997), Lonnie explains that he does not care who Batman is under the mask, because Batman is the figure he's concerned with. I argue that this can be applied to Anarky, too. The point of Anarky is that the people can find strength and power through this figure, as I've said probably too many times now. Repetition for emphasis! Gotta love that English Lit degree. Anyway, this is very important because it's the same as the Spider-Man effect: anyone could be Spider-Man. Anyone could be Anarky. Now, what I mean by "Anyone could be Anarky," is that anyone could be wearing that mask. Something that I find extremely fascinating is that Lonnie reportedly does not care about how others think of him-- yet, he does protect Anarky's reputation. I think that this is because, the moment that the common people no longer feel safe around Anarky, is the moment that Anarky can no longer exist the way that Anarky is supposed to. When that presentation, when that self, is damaged by the others around it, what can we do but feel as if we have to defend it, even if we don't really care how others think of us? There's a lack of attention of Lonnie Machin, but there is an overabundance of attention on Anarky (see: Shadow of the Bat #41, where Lonnie signs a letter as Anarky, claiming that "Lonnie Machin" is the alias). This calls to attention the idea of deadnames. If Anarky is the desired presentation and identity, then it could be said that Lonnie acts as the deadname.

Now, if you're not totally regretting asking yet, let's move on to point #2! The second costume!

This one will be quicker: The main idea I want to get across here is that once again, we're seeing rapid declarations of identity with the large circle-A on the chest, and that we've still retained the lack of identifying features.

(Second warning for assumptions of someone's gender. Another warning as well that if you read the comic mentioned below, the comment that the reporter makes is presented to be a joke, which I do believe was made in poor taste. Please proceed with caution, and take care of yourself if you choose to read it <3).

What's significant to me about this costume is what happens in Young Justice: Sins of Youth #1. Anarky attends a rally for young heroes, and the reporter commenting on the event doesn't recognize all of the heroes present, and so has to rely on extremely vague assumptions about the characters. It's the specific assumption that this reporter makes that intrigues me: The reporter assumes that Anarky is a woman. Based on what we've been discussing so far, this tells me, personally, that what I think Lonnie is trying to do with Anarky's costume is working. It's difficult to figure out anything about Anarky as a person, and so the people looking at Anarky try to guess. It's even more significant to me that this happens after we lose the shapeless cloak. Even without the cover that that cloak gave, Anarky still has no identifying features beyond what Lonnie wants you to see.

(Warning for violence, bodily harm, torture, and transphobic comments in this next section. No pictures will be shown. We are still discussing expectation and perception of one's gender that may cause dysphoria as well. Please proceed with caution, and take care of yourself <3).

Another significant piece of this costume for me is that in an encounter with Ra's al Ghul, the circle-A on the costume serves as the inspiration for a form of torture, wherein the circle-A is cut into Lonnie's chest. It's taking a piece of Lonnie's identity presentation and forcibly making it a part of his body. I bring this up because I think that it's important to discuss the idea of presentation being forced upon us. Even after someone comes out, we are still held to certain expectations of how we present our chosen identities.

Another example of expectation in Lonnie's own experiences is how Shadow of the Bat #40-41 raises the notion that Lonnie was expected to become the All-American Boy by his parents. He's told that he's outside of what he was "supposed" to be: he doesn't play baseball, he should have been a doctor or a lawyer, and he reads things that are seen as abnormal (leftist political theory).

Lonnie expresses in a letter that he writes in #41 that he hopes that one day, his parents will be proud of him, and he calls himself their son. This is note-worthy because he is fulfilling part of the role that his parents placed on him ("boy"), but he also admits in this letter that he knows that he cannot be what they want him to be. He asks that they are the ones who transform their thinking, to accept him as he is, not as they want him to be. This is also the letter which he uses to fake the death of Lonnie Machin, so that he can work full-time as Anarky. This letter reads as a parallel to a coming out letter, in my opinion. (Transphobia warning) It also lines up with this specific notion that certain parents of trans children have expressed before, which is that it feels as though the kid they knew from birth is dying or dead. As someone whose parents expressed that idea to me, I do not support telling your child this, as it's rooted in transphobia, but it is significant to me that this is something we see in a situation that strongly mirrors what Lonnie is doing in the comics.

My third point that I'd like to bring up is extremely short, but it has to do with that A scar, so warnings for blood and bodily harm in the images that you will see if you click on the links provided. I'm providing links, so that anyone who wants to read this still can, but can opt in to seeing images of a bloody injury.

Lonnie, particularly in Anarky (1999), is drawn in parallel to two women in classic art.

Lonnie + Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind

Lonnie + Ophelia

Lonnie Ophelia + Bruce Ophelia (supplementary)

These parallels do not feel accidental to me-- especially the one with Truth.

It's noteworthy to me that Lonnie Machin is almost always drawn with long hair. Now, anyone can have long hair, of course, but when you look at the All-American Boy expectation, and then you look back to how Lonnie looks even out of the Anarky costume, I think there's something to be said there about how even Lonnie Machin subverts gender expectation.

Now, since this has already gotten longer than I ever meant for it to be, I'm going to stop here for now, since these are the main points that I wanted to cover in discussing the trans umbrella headcanon for Lonnie!

I want to close just by saying that all headcanons are valid for this character, and so I don't intend to imply that anyone who reads this HAS to feel the way that I do. This is just how I see and read Lonnie's character/comics, and it brings me a lot of joy, particularly as someone who relates heavily to a lot of Lonnie's experiences in the trans parallel experience kind of way. I love this character to pieces, and it brings me nothing but happiness to share him with you and anyone else who read this far. So I'll also say, to anyone reading this: thank you so much for hearing me out!! It means a lot. I hope that you took caution and care in reading about some of these topics, since I know firsthand how hard they can be to experience, so do something nice for yourself today! Take some time to breathe, slow down, and enjoy a nice treat or two. You've earned it!

And if this essay has convinced you to read more about Lonnie Machin: welcome to the autonomous Machin collective! We're happy to have you here! <3

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

Clarke's Third Law

A poem by Personification

Any Sufficiently Advanced Technologyis indistinguishable from Magic. -Arthur C. Clarke

I go to a school for wizards. Technically, we specialize in artifice, but artifice and wizardry go hand in hand.

Some of my friends are learning to write the spells that animate the magical constructs that display the moving pictures that run our society.

Some of my friends are alchemists. They don’t try to turn lead into gold. (We know how to do that and it isn’t really profitable.) They turn plants and rocks and animals into potions, which can be sold for green, which, as anyone who has chosen to read Frost or been forced to read Outsiders knows, is gold.

Some of my friends specialize in the flying carriages used to strike out into the Aether and leave footprints on the stars.

Some of them work on fabricating these fiery steeds, while others focus on calibrating the spellcraft required to point them at the correct sphere of heaven

Some of my friends study magical theory. Though they themselves cannot cast spells,  these sages delve into the underlying workings of the universe so that others can.

I, on the other hand, am majoring in Literature, Media, and Communication (no s). I’m learnin’ to talk real good. Sometimes, I look to the wizards and wish I’d learned to craft the universe as they do. Then, I remember that nothing can reshape reality quite like a well placed word or song  or book or poem.

Without us, nobody would know about their great feats of spellcraft. Without us, nobody would stand against the dark tyrants in their ivory towers. Without us, nobody would imagine the futures that don’t exist yet in order to create them.

History is written by the victors? History is written by the writers!

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

Please comment and critique.

This has been released elsewhere under my real name, so if you see it credited to someone else, that's probably actually me.

[sweetsugarstarz]

work doodle

[rafeysbambii]

hypnosis : bambi!reader who caught s2!rafes eye the moment he met her planting roses in the middle of summer.

warnings : cursing

word count : 456

authors note : hi angels! this is my first little drabble, and i really hope you’ll enjoy! if you have any requests for new characters, drabble, fics, etc. my requests are pretty much always open! i’m willing to write about most things so go for it! i’d also like to thank @cameronsprincess for reading this through, you’re amazing! enjoy <3333

“the fuck are you doin’?” rafe had wandered to far from home after a particular bad fight with his father, and in his red hot angry rage - he found himself in a small meadow somewhere behind tanneyhills huge forest. “hm?” the brown haired girl had turned to the voice, her hands muddy and earthy from planting the beautiful flower she adored so much.

“i said what the fuck are you doing?” the second time around he’s growing more annoyed that the stupidly cute and deer like girl ignored his question the first time. “oh! m’ planting some roses! they’re beautiful aren’t they?” she chirps, her pink and glossy lips curving into a huge smile.

rafe scoffs, crossing his stupidly large arms over his perfectly fitted polo - “why the fuck are you planting flowers in the middle of fuckin’ summer.” his comment makes the girl frown, why so mean? “you don’t… you don’t like my roses?” her once bright smile, and peppy eyes slowly melt into a soft, adorable pout.

“hey - hey stop that, i never fuckin said i didn’t —“ before he can even explain himself the tears have already started to flow down the girl’s beautiful rosy red cheeks - making rafe feel… bad?

no, that can’t be it. rafe cameron doesn’t feel bad, that’s for… that’s for pussies, well that’s what ward tells him.

“a’right stop cryin’ s’ not that serious.” he leans down and grabs the small girl by her shoulders, pulling her in for an awkward yet warm hug, one that he isn’t used to. “you’re fine kid.”

she sniffles once, then twice - then a few times more before he’s grown tired of the hug, pushing her body back gently to stand back up on his expensive shoes. “what’s your name.”

“it’s y/n” there it is, that smile that made his heart skip a beat at the first sight of her - “bambi.” she cocks an eyebrow at him, a giggle escaping past her glossy pink and plump lips, “bambi?”

“yeah, bambi. you look like a deer, and you’re lurkin’ in the middle of the fuckin woods like one of em’ so you’re bambi.” the explanation falls to short ears, she doesn’t care about why - she likes it, bambi.

bambi, bambi, bambi.

“do you want to… plant a flower? it’s very relaxing!” he wants to say no — he really does, but with the flutter of her lashes, and the way she pulls her lips in between her perfectly white teeth, it’s hard to resist it.

“sure — whatever, don’t make this shit take forever.” with a blinding smile she pats the spot next to her, beckoning that boy next to her, in which he sits carefully.

“so first you…”

‘well bambi, you’re my deer now.’

another a/n: i really hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you ever have any problems with what i write im more than welcome to critique and for you to request anything! i’m still trying to figure out this tumblr thing with how to put together a masterlist but ill get there eventually! <3

[rebeccccccaaa]

Too Sweet

______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: Practically at his beck and call, Spencer knows you’re too sweet for him. He knows he shouldn’t use you but he can’t stop himself when you’re also all too enthusiastic to fuck him ::

warnings :: smutttt, casual sex (kinda lol), oral (fem receiving), over stimulation, insomnia!spencer, spencer spitting facts (literally), reader is described to have hair length long enough to stick to your cheeks, obviously reader is described as afab, not sure what else i should tag so let me know what i miss :)

author’s notes :: hello, hello! honestly i saw this tik tok edit of spencer with this song (Too Sweet - Hozier) and felt a bit inspired by it and also loosely by lyrics too. please be kind as it’s been a couple years since i last wrote a fic and it’s my first one about dr reid too, so let me know if you guys like it, comment, reblog, all that jazz and critiques are more than welcome! Enjoy!

WC :: ~4k

_______________

It was pretty late into the night, it was the first weekend in weeks that the team was able to really enjoy. Spencer sat in a corner of his apartment, a glass of whiskey sat on the table as he flipped the pages of a book he’s read a thousand times before, albeit it was one of favorites. 

He was hesitant to call, he didn’t want to pull you away from enjoying your weekend but when it came to his pleasure, he put himself first. You were always too nice to say no to him and he knew that. It made him feel sleazy sometimes, but this was who he was now. Rugged, damaged, fucked up. He’d been through a lot. But in those moments where you squirmed and whined beneath him, he felt satiated. You were his drug now. 

“Hello?” he mumbled when the call picked up.

“Spencer,” your voice was a whisper as  you practically sang his name.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Yes,” you responded.

“It’s a little late don’t you think?” he poked. 

“Then why are you calling?” 

You knew why he was calling. He only ever wanted one thing from you when the sky was dark. You didn’t mind it though. You basked in it. You kind of liked it. The feeling of having sex without commitment. Your job didn’t give you enough time for a commitment. You didn’t feel humiliated or belittled by Spencer’s desires. In fact, his lust for you turned you on in most cases. Most. 

Spencer was still a good friend to you. Regardless of sleeping with him, he was your closest friend. And recently, you noticed changes in him. Maybe you’ve kept a closer eye on him more than before but you were a little concerned. You had the right after everything he’s been through. He seemed more tired than usual, even though he was still punctual with work. Although you didn’t sleep in his bed after every time you slept together, when you did, you pretended not to notice his exits and long absences in between the long hours of the night. You could barely hear his ever so quiet footsteps roaming the living room. The clanking of coffee mugs in the kitchen and his quiet ‘Shit’ when he thought he was being too loud.

Three subtle knocks rapped his door, so quiet Spencer would’ve missed if he had breathed just a bit louder. A grin spread across his face subconsciously, glancing at the clock before taking long strides to the door. It was almost midnight. You stood in the doorway with heavy eyes, not the drunk kind, but the tired kind. He moved aside to let you in. Just like last time; and all the other times you showed up at his door for him. 

“I thought you went out tonight,” he questioned, rhetorically. 

“I did. For a bit,” you told him, “I just had one drink, then went home.”

“What are you doing up so late?” you asked, you already know the answer. And Spencer knows you know too, though he tried at first to be more subtle in his nightly fixtures. He simply sighed with amusement. You set your things down on his couch, eyes adjusting to the dim lights that hardly lit the room. The glass sitting on the table in the corner caught your eyes though. 

“What are you drinking?” you asked.

“Uh, whiskey. Neat.” 

“Ew, why?” you joked.

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugged. A whiskey wouldn’t exactly be Spencer’s first choice of drink but then again his first choice of drink wouldn’t even be alcohol. If it was, he would probably be content with a beer, or something of the sort. He was sort of going through a phase during nights. He was sleeping a lot less too. 

“I just didn’t take you for a whiskey kind of guy,” you teased.

“What kind of guy did you take me for?” he poked; he wasn’t really talking about drinks anymore though. 

“Water,” you joked, making him laugh. 

Spencer stood before you now. His hands were slightly hesitant this time to rest on your hips. 

“Is everything ok, Spencer?” you asked him. 

“Yes,” his voice was a whisper. 

You didn’t believe him, but you knew better than to press him. He was a stubborn guy and whether you did or didn’t you weren’t going to get an answer. You slid your hands up his chest before cupping the back of his neck with your hands. The kiss was chaste. You didn’t want to sleep with him if he was having second thoughts.

“Are you sure? If you’ve changed your mind I can head hom-,” you were telling him.

“No, don’t,” he rushed out. 

“I’m fine; I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he confessed. This surprised you, not because you didn’t know, but because you didn’t think he would tell you. 

“Well, then maybe I should go. That way you can finally get to bed before the sun comes up for once,” you joked with him, “Besides, you’re the one who's always telling people how important sleep is to the human body.”

Your words shocked Spencer this time. Admittedly, in the back of mind he suspected that you could sense him leaving his bed, or your bed sometimes, and that one or more times he’d been a little loud dwindling in the next room. But he didn’t realize you were fully aware of his nightly escapades. You knew him too well. You were too sweet to him. Spencer knew after all the fucked up things he’s been through he didn’t deserve your friendship; or anything more despite the fact.

“Did you know that elephants sleep the least of any other animal?” he told you, he doesn’t know why. Maybe to distract you, or seduce you. Both outcomes came often enough for him to make it a guessing game.

“You’re not an elephant.”

And then there were the ultra rare times when neither outcome happened; just now being one of them. 

“Sleep deprivation has been associated with reduced sexual desire and arousal,” he tried again.

“Well, I can help with that,” you teased. There we go.

He leaned down to kiss your lips but you pulled back in tease, smile on your face; you knew how pussywhipped you had this man. He didn’t want to fight it, he was growing desperate for you with every passing second. Rolling his eyes, he dipped his head in the crook of your neck. His hands left your hips, pulling you closer to him from your waist and lower back. Your hands began to unbutton his shirt, he was still wearing the clothes you saw him working in earlier that day. 

You stopped him, never been one to have sex anywhere other than the bedroom, taking his hand already knowing where to go after doing so many times before already. Although, it wasn’t like his apartment was a confusing labyrinth. He followed you like always. 

You reached the edge of the bed, sitting instinctively. Your hand went straight to his belt, undoing it with ease. Spencer pulled your hands away from his hips before sinking to his knees to the ground. He pulled your hips to the very edge, scratching the skin as he desperately pulled at your pants bringing them down your legs. Of course you let him.

He pushed you back and you fell on your elbows, still able to see him so clearly. See him dip his head and kiss the skin on the inside of your knee, his eyes lingering on yours. You let your head go for a second, basking in the feeling of his lips. They always made you feel so warm and tingly. One thing about Spencer, he loved foreplay. All the little things that lead up to sex. Most of the time, he craved the foreplay more than the sex itself. 

He moved your legs over his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your thighs, his hands holding your hips. His nose ran along your inner thighs. Your skin erupted in goosebumps at the feeling of his warm breath coming from his nose. His fingers fiddled against your hip bones and you wiggled a bit becoming desperate by the minute for something more than just this teasing.

“Spence,” you whined, looking back at him.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we do this, you’ll never learn patience will you?” Spencer bartered. 

“Spencer, I don’t come to you to learn patience,” you spat, not with any malice however.

“You won’t come at all with that attitude,” he snapped back, hiding a grin between your legs. 

“Spencer!” you gasped.

He chuckled lowly, bringing his hand between your thighs, pulling your underwear to the side to expose you to him. You were glistening, slick beginning to leak from you already. Spencer could feel himself getting hard. He precariously tried to not buck his hips into the bed like horny teenager.  

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. 

He stepped up quickly letting your legs drop harshly. His fingers curled over the hem of your underwear pulling them down and tossing behind his shoulder before returning to his previous position. He felt like he was possessed. Acting and moving like it was primal, instinctive. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to satisfy you. 

He kissed all the places except the place you needed the most. You curled your toes anticipating his next move, longing for his lips, tongue, fingers, anything to bring you pleasure. Just when you were about to sit up, ready to nag at him, his lips wrapped around your bud. 

Your shoulders gave out at the feeling. Your body electrifying instantaneously. Your eyes trained on the ceiling, focusing on everything about Spencer in this moment, the sounds, his touch, his tongue. His tongue dipping in you every now and then, making you moan feverishly. His hands spread out, pinning your hips down to the bed to try and get you to stop wiggling your hips, but he wasn’t too successful in that. 

“Knock it off,” he groaned, removing a hand wrapped around your leg to bring his fingers to your entrance.

“It’s not enough; I need more,” you whined.

“No, you want more,” he debuted, “You’re being greedy.”

“And you’re being mean,” you quipped, you always had something to retort.

“Ok, fine,” he stood up.

“Stop!” you whined, “Please, come back. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he sat on his knees again, instantly bringing his fingers up to rub slow circles that made your toes curl. 

He purposefully let them every now and then prod at your entrance make your hips jerk in surprise. He could see how wet you were, all of the slick telling him how needy you were. He looked up to look at your face. His eyes catching your nipples peeking through the fabric of your shirt from the pleasure already, smiling to himself. 

“Sexual arousal can cause an increase in blood flow to not just female genitalia, but also the breasts,” he told you, feeling your thighs squeeze ever so slightly.

“Is that your way of telling me my nipples are hard because of you?” you teased.

“Yes,” he stated before diving straight back between your thighs. 

His tongue did circles like his fingers, the wetness and warmth much more stimulating than before. His fingers slid inside you, curling when he couldn’t push them any further. You moaned out, reaching your hand down to comb your fingers through Spencer’s shaggy hair. The noises of everything bounced off the walls of Spencer’s shallow bedroom. It sounded vulgar but so sexy. Your heavy breathing practically syncing together. 

Your thighs squeezed more and more as you got closer to your climax; you didn’t care if you were suffocating Spencer. If he died, he died pleasuring you and neither of you minded it in this moment. Your hips grinding against his tongue chasing you release frantically. Spencer pumped his fingers in and out of you rapidly, leading you to ecstasy. 

Your breaths became shaking, as did your moans. You were overcome with pleasure as your orgasm hit you so suddenly. You could feel Spencer’s smile growing against you, you knew that he wasn’t going to withdraw despite reaching your climax.��

“Oh god, too much, Spence.” 

“First it was not enough, now it’s too much?” he taunted you, fingers still pumping in and out you strenuously. 

“Spence!” you wailed, your voice trembling embarrassingly. 

When he wouldn’t give out, you pulled at his hair as you sat up and pulled his mouth away from between your thighs. 

“Oh ow, ow, ow!” he whined. 

“Jesus, you were gonna give me a heartache,” you whined. 

“Actually the possibility of having a heart attack during sexual activity is exceedingly low. So you wouldn’t have had anything to worry about; if anything you would get a small headache,” he explained. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” you whined, making him laugh.  

You pulled him from the back of his neck, crashing his lips against yours. You loved to kiss Spencer. You always felt the closest to him physically when you kissed. Which is ironic since he was quite literally inside you most nights. Kissing, the art of kissing, was practically your love language. You always gave small pecks when you were together, privately of course. 

Spencer was worried at first, that kissing was too intimate that things would complicate fast and feelings would get hurt. But as time went on and things continued to stay normal between you, he just began to relish in it rather than worry about nothing. At least that’s what he’s convinced himself of. 

He suddenly remembered the first time you slept together. You were in his apartment one night going over some details of the case. Nothing so major, or frightening, but something wasn’t adding up. You decided to take a break, cracking open some beers and just talk. One beer became two, then three, then four and then suddenly bottles littered the pitiful coffee table in front of you. You were very clear with him, “I don’t just sleep with anybody.” But you were a woman with needs just as much as Spencer was a man, “Neither do I.”

“Things have to stay the way they are if we do this,” he told you that night.

“They will,” you assured him. 

You rested your forehead against his seeing his eyes seem different. Spencer always did this. Everytime, just for a minute or even a second, he would disappear behind his eyes, like he was reminiscing on a memory you couldn’t describe. 

“You did that thing again,” you said with a small grin on your face. 

“I know,” he blushed, “Sorry.”

“You ever gonna tell me what you’re thinking about when you do that?” you questioned.

“Nope,” he smirked, making you giggle. 

Spencer stood straight up shagging his shirt off before scrambling out of his pants. He crawled back over you settling his hips between your thighs as he dipped his head down to attach his lips to your neck. Your hand curled around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair as his breath and lips tickled your skin. Your hips fit together snuggly, grinding against desperate to chase each other’s highs.

Spencer reached into the drawer beside your head to pull out a condom. You snatched it from his hands with a devilish smirk on your face tearing it with your teeth. You spat the foil corner from your mouth, pulling the condom from its package before tossing it aside. You reached between your bodies stroking Spencer. His face blushing red, contorting with pleasure as it’s the first of the night to feel some sort of friction he needed from the beginning. The reason he called you in the first place. 

Spencer let his hands trace your skin. Though you wouldn’t react, your skin erupted in goosebumps. Feeling him prodding against your entrance, your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat. You always anticipated this part. No matter how many times you and Spencer spent the night together, you couldn’t ever get used to the flips your stomach made at this time. 

Spencer pushed his hips into you, his length stroking your walls making your hum in delight. Spencer’s breath became heavy as he pulled out just enough before rutting back in you with skill. Your face began to feel hot as Spencer began to find a good rhythm. You could feel the sweat building on your forehead, the air cold against your scalp. 

You looked at Spencer’s face; the veins bulging from his forehead and his neck. You cupped his cheek with your hand, catching his rhythm with your hips. Your breath became heavy, your hums became moans. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most vocal lover you laid with. Not that Spencer was your lover of course. That‘s not what you meant.

“What’s going on in that pretty little brain?” Spencer’s voice took you from your sudden trance; his pace beginning to slow. He brought his hand to your face, pulling the stray hairs that stuck to your cheeks from your sweat away.

“Nothing, just don’t stop,” you sighed, pulling his lips down to yours again. 

Spencer picked up his pace again, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. You felt overcome with an ambitious heat throughout your body. You pushed Spencer’s shoulders up trying your best to cool down without stopping your chase to your high. Spencer sat on his knees gripping your hips, practically ramming his hips into yours. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets beneath you. 

“Oh god, fuck,” you cried out. Your thighs squeezing Spencer’s torso as you began to get closer to your climax. 

“Shit, it’s like I can’t get enough no matter how many times I have you squirming beneath me,” he gloated. 

You could see Spencer's chest begin to get red, his knuckles however turning white. Your hands reached down gripping his wrists. Prying them away, before sitting up to straddle his legs, as they stretched forward, adjusting comfortably. You held on to his shoulders sturdily, finding an entirely new rhythm to chase your high. 

Spencer’s hands ran up your back, sliding under your shirt that you had yet to take off. No wonder you were overwhelmed with heat. He peeled the tight fabric from your skin, tossing it to the ground like he has so many times before. He unhooked your bra with ease, his eyes instantly trained to your chest. He couldn’t help his hands following, massaging the soft skin. Spencer looked up to you as you bounced up and down. Sweat dripping seductively down the valley of your breasts. 

“You’re so pretty,” Spencer whispered, staring up at you.

“I know,” you joked breathlessly, giving him a playful wink. 

Spencer let out a breathy laugh at that. The both of you were itching for a release now. Your bodies squirming against one another, aching to give the other the release. You leaned back placing your hands on his thighs, moving your hips faster and harder than before. 

“Spencer, I’m getting close, I feel it,” you whimpered, “Please tell me you’re close too.”

“I’m close,” he breathed out.

“Fuck,” you cried.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let go,” Spencer mused, he reached between you two, fingers circling quickly between your thighs to bring you to climax even faster.

You gasped out, chest heaving as you felt the waves of pleasures wash over you suddenly. You couldn’t help the loud moans escaping from you as you threw your head back; arched back and thighs tensed. Spencer’s hand held your body close to himself, and you curled forward wrapping your arms around his head as you climaxed indefinitely. Spencer grunted below you, his legs stiffening and jerking upward. Curses whispered from his lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you gasped, relaxing and slumping your body over Spencer. 

“Treat me good, like always,” he whispered, his hand coming briefly to stroke your hair gently. 

He rolled you over, laying you lazily on his bed before climbing out of the bed swiftly. He stumbled his way to dispose of the rubber. He grabbed a small towel from a drawer along with something to cover himself. He sat silently on the edge of the bed, gently cleaning you as your eyes slowly blinked, telling him you were exhausted. 

“You want to stay the night? I can see how tired you are.” 

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” you quipped with a small grin on your face. 

Spencer laid beside you, covering your body with the blankets. You curled by his side, your leg falling over his hips. He turned the lights out, but the soft golden glow from the lights in the room next door streamed in. His arm wrapped around you, fingers softly stretching your back. Steady breaths against his chest gave him a sense of comfort. He was always a bit jealous how easily sleep came to you; how peaceful you looked when you did. Spencer tried to close his eyes. He tried to let rest wash over him like a blanket. What felt like seconds was an hour. And another hour. He peeked at his watch laying on the nightstand beside him, three o’clock the time read. 

Sighing, he sneaked out of bed, careful to not wake you. He skulked towards the kitchen, eyeing the small glass of whiskey still on the table. He couldn’t help smirk to himself over it. He opened the cabinet grabbing a mug, pouring a bitter liquid into it. He took a big swig of his favorite beverage, basking in all the flavors, when suddenly a beautiful figure stood before him. 

“Hey,” his voice was quiet. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t slept,” you tiptoed your way to him, you could hear him sighing. 

“Is there anything at all I can do to help you?” you whispered, carefully placing your hand on Spencer’s warm back. 

“No, but having you here is enough.”

You were beginning to blur the lines between your arrangement and your friendship. But neither you nor Spencer could muster up the courage to stop what you’ve started. Spencer indulged in your sweetness, the way you were always there to satiate his desires, the way you opened yourself to him like heaven’s gate. And you, well you would never admit it. Being in love with Spencer that is. You’ve known him for years; seen the best parts of him and helped him through the worst. You knew him the best of anyone you’ve known before. And he could say the same too. He’s never opened up to anyone as much as he has to you. 

You were perfect for each other. And yet, Spencer wouldn’t allow himself to bask in it. He truly believed he didn’t deserve you. That all the demons that haunted him in these dark hours were undeserving of your kindness, compassion, gentleness. Simply thinking about you was often enough to calm him in tense situations. But he would never tell you this. So here he was, standing in the kitchen with his coffee black at three in the morning wondering why you couldn’t see that he would never be enough for you. 

[pers1st]

she's got a way (she got away)

inspired by chappel roan's the subway!

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

summary: after the World Cup, your mind is set on leaving Spain - Alexia doesn't expect you to leave her too

It was clear, from the moment the Euros ended for the Spanish national team, that this situation would, at one point, escalate. You had been sure of it, despite the fact that all throughout the tournament, you hadn't been able to focus on anything but your girlfriend's recovery. Her knee was in pain, and so was her heart, and you were in England, unable to help due to the strict rules Jorge had set up.

Along with Irene, Mapi and Jenni, you were one of the most experienced, as well as one of the most vocal players. Your manager was slowly losing the team - it was evident that no one would really listen to a thing he said anymore, and he needed you to keep them in check. At least that was your theory as to why he appeared in your room almost every night, asking you the most absurd questions, and calming his mind with the thought of you keeping his back.

You didn't, though. It was merely the worry clouding your head that had you unable to speak your critiques, as you had done before. Jorge didn't need to know the reason, though - you were quiet, that was all he needed for now.

Alexia welcomed you back to Barcelona with open arms, though she noticed the bags under your eyes and the residue of salt on your cheeks. It was hard to miss - the fact that you were completely and utterly done. You were done.

You wouldn't go back to the Spanish National team. Not like this, and not without Alexia.

Your girlfriend was your biggest rock, and despite the fact that she was undergoing her own struggle, or perhaps that was the exact reason why, the two of you leaned onto each other more than ever. Set under pressure by the RFEF, the only way for you to escape was to lean your head on your lovers shoulders and close your eyes. Alexia didn't need to hear. She knew what was going on, without you ever speaking it out loud, and just before the World Cup, she started fighting hard for the federation to make up for their mistakes, and finally give their players a bit of fucking attention.

Still, she had to beg you. Had to beg you to come back, promising she wouldn't leave your side, promising things would be different, better. And they were, for a little bit.

The moment you allowed yourself to believe that your voices had been heard was a fleeting one. The referee blew her whistle, the English players fell to the ground in disappointment, and Alexia sprinted towards you full charge.

A moment later, when you were lifted into the air, and touched in places that left your skin burning, it was gone again. That little faith, the tiny bit of hope. It was gone. And a part of you was, too.

You had your medal. You had your picture with the trophy, you had a week of alcohol.

But still, the World Cup was tainted, and the horrifying response by not only the Spanish federation but also the Spanish press, and people, they made everything else unimportant.

You had been holding off on extending your contract. You had told the club you weren't sure yet-

You had been sure. Before the World Cup, the whole discussions and meetings had been merely a strategy to have a little more compensation for the work you did - it had been your agent's idea, but you had agreed either way.

Now, you weren't sure.

Spain felt different, in a way. You didn't believe that the country wanted you anymore, partly because you had been very vocal about what had happened, partly because the RFEF had told you so. Despite Rubiales' resign, they wanted an apology, a public one, for the comments and statements you had published. Otherwise, they didn't want you anymore.

That fateful email slipped further down with every new email you received, and by the time you told Alexia about their threats, the transfer window was almost closed.

It was rainy, that night. It never really rained in Spain that often, especially not in September. Your girlfriend had hoped the two of you could sit on your balcony and enjoy a glass of wine, for once. But it rained and you sat on the couch and before Alexia could place her drink on the sofa, something within you broke.

You didn't want to leave - you wanted Spain, wanted Barcelona, wanted Alexia.

Tears fell from your eyes so quickly Alexia didn't know what to do, almost spilling her beverage all over the couch in order to get to you.

"Amor, what's wrong?", she asked, over and over again, until all she could do was wrap her arms around you and hold your shaking frame until you calmed down enough to say something. Anything. She really just wanted to hear your voice.

"I think I have to leave", you breathed, finally, just when Alexia had believed you to be asleep.

Silence remained in your shared apartment.

And it seemed even more present when your last things had been moved to Manchester, and you were gone for good.

Your voice still sounded through the hallways, usually as the of two of you cooked dinner, separated by the ocean and phones on the counter, loud speaker enabled. You had vowed to each other to speak regularly, FaceTime if possible, and make visits as often as possible.

Alexia couldn't get used to it, though. It was quiet.

However, the changing room was louder than ever. With every week that you played in the color blue, the girls had something new to talk about. Alexia couldn't participate, because as much as she wanted to, it only reminded her that another week without a phone call had passed. You had said you were tired, yesterday, and you had said so the day before as well.

Moving was big. Especially if it was to another country. Alexia believed that you were tired, she really did.

"She scored another, on Sunday. Did you see?", Mapi pointed around the room animatedly, laughing along as Pina enacted the way you had put your entire force behind the shot, almost falling over her own legs as Cata leapt to the side, pretending to miss a shot.

"It was so good! She is shining!"

Unsatisfied with the acting performance of her own team, Alexia decided she needed to see for herself. Barcelona was playing this Friday, and since your game was on a Sunday, she would have enough time to fly over to Manchester with Jana and watch you and Jill in person.

It was a surprise, and she could see in your eyes as you gazed through the family section, that you genuinely were surprised. Leia was standing next to you, arm across your shoulder, finding her own friends in the crowd shortly before warm up would begin.

You radiated, waving to Leia's parents, shortly before your eyes caught those of your lover. Though you hadn't seen them in a while, you recognized them instantly, and your smile dropped for a split second, before it grew even wider. Waving your hands through the air, the stadium seemed smaller, all of a sudden. Alexia felt a rush of warmth throughout her body. Then, you turned around, focussing back on the task ahead, the way you always could.

Alexia could see it, then. You were happier than you had been for a while. She knew the weight that had pulled you down over the past year, and despite the fact that she was genuinely relieved to see you get on so well, it also inflicted a pang of something else.

Was it jealousy? Was it fear?

Jealousy that Manchester gave you something Alexia never could?

Fear that you would come to the same conclusion?

Alexia couldn't tell, but she could tell, as the stadium roared with each of the goals you scored, that you were happy. Jumping into the air to celebrate a goal you merely would've smiled for in Barcelona, all of your teammates crowding you happily, tapping your head and laughing along as you jogged back into position - you were different.

You had changed, silently, right in front of Alexia's eyes. She knew it was for the better.

A brief talk after the game followed, an excited kiss over the barrier, an apology as you rushed to the changing room to get changed, promising to meet her in the lounge after.

Then came the reassurance.

No, it's fine, I don't have to go for drinks with the others.

No, really, I want to have a nice evening with you before you have to leave again.

Of course I want to know how things are in Spain.

The word left your lips as though it sliced your tongue in the process, and despite the fact that you watched Alexia's brow furrow for the split of a second, the both of you never mentioned it again. The conversation dulled out, and despite the fact that Alexia was going to meet Jana at the airport hours later, she slowly began gathering her things.

You didn't stop her.

You brought her to the airport, and she promised Jana was on her way already. You wouldn't need to wait with her.

The previous goodbye had been different. There had been tears cascading down the both of your faces, whereas this time, there was merely a little glimmer of wet in Alexia's lashes.

There had been promises and plans, when you had left Barcelona. Plans to visit, promises to call, to make this work.

Now, you didn't even know when you would come back to Spain. If you would come back to Spain.

Your Catalan was rusty already, a hint of an accent coming through, that shocked Alexia at first.

She knew it was for the better, though. You weren't sad to watch Alexia leave, and Alexia would learn to live with that. It took two hours until Jana came. By the time the two walked towards their gate, Alexia's tears had dried. By the time the plane touched down in Barcelona, your lover had made up her mind to call you later. By the time she got to training later, she could only answer Mapi's question -

How is she doing?

With a wet "She got away."

Mapi didn't even question her best friend's answer, didn't furrow her brows at the prospect of her two best friends' breaking up, she merely offered a bitter smile.

Good for her, Mapi thought, too scared to voice her words out loud for the fear of hurting Alexia. Unbeknownst to her, your ex girlfriend thought the same exact thing.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Different First Meeting I Lollapalooza/Musician AU I 1.6k I SFW I Side Buckingham

Chrissy is talking but Eddie only catches every fourth word. It's not his fault, the guy walking in front of them is wearing the shortest possible shorts one could wear in public and not get arrested, and the back of his thighs, and the rest of him as far as Eddie can tell, are covered in little brown beauty marks. It's like walking behind a sexy train wreck. 

“So what do you think?”

“Mmm?”

“Eddie! This is important! Pay attention.”

He finally looks away. “Yeah. Italian. Whatever.”

She rolls her eyes. “I already decided on dinner, you jackass. I'm talking about going home for Thanksgiving.”

That's a huge no. He scrunches his nose to indicate how stupid an idea he thinks that is. 

Before she can further berate him, the guy and his girlfriend stop at a random door and walk inside. He's devastated. His soulmate, lost forever! 

“Oh, that's actually on our list!” Chrissy says, stopping him with an arm. “You wanna just go now?”

Eddie's so in his own head he doesn't understand what she's talking about until he reads the door and sees ‘Medieval Torture Museum.’ 

Eddie has a full blown joy filled conniption on the sidewalk. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.” He grabs her and shoves her towards the door.

“Asshole, this is silk,” she mumbles. 

He ignores her. His mole-covered soulmate is still in line, so Eddie gets to stand directly behind him while they wait. His hair is so swoopy. He wants to jam his fingers in it and fuck it up.

“Welcome to the Medieval Torture Museum,” a woman standing at the podium drones in a manner fitting a 70 year old Walmart greeter. “Please no flash photography and watch your step. Have a great time.”

Eddie watches as Soul Mate and his girlfriend make eye contact and attempt not to giggle. It's exactly the same thing he and Chrissy just did behind them. 

Once it's their turn to pay and get their little stickers, Eddie is already foaming at the mouth to follow up the stairs. Chris dicks around, struggling to figure out where to put her sticker. Eddie swears at her under his breath while his Soul Mate gets away.

“It's silk, Eddie!”

Fed up, he takes the sticker from her, baps it onto her forehead, and runs away.

He's glad he left her when he gets to the top of the stairs in time to hear Soul Mate mutter, “I'd pay a drug lord to do that to my dad.”

His girlfriend answers, “I'll do it for twenty bucks and first pick out of his wine cellar.”

They shake on it in front of the mannequin display of a Columbian Necktie.

Eddie is more in love than ever. 

“That's not medieval,” Chrissy points out when she meets them upstairs. She's unbuttoned the blouse enough for Eddie to see the sticker is now stuck to her collarbone. 

“If you're gonna get nit-picky, I'm pushing you back down the stairs.”

She gives him a doubtful look. “Daria down there would save me.”

He huffs a laugh. 

They catch up with his new boyfriend as they stand critiquing the Impaling wall, he follows as subtle as he can through the next room too. Luckily, there are other people mingling about, so Eddie doesn't look too obvious, but it's imperative he stay close enough to hear every comment made.

“That would fix me,” the guy says a lot, especially at the display of a man having his head squeezed until his eye pops out. Eddie can relate, he gets migraines too. 

He does get distracted when Chrissy opens the door to the giant metal bull, because he can't miss the opportunity to try to shove her inside. She wails, kicking him directly in the dick. He drops her in favor of dry heaving the pain away. It's totally worth it because he catches Soul Mate watching. 

“Don't even think about it,” Soul Mate’s girlfriend says. 

Soul mate scoffs. “Like you'd even fit.”

“Bitch!” 

They wander off.

Eddie waddles after, slowly.

He's reading a plaque about flaying when he hears the two of them mutter, “Henderson,” at the same time. He turns and finds them high fiving over a display of a guy with his tongue nailed to a board. 

“Is this a sex thing?” Chrissy asks, holding up a metal cock plate with spikes attached. 

“Without a doubt. I'd venture to say most of this stuff is. Also remind me to have something like this guy drawn up for wardrobe,” he wiggles the one with a boar on the front, “it's so me.”

“Ugh, you're the worst.” 

He stops giggling when he looks up to find Soul Mate looking him up and down, not in a ‘I must have you’ kinda way but a ‘I know you from somewhere’ way. He's not a fan, that's for sure, a fan would've clocked him right away, stupid ball cap on or not. He's sweating his ass off in a sleeveless tank top and jeans, and his tattoos are fairly recognizable. 

Eddie, not shy in the least, gives him a little wave, wiggling the metal boar dildo at him. “How about this guy? Think he'd fix ya?”

The guy chokes on a laugh, embarrassed to be caught looking but not so much that he looks away. “Only one way to find out,” he manages to say just loud enough for Eddie to hear, not so loud that the entire room hears it. 

His girlfriend slaps his bicep. “Don't flirt with Eddie Munson!” She hisses. Not in a ‘you're standing next to your girlfriend’ kind of way but in a ‘flirting with famous rock stars is ill advised’ kinda way.

Hope springs eternal! “No, do. Do flirt with Eddie Munson,” Eddie, shameless in the face of possible love, says back.

Soul Mate moves closer. “Eddie Munson? The Coffin guy? Melted Coffin? You're the Melted Coffin guy?” 

Despite the lack of musical awareness, Eddie is still smitten. “Sure. Melted Coffin.”

Chrissy snickers at his elbow. “Does that make you guys one half of Spoon Goons?”

“Ha!” Soul Mate's girlfriend cackles, holding up a hand for a high five. 

Chrissy gives her a demure tap, actually blushing, like the useless lesbian she is.

“What's a Spoon Goon? Are you guys drug dealers? Why would she know you and I don't?”

Chrissy rolls her eyes up at him, the ‘I lament ever being nice to you in high school, you are embarrassing me’ look.

“They're in Scoops Troop, dumb ass. You've never seen them before because you don't listen to pop music.” She turns back to her new crush. “Sorry, he's allergic to dance beats. Also,” she looks back up at him, “where do you think your drugs come from? The Drug Fairy?”

“That was my nickname in High School,” he quips. 

“It wasn't but it might as well have been.”

Eddie turns back to his Soul Mate and holds out a hand. “Eddie Munson.”

Soul Mate wastes no time shaking, grip firm, hands huge. “Steve Harrington.” He takes his hand away to backhand his friend in the shoulder. “This is Robin. Buckley. Platonic Soul Mate and huge cock block.”

“Huge Cock Block was my nickname in High School,” she says, shaking Eddie's hand and then Chrissy’s.

“Cunningham, Chrissy.” 

“Holy shit!” Robin exclaims. “You're Christine Cunningham? Wait, of course you are, oh my god, I heard all about what you did to Axel Rose last year. That was fucking epic.”

Chrissy, still holding Robin's hand, goes scarlet red. “Oh. Ha. Yeah, he's a dill weed.”

Robin gives her an unwarranted snort. Though calling Axel Rose a dill weed is pretty accurate, it's probably the tamest thing he's ever been called.

Eddie glances over at Steve. They share a look. ‘Can you believe how useless lesbians are?’ 

Eddie nods toward their still clasped hands, pointing out the total lack of awareness on both of their parts. Steve snorts. 

The girls go on a tangent of their least favorite artists to tour with, which is when Eddie gets while the gettin’s good and starts scooting away, Steve equally cat-like beside him. They back toward the next room, side by side, until they bump into a mannequin display of various ways to tickle someone to insanity. 

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, distracted from their getaway. “That can't be right. That claw thing just looks like it would feel good.”

“I'm pretty sure I have one of those at home.”

Steve glances over. “Oh yeah? Where's home?”

“Currently, L.A. Originally? Bout an hour south of Indianapolis.”

Steve's eyes light up. “No shit? I'm from an hour north of Indianapolis!”

“That's insane.” 

“Seriously. Ha.” He plays with the rope contraption on the Blood Eagle display. “You guys are playing tomorrow night, right?”

“Yeah. Nine o'clock. You guys?”

“Sunday at Four.”

Eddie nods, files that away. “The girls are probably gonna fall in love and try to move in together, you know that right?”

Steve shrugs. “We're in Sacramento at the moment, LA wouldn't be a stretch. I'm a wiz at U-Hauling at this point.” 

“Good. So we should do our best to support them. Fucking immediately is probably the best course of action, you know, just to make sure we're compatible.”

Steve doesn't look over but Eddie sees his lips get tucked in, trying to smash his smile down. “You had me at ‘weird torture pig dildo.’”

“You had me out on the sidewalk, I would've followed you down a manhole.”

“Play your cards right, you still might.”

“I love you.”

They're still making eyes at each other when the girls catch up.

“Eddie, Robin and Steve are coming to dinner with us.”

“Yeah they are,” he agrees immediately, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulder.

“Did you know their drummer doesn't have any collarbones?” Chrissy says as they make their way back toward the front stairs.

“Holy fuck, Cunningham, I'm already a sure thing, you don't have to keep selling it.”

[queer-coffee]

simple words | pt. 1

Part 2 | Part 3 | Read on Ao3

Sanji sparks a light, just as the rising sun sends a beam of light through his tiny kitchen porthole.

Really, he wants to ask Franky if he can do something about that. Sanji’s favorite part of the day, and he can’t properly enjoy it through just a tiny porthole what with croissants that need an egg wash before the dough gets too warm, and bacon cooking alongside a maple glaze that will burn the sugar if it gets too hot, and weighing out the proper mix of five different tea leaves that he knows makes Zoro smile into his cup when he thinks no one is looking, and all the other things that must be done in a precise order, perfectly timed, so that breakfast is ready, but with a welcoming sort of ease fit for first thing in the morning, as his crewmates start to stumble in after a late night to enjoy it.

Not to mention, he needs more airflow in here. Sanji pauses as the sunray reflects off the ceramic of his stovetop to open the porthole. He exhales in its direction and ashes his cigarette after, so nothing disrupts the flavor of this meal.

But Franky worked so hard on this ship, and Sanji knows how much thought was put into every other aspect of his kitchen, his wine cellar, his aquarium with the freshest and most delicious fish he can find, that he can’t bring himself to critique something so trivial.

A crisp gust of wind blows the smoke back in his face, and into his kitchen.

Sanji sighs.

It’s so trivial.

But he can’t get it out of his head, what that stupid moss brain said to him last night.

And he knows it wasn’t personal, or intentional, or even really meant as an insult at all.

In fact, it was one of those rare moments that Sanji loves, when they catch each other in just the right mood, both just drunk enough, both alone.

Their crewmates were all laughing and yelling and drinking in the room over, oblivious to what was happening to Sanji just a stone’s throw away.

Sanji was returning with a few favorite picks from the wine cellar. A red blend for Robin, a sweet orange for Nami, whole milk for Luffy he grabbed from the kitchen, and whatever table wine for the rest, except for a small bottle of the finest sake he could get his hands on at that last island.

And the Sunny hit a swell. And Sanji, normally used to these unexpected changes in his center of gravity from being on a ship his whole stinking life, was too distracted polishing a smudge off the sake bottle to react in time, and lost his balance.

Sanji was ready to go down, unable to break his fall with his arms so full of precious cargo. He held on tight and braced for impact, but that impact never came.

Because the next thing he knew, strong arms were wrapped around him, and his nose was buried in someone’s musky shoulder. He caught his breath, inhaling sharply.

It didn’t take him but a second to place that warm scent, and Sanji’s heart pounded hard. He could feel the sweat on Zoro’s neck from the warm, muggy night, and still smell the sweet rum of that cocktail Usopp spilled on him.

“Hey shit cook, watch where you’re going” Zoro barked, pushing Sanji away from his chest, “You can hold your liquor better than that. How drunk are you?”

Sanji gripped his liquor bottles tighter, realizing that, while he was no longer buried in Zoro’s chest, Zoro still hadn’t let go of his shoulders, his grip fierce.

“Not drunk enough to be getting manhandled by you.” Sanji retorted, enjoying that spark a suggestive comment always put into Zoro’s eye.

But that spark was a little different tonight.

Zoro took a step in. Instead of muttering something insulting back, like the swordsman usually would, he pulled Sanji in closer. “It’s a good thing I don’t like women anyway,” he said.

Sanji’s heart fell.

“Lucky me,” Sanji muttered back. He pushed by Zoro, suddenly resenting all touch.

He took a few pounding steps, but stopped.

Sanji turned around. Zoro was frozen where he left him.

“This is for you,” Sanji said, holding out the bottle of sake. Zoro turned and stared at it, for a moment. Then he took it.

Sanji left before Zoro said anything else.

I don’t like women anyway.

The words replay in his head for the thousandth time that morning, like a knife twisting. He takes a small sip of coffee, a new habit he picked up since his brief stay on Whole Cake Island, and opens the oven door to put the croissants in. A gust of hot air blows his hair back, taking him aback.

He cut it short recently, too short to tie back, and he still isn’t used to having it loose rather than up when cooking.

Nami said she loved short hair like that on girls, while she was cutting it, but that it would make him look like a boy. Sanji didn’t tell her that was kind of the whole point.

It’s hard to tell everyone that he is finally coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a woman, like they all think. That he’s never been, and it wasn’t until his time with Iva-sama that he finally realized it. That he learned what all those feelings he had meant, and that there were other people like him who also felt those things.

At the time he rejected it so horribly, terrified that he was also like that. He saw how difficult life was for those people, and he didn’t want his life to be any harder than it had been. He worked so hard to press those negative memories back. His childhood. He never wanted anything to be so hard again.

But then he trained alongside them. He talked to them. He cooked for them. And laughed with them. And he learned more about what being queer really was. It was hard, he was right about that, but it was also free. And all he ever wanted was to be free. Free like them.

It would just be hard first.

And he is just finally accepting that. Ever since he nearly lost everything that ever meant anything to him on Whole Cake Island, he is craving that freedom even more now. He thinks it’s finally time to go get it.

It will just be hard first.

Sanji inhales on his cigarette, allowing the nicotine and caffeine to gently wash over him, as he repeats it to himself, still in awe of how good it feels to not only know, but to accept. I am a transgender man.

Sanji exhales out the porthole, and closes the oven gently, letting that good feeling go.

He thinks of Zoro.

And wonders how on earth he’ll tell his friends.

Part 2

[wendylianmartin]

Whoever just sent me a long negative rant about my comic in my askbox, I did not read it, I deleted it immediately after seeing the words ‘long negative rant’ lol.

If you dislike the comic and want to rant somewhere about it that’s completely fine, just don’t send it to me directly, I’m not going to read it.

I’ve been in a very bad place and I’ve worked really hard to get out of that rut so I can keep working on the comic and part of that process has been avoiding places where I might see negative comments and rants directed towards me. I now only have a few places where I can still see fan content but I would hate for tumblr to be added to the avoid list so please don’t send me stuff like that directly.

Again, you are totally welcome to critique the comic or rant about it, just do it in your own space and don’t send it to me or tag me please. I’m just trying to get though the day, and hopefully finish this season.