#it’s a shame people like this have access when they only care for a ship and are mad cuz that ship isn’t happening

[daisysmalia]

Wish the fangirlish writer would shut up and take their own advice. You don’t like a ship? Stop talking about it.

[imtheindiekid]

Sweet creature.

Prompt: Reader is the new resident at the Sonic Catering Institute run by the excentric Jan Stevens, the woman who sponsors her art and in exchange asks reader to become her lover.

Ship: Jan Stevens x fem!reader.

Warnings: FLUFF in caps, literally so much fluff and besotted reader (lol), pet names, Jan Stevens being the bundle of joy I know she is. Reader is not a minor! Kisses LOTS OF KISSES (bc you cannot tell me Jan is not a softie for giving and receiving smooches). Kisses as love language, mention of alternative food art but not really. Mostly reader and Jan being two fools in love.

A/N: Hello again! Here I come to fulfill my dream of Miss Jan Stevens having an affair with one of her residents (but a real relationship, we're a big no no when it comes to Billy Rubin and his lack of international love smh) So yeah, hope you enjoy! xo.

----

Food it was always more than the simple sustain for life, or a way of living or making profit by creating meals to offer at a place. No, it was more than that when it came to you and food, almost like a deep connection to know more about it, your curious mind wandering trough the cook books and kitchens you had access to, always wanting to know why such bond held a very special place in your soul.

The only explanation you could give it was that the universe granted you this rare talent in order to pursue it, even at a young age.

Enjoying any kind of dinners was an experiencie, and everytime you did it never failed to feed the craviness of reaching new levels when it came to food. Almost like a miracle, you decided this uncertain but luring path was the one you needed to follow.

----

It took some years and a great amount of failed plans, but you were finally happy at the way this whole thing of food music turned out, even when at an early stage of it people thought you went completely mad for creating art made by food that was not eatable at all. If they put it out like that it sounded crazy, but you knew they didn't understand, not even one bit.

Great thing you never cared for hearing others peoples opinions about you ditching college and embracing the alternative yet excentric art of sonic food catering, the one that made your heart fully happy. And so there you were, after small gatherings in cramped spaces, effort and love for this art carried you to the magnificent Sonic Catering Institute; a place where your ideas and wishes could rest easily and get sponsored by the right people. By her, and only her.

Jan Stevens was the woman you would never see at the street or a common place. You were sure she was a woman you would never see her at all, and yet, the only one if she randomly appeared behind an aisle at the supermarket or a the next table in a restaurant. The oddity about her and the looks she always wore were the whole essence why you reached for her, the reason why pleasing her was as important as creating your art.

She had you in a chokehold, your muse.

And of course, Jan Stevens knew the power she held on you as well the the love and praise that seemed to escape without shame from yourself when it came to her. It was adorable, seeing you so enamoured with her and always behaving like a puppy around her expensive dresses. She loved it, so much that it wasn't so long after you both came to an agreement; she would sponsor after the residency if you became her lover, stating that she could do international love and being thousands of miles apart wasn't a problem for her to keep loving you.

You sealed the agreement by kissing her so unexpectedly, making Jan Stevens smile.

----

It had been two and a half months since your acceptance at the Sonic Catering Institute and one month since becoming Jan Stevens newest lover, and those were blissful days. Making art and sharing a compassionate love with a wonderful woman it was truly more than you have dreamed of.

A wonderful woman whom had her slender hand wrapped around your arm while taking a peaceful stroll with you through her mansion gardens. The day was beautiful and sunny enough to make both of you take a break from brainstorming ideas for the next gathering and soundchecking, so instead of spending the rest of the day in between the sheets, you and your lover went for some calmness at their favorite place.

"Look there my love, those flowers are blossoming today."

"They are indeed sweetling. Thriving and shining like you, Y/N."

A smile appeared in your face as soon you heard the soft voice praising you and comparing your success to the bush of flowers that bloomed so beautifuly that day; Jan Stevens never failed to burst love and adoration beneath your skin, with her words and pretty names she used to call you most of the time; she still had to maintain the façade of professionalism when it came to presentations or those dinner parties she threw occasionaly.

You didn't mind it though, that people weren't aware of your relationship, they had no right to know about it or think that you're only using Jan Stevens for getting her money. So therefore, it was kept secret in order to enjoy it in your way. In a few months, you would be pursuing the next phase of your art, and at that time the residency would be over; so no worry about secrecy.

But right now, strolling by the bushes and old trees with your excentric yet handsome lover, was more than enough to you.

"How can you say such things and not make me blush like a poppy?"

You asked, gazing at her and actually starting to look as red as a strawberry, which made Jan Stevens laugh softly and reach one of your cheeks with her free hand, caressing it. The mere action had you almost like a puddle, if you could actually turn into that, but it wasn't very practical if you thought about it.

"Because sweetling, I love the red flush that crawls through this beautiful face of yours. So beautiful and kissable and which I absolutely adore."

"Jan Stevens, please my peach!"

The blonde laughed again, finding cute the way you would turn bashful at the praise she threw at you. Having enough of standing up, Jan Stevens gently pulled at your arm and grabbed the skirt of her black and white dress, leading you both to a bench near the shadow of a big tree. There, you took a seat next to the older woman, careful of not stepping accidentally on her dress.

As soon you sat down, a couple of hands went straight at your face and turned you to look at your love, who was smiling before closing the gap between you two in a series of short kisses. You didn't waste anytime and found a place for your own hands in the waist of the blonde, tracing so slightly and lovely the curves of her body possesed.

The sound of hums tickled against your lips, making you smile at it and knowing that your beloved peach was really enjoying this demostration of love. It turns out Jan Stevens love language was mostly kisses, and she loved giving them to you or receiving them happily from you; the lipstick she used always got smeared in the corner of her plump lips while you ended with a face full of lipstick stains and a drunk in love face.

The range of her kisses would vary on the mood she was; sometimes, they were no more than a peck to remind you of their love. Other times, she would pin you against the matress and leave you breathless by how her kisses grow hotter and needier, this time reminding you of the power they held.

But the ones you loved were the ones that gave with such patience and grace, holding you as if you were a fragile and delicate thing. Those were the ones that gave you at the garden and you totally fell for it.

"Jan."

"Too tired to say my name, sugarplum?"

She whispered against your mouth, kissing you a couple of times before pulling out of the embrace, but not totally to be apart. Your eyes felt heavy and tired, but an enamoured smile was in that face of yours; the sight of you, fuzzy and high in love was endearing to Jan Stevens, who couldn't stop looking at you.

"Perhaps my lovely bunny would love to go and take a nap. Looks like someone's tired."

"Not tired, just simply love drunk thanks to you peach."

"You're always seem to be love drunk baby."

This time it was your turn to laugh at her response, squeezing gently her hips while a foolish grin appeared on your face. She was right of course, you were always love drunk and all because of her; of her captivating love she had in her soul. You simply rested your head in her shoulder, pulling her body close to yours.

Jan kept a hand on your flushed face, stroking your cheeks or playing with your hair, while the other one found a place in your lap. Silence filled the space rapidly at the absence of words, but it was okay; there were moments with such intimacy like this one that words didn't need to be said. Both of you just knew how much love was in between.

It didn't take long for Jan Stevens to kiss you, never having enough of your kisses which you gladly give. Pecks turned into sweet kisses that turned into a full make out session, suddenly initiating a fire in your lower abdomen and made you whine against Jan's lips; your hands gripped her hips while the elegants of your beloved traveled to your torso, teasing you so slightly.

Then, she drew out again and caused you to protest at the lack of her warm, but a finger was placed in your lips to silence you.

"No whining darling, and let's take this into bed."

The mention of laying with her instantly cheered you up, and also caused you to stand up to take her hand and pull her out of her seat. Amused and in love with your reaction, Jan Stevens followed you through the gardens and into her mansion, already looking foward for all of the things she plans to do with you.

Oh how she loved being the headmistress of a place like this. And how she loved you.

----

The end. <3

[marcia-11111]

Kinktober (2/10): Shameless. Sakusa x you

MINOR DNI

The reader is gender-neutral, however they have a vagina. Everyone is aged up to 21+ years old.

It is my first time writing smut, so any feedback would be nice 😊

All "Haikyuu" characters belong to the authors of the manga and anime "Haikyuu"

Please don't translate, plagiarise nor use my works on other social media platforms, etc.

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

It was filthy. He could even describe it as repulsive. Sakusa considered the desire he had for you and your beautiful body a weakness—something that could expose him to the external world he would like to avoid, especially the paparazzi, who did not have an issue with invading the poor outside hitter’s life. The infamous ‘light, camera, action’. 

Everything started with a rumor about you and Sakusa dating. It was back then when you accidentally bumped into him, and he told you to have been more cautious. He had not known even your name, and you heard only the rumors about the cold and distant spiker of Black Jackals. 

Since that day you dreamed about each other, how would your bodies blend together? You had wondered about his muscular silhouette on top of you, his manhood pounding into you relentlessly. The rumors did not help either. Fans shipped and edited both of you, not knowing for how long you masturbated to each other. It was shameless, but felt so good… Both of you were not able to tell what would have emerged from that. 

But everything he valued ended with the fact that you, the object of his desire, were an actress. A popular one on top of it. He needed you more than he wanted. It had been a secret for such a long time. The hidden kisses, short glances, and passionate nights in small spaces—everything made this affair more thrilling. The distance between you got even larger when you were outside; only sheets remembered the tiny “I love you’s” and the sounds of pleasure. Even though both of you wanted to give in fully to your primal desires, your consciousnesses did not grant you access to fulfilling those cravings. Until one day... 

The tension between you was too high, causing him to take you to his hotel room. Therefore, you had to take care of each other's needs at a hotel. The shame was due to the fact that Sakusa wanted you more than his mindset allowed him to believe. Just why? Why you out of all the people?

“Shh, baby, do not let a sound out,” Sakusa murmured while he kept pounding your tight cunt. You struggled with holding your moans in, scratching his broad back from pleasure. You were so close but so far away at the same time. You cried out and wriggled, but he did not care about anything else but the filthy pleasure. Sakusa did not know what turned him into someone, but rather something so filthy. Maybe it was your pretty face and incredible body that made him insatiable and yourself tempting. 

“Kiyoo-” You wanted to cry out, but he quickly covered your mouth with his large palm. You tried to sway your body against him, so eager to moan, but the circumstances did not allow you to do so. He only sped up, causing you to choke on your tears, with him holding his other hand on your throat. 

“Shhh, baby. Let me fill you up. Shhh, we don't everyone to hear. Fuckdolls are quiet,” Sakusa replied sternly. And he started to thrust even harder. However, he did not predict what would happen in the course of the next few minutes. “My perfect slutty pussy. So tight." 

“Kiyoomi! I am close! Ahh!” Sakusa missed the fact that his hold on your throat loosened, allowing you to moan out his name. Furthermore, your pussy clenched around his large shaft while you were cumming, causing him not to know what to do. That sound seemed magical to him, prompting the muscular wing spiker to put his hands on your legs and spread them wider. He hit the spots inside your body you did not know existed, his dick caressing your cervix with each thrust.

“My perfect little slut.” He groaned while continuing to do his job. He no longer cared about people outside hearing your noises, as he pleasured both of you with his long and strong strokes. 

“Kiyoo!” You came as he ravished your tight walls. Slowly after that, he filled you up with his seed, not wanting to dirty the sheets with the “filthy liquid”. 

“If you want to be a whore, so be it.” Then he allowed you to let out loud moans and emptied his balls inside you. 

“Ahhh~Kiyoo!” You could not have stopped crying out, causing him to be proud of himself and not caring about the other people hearing you both outside. 

He continued to pound into you without mercy, wanting you to scream the loudest you could. The night was far from ending. 

[blythebewitched]

Dogday Headcanons:

These headcanons are parts of my AUs in my Discord Server.There are ships. No human kids or Canon Game Lore are associated.

Tales From The Playcare AU:

Dogday is the original leader of the smiling critters. He was replaced as leader by Catnap when The Prototype took control. He's been reduced to Catnap's assistant and toy.

When he was made, he was intended to be an "angel" that runs security and oversees The Playcare. He was given the Sun Pendant and a wing suit to have access certain parts of the building. Only the leader has these privileges.

This good boy has the sunniest disposition and first impression, however, his job was never easy. He secretly suffers from VERY LOW self esteem. He has depression, ptsd and struggles to see himself as a good leader. Ever since Catnap took over, he's seen himself as nothing more than a failure. Leadership is a curse to him.

Catnap was his best friend before the Prototype influenced him. Dogday knows its still his buddy, but he changed so much, he thinks his best friend is dead and gone.

Despite this, the closest person to him is Kickin. Every smiling critter has been manipulated to follow the prototype, but Kickin seems to hold onto the past just as much as Dogday.

He misses the relationships he had with the other critters. They all changed so much . . .

During the "bigger bodies" project, Dogdays wings were accidentally added to his skeletal structure. He can hide his wings in his back.

Don't tell anyone . . . But Cat wasn't the only critter to have special abilities. When DD was created, the humans gave him a wing suit for two reasons. To "glide" over the Playcare for security runs and to regulate his minor levitation/gravity abilities.

DD is actually too big now to "glide" or "fly" so he keeps his wings away. If he does pull them out, he can't flap his wings. The gravity ability got amplified accidentally . . . He can give you a heart attack by flapping his wings now.

Dogday has a personal hideaway in the Playcare. (The "sun" is a room above the Playcare). There's a LOT Cat and TSC don't know about DD.

DD has a Playcare staff. It doubles as both a weapon and walking stick.

Basic Headcanons:

Dogdays scent is Vanilla. (He loves the smell, but hates that it makes him seem so BASIC and unoriginal).

DD loves Cat very much . . . Even after everything.

Kickin has Lil Bro status with him.

DD plays acoustic guitar and taught Kickin electric guitar.

HE CAN SING. Like . . . Crazy good singing.

His entire outward personality is ADORABLE. He has the best smile, laugh, energy. Its a shame it covers up his worser parts so well.

He and Cat went from bffs to master/slave to doomed lovers.

He has a spacesuit from one of TSC Show episodes. He likes the helmet.

DD can light up. So can his pendant. This good boy is literally the sun. Bright mf.

DD destroyed every picture of himself from the past. EVERY PICTURE. He really doesn't like looking at himself anymore.

Dogday dances like a pro too! He's very talented.

Did I mention that he learns REALLY FAST. (Bubba once learned the HARD way to be careful what he does/says/acts/shows DD).

Dogday has ALOT of moments where he acts like an actual dog. Face licks, headpats, playing fetch, you name it. He'll get pouty if you call it out tho. He likes acting like a real dog and gets embarrassed when people laugh about it.

[saneijeijei]

Actually.... There used to be more White Lily and Cacao content until there was a massive drama where a Dark Lily shipper threatened heavily on a beloved PureLily shipper and caused A MASSIVE purge of art because of it

First of all, if you wanted to tell me how that conflict actually happened, you needed to attach screenshots. Because listening to your version of those events, and even with an emotional coloring, is absolutely pointless.

Secondly, Purokoii did NOT THREATEN, but helped restore access to Yonyon's account and supported her in that situation, after which she left the fandom and deleted her account. If YOU didn't know. Lima who is still in conflict with Yonyon, is not related to Purokoii in any way. And she is not a popular or mainstream author who makes content for the fanbase. I wouldn't be surprised if this person has nothing to do with our fanbase at all, but simply uses (WITHOUT THE PERMISSION of the AUTHORS, I DARE REMIND YOU) otp pictures to mock Yonyon.

Thirdly. Are you now indirectly trying to shame me for the actions of a stranger? You think I shouldn't make content based on my favorite ship because some person quarreled two fanbases? Or is it because YonYon decided to delete all her work, is it my fault too? I should feel guilty for the actions of a person I don't know? Are you serious now? Should I be ashamed of did you hide your account, realizing that you need to be responsible for your statements?

Maybe I should still be ashamed that I breathe the same air as you? What kind of absurdity are we going to get to?

According to your logic, if your fans (only toxic guys, to ordinary fans who don't try to write nasty things to me every time, there are no questions, they have nothing to do with it, I sincerely sympathize that they are in the same fanbase with such people) who regularly come to my Pinterest and Tiktok accounts and say how they don't like my content because they love Purelily, you should be ashamed, because it was because of them that Purokoii left, because she was shamed by fans from the Purelily fanbase? Aren't you ashamed of them? Because of you, I no longer have the opportunity to watch the work of my favorite author.

Remind me, where have I ever spoken badly about Purelily or insulted the authors? Where? Maybe I'm writing angry posts to them or remembering old grudges? How are the events of a year ago related to me, if I was NOT even in FANDOM AND FANBASE at the time of the conflict??

Fourth. Was there more Cacaolily content before the conflict? Are you kidding me? You can type into the tag search what's on Twitter, what's here, what's in ao3 – there have always been few authors who have developed the fanbase. What's before the conflict, what's after. Literally count on your fingers. The fanbase has never been very popular in the fandom. Purelily has always had more content (AND THIS IS NOT BAD, I OBJECTIVELY UNDERSTAND WHY THIS IS SO AND I THINK THIS IS NORMAL), when Cacaolily was drawn most often by regular authors in the fanbase, and rarely when new ones appeared there.

Fifth. I have already written TWO POSTS on this subject, which are publicly available. If you are interested in my point of view, you can find it on my blog and read it. Because my opinion has NOT CHANGED at ALL since writing that post.

Sixth. Since most likely you will not read my post about the conflict, because you did not come here to talk about the conflict, but to throw out your next toxic attack of aggression on me, because I do not want to apologize to you. Therefore, I will repeat myself. In any fanbase, there are asshole fans who, by their behavior, spoil the attitude towards the entire fanbase. They cannot be forced to stop doing this, they cannot be shamed or called to conscience, all that helps is to ignore them and warn newcomers in the fan base in advance not to communicate with them. Most of the fans of ANY FANBASE are ordinary people who enjoy creativity and they don't care what happens behind someone else's fence.

And so amazing coincidences under which you asked this question as soon as I made a reblog of gen-fanart, which features Cacao and Lily (because, I'm artist Cacaolily, and in your opinion I have no right to enjoy any other content, including content where all the ancients are friends and not in a relationship. After all, how dare I enjoy someone else's work and repost it? Is that why you decided to recall the old quarrels again, in which I did not even participate?).

And you don't get tired of remembering the story of a year ago. Weren't those quarrels and negativity against each other enough for you? Do you want to continue to quarrel between two fanbases so that there are no artists left who make art/fic for fans?

I hope this is the last time I will hear such comments for the first time and for the last time I will chew the obvious things.

To the Purelily and Cacaolily fanbase, I want to say one thing - strength and patience, guys. Toxic fans want we fight and quarrel again.

[dotthings]

Welp. I've talked before about how parts of the Jared stan lane have fake woke, dino, pseudoliberal tendencies while they're actually very narrow minded and anti-progressive and anti-diversity wankers. They sure are going hard openly embracing homophobic and fascist dog whistle tactics aimed against Destiel.

They're screaming and kicking and yelling against their own irrelevance. Nobody cares that you hate Destiel, Susan.

Worse, though, some from the staff of jibcon are full on embracing homophobic dog whistles, concern trolling, and fascism. They, and the Jared stans, resemble the book banning efforts targeted against LGBTQ books in libraries and schools going on in different states in the US right now. It's the same. Underlying. Mentality. It makes THEM uncomfortable. So nobody else should be able to have access. THEY don't like it so it has to go. The arguments are also relying on a vile level of demonizing the entire Destiel lane, which is extra gratuitous and gross and hilarious when you consider all the hatred that Jared stan accounts have been spewing onto the internet on multiple platforms non-stop.

The real world political climate makes it even more alarming that this is happening in a fandom space. It's a reflection of real world problems and it's leaking in. I do not want to hear your "shipping isn't activism" and that it doesn't matter how welcoming fandom spaces are. It matters.

Argue with the wall.

This is malicious and the goal is to full on ban Destiel from fandom spaces and make shippers feel unwelcome. Someone even made the slippery slope argument, and tried to blame the existence of fanart.

So let me slippery slope this--if they get their own way banning Destiel at cons, the fandom fascist anti-Destiel brigade will start a concerted effort to try to silence it online too.

If you think this is ok stay away from me.

Argue with the wall.

A jibcon staffer sought out a fan on twitter who got blocked at jibcon from having her fanart signed, despite Jensen's willingness to sign Destiel fanart (and he signed others). The fan got Misha to sign it and was comforted. Jensen never even got a chance to see it.

The jibcon staffer replied to this fan with a screed shaming them for refusing to hide their "boy love," used the "I have a gay friend" excuse, and collective accused every Destiel shipper who ever asked to have fanart signed, by two actors who have been more than willing and both have been kind and supportive towards shippers in fandom spaces, of only trying to "look cool" and using it as a "toy."

While the usual suspects from the Jared stan lane opportunistically tried to incite even more hatred aimed against the Destiel lane and used homophobic dog whistle tactics and concern trolling.

Someone calling all j2 fans "moderate, sensible" and all Destiel shippers "Gross" is classic dog whistling and is a tactic used by the far right while they attempt to paint compassion and inclusion and equity as an extremist position.

Do not even try to tell me this isn't homophobic fandom style fascism.

Argue with the wall.

It's stifling and silencing and malicious and people who think because THEY don't like a queer ship, it should not be seen and heard. They're like puritanical far right groups who wail "protect the children."

I do not care even one ounce if you don't like destiel and you're not a shipper so you think this is all ok.

YOUR DISLIKES ARE NOT RELEVANT HERE.

Homophobic dog whistlers and concern trolls who target Destiel shippers: You're done. You are not welcome in this fandom. Leave.

[monsterqueers]

You know, I can see why sometimes people think callouts are necessary;

When you are in a communal space and being harmed, or have suddenly become privy to serious harm, you want that harm to stop. One of the first things you learn on how to do that, once asking them to stop doesnt work, is to ask for help.

In small communities like forums or discord servers, you ask the community leaders for help. They talk to the person to make them stop or ban them from the small, non life-essential community. If the harm was bad enough they might encourage you to bring it to court (such as an adult soliciting nudes from minors in DMs).

Often this is done without the details being aired to the rest of the community (if the issue was in private).

But bigger websites like tumblr or twitter or youtube are not these kinds of small communities. Banning someone from a huge swath of the internet materially effects their livelyhood and ability to access community and care. The support staff for these websites usually take time to get to the case and often do nothing about it when they do because its not what they consider a TOS violation, even if its harm done.

This means if it cannot be solved by blocking, and you cannot leave because the space has things you need, your final tool to make harm stop is by airing the dirty laundry so social shame hopefully does something.

HOWEVER THE VAST MAJORITY CALLOUTS ARE NOT LIKE THIS

Most callouts are petty drivel attacking minorities (but especially trans women in particular) and filled with lies.

The person making the callout though, often genuinely believes that they are making harm stop like above though- because their definition of harm is much wider and includes things like 'trans woman having sex with consenting adults in a way I dont like', 'I was in conflict with my ex a lot because we could not communicate', and 'reblogged a fanart shipping naruto and sasuke once'.

They think that things that personally upset them out of disgust count as real harm. They think any conflict is always abuse.

Or at least, that is what the people making them will claim, and its hard to sort them from the true victims.

I think a notable part of why callouts are such a plague is because of the structure of social media as a whole. We dont HAVE the usual tools to curate our spaces well enough anymore and protect our communities from bad actors and people know this. Its the drawback of being so connected. They cannot see another way to do this, so they are loathe to let go of a tool that -in theory- can.

I think its something that is overlooked in conversations about this.

Its rare a plea to abandon callouts altogether has a feasable answer for 'what do we do with the confirmed serial abusers, scammers, and cult leaders that DO exist? How do we prevent them from hurting more people? They already had community support and love and they did harm with it. You cannot give them a rape babysitter a la the missing stair essay (of which the story shows works badly) over the internet. You cannot make them go to therapy over the internet and ensure it works. You cannot still act like nothing happened without making their victims feel unsafe and unsupported. What is there left to do?'

And honestly, I DONT have a good answer to assuage these concerns.

With new social media the way it is, with site moderators that only step in for TOS violations if that, how CAN we keep known serial bad actors with no true commitment to doing better from harming others except by warning people to not trust them?

Internet safety tip PSAs only do so much, and not using the megasites is not an option for most people either.

Trying to make callout posts be more accurate by trying to educate what is a calloutable offense has done nothing to reduce erroneous callouts.

People already commit to 'only spreading REAL callout posts', but they still spread bunk posts regardless.

It just... sucks all around.

-This post is not a perfectly worded and cited essay, do not treat it as such-

-This post is saying all the callouts crying wolf have ruined one of the few tools left to oust actual unrepentant serial abusers and scammers from communities without cop involvement, not that one should spread callout posts, dont clown!-

[piecesthatcanfit]

It’s 2023, and Larries still can’t enjoy Louis Tomlinson, the artist, as an individual. It always has to be about him and that other person. Everything he does has to relate to someone else. Never appreciated or celebrated his art without needing to link it to someone else. If he wears something, oh, it’s because of someone else; if he expresses himself, oh, it’s about that person; if he has lights surrounding him, it’s not about him alone; no, never, that can not be. The disrespect is constant. I saw someone tweet about wanting to get into Louis, and the replies were about Larry and "proof" compilations from when he was young so many moons ago. Not his music, not his shows, nothing about him alone, nothing about the person and artist he is NOW. Larries do not realize the damage they cause on a daily basis. The whole idea of Larry goes beyond shipping; it in itself is disrespectful, homophobic, and misogynistic on so many levels. Let me play along and say Larry was or is real, and one of them or both do not want to talk about or be public with their sexuality (and stop with the management thing). Why in the world would you engage in a behavior that outs him? What Larries do is not done behind closed doors or only in fanfics (that alone is a conversation for another day); during Louis’ AOTV premiere, his concerts, online, among his colleagues and peers, Larries are there, and they are not just loud but obnoxious. Imagine saying you care about someone (well, more about their sexuality and who he "might" be dating), and yet you out him every chance you get. Vile behavior. Louis is a person with layers, friends, and experiences that you will never have access to, and that makes you mad and outraged. You attack people he loves, people he dates, and people he wants to be part of his life. You disrespect his family, his son, and his friends, and then claim that you love him while you scream liar to him with no shame. You don’t see Louis as an individual, and you need to realize that. You take part in homophobic stereotypes and discussions about his private sex life; you fight and get annoyed when he exhibits any behavior that doesn’t fit your misogynistic stereotypes; the same man that writes songs like Angels Fly, Holding on to Heartache, Defenseless... (insert all his discography). You contribute the "tommo way" to being an asshole. You showcase classist behavior; you don’t even want to admit that everything he stands for and all his values that he has spoken about publicly go against the person you so desperately "ship" him with. Louis is a solo artist in his 30s, on his second world tour, standing on his own after years of self-doubt. He finally found confidence and joy in being on stage, he talks about how thankful he is to be accepted, and feeling safe as AN ARTIST, and yet all Larries care about is: is he gay? He can’t be straight... Grow up and reevaluate what you are really doing. Louis has had enough struggles; enjoy the music and stop reducing him into a delusional ship. 

[longshotlink]

This is messy and started as filling out questions that then slowly turned into just writing a story. I don't have names for almost anyone, but I've been struggling to write, so here, have this.

I inherited a piece of jewelry. It's a ring. It's a dark metal band, or is it stone? She can't quite tell. A larger gemstone that shifts from black to smoky white depending on the light is centered on it. It's an oval shaped gem. To either side of the gem along the band is swirling filigree.

The ring is clearly magical. No ordinary ring would resist description so. I inherited it from a distant aunt. I only met her a few times and it always seemed like my parents wanted her to leave. I feel similarly shunned by my parents. Being queer was always like nettles just under their skin, waiting to prickle them the wrong way and turn their ire on me. I have no proof my aunt was queer too, my parents didn't let us speak much, but holding onto the ring helps me feel less alone.

I grew up around animals. I really wish it wasn't a metaphor. Sure, my father had a dog, but it was his dog, and I wasn't allowed to play with it. Thinking now, I don't even know its gender. That's kind of fucked up. Unfortunately, that's still not what I meant.

Where I grew up, people were always hungry. Hungry for power and standing. My parents tried to steer me to boys of other families they thought would advance their position in their society. The boys went along with it. Why wouldn't they? They benefitted from having quiet, subservient girls handed to them. I was never quiet enough, never compliant enough for their tastes. I always had to be on my guard or they'd simply take what they wanted, like an opportunistic predator picking off the weak.

…Growing up like that sucked. I'm too guarded now, even around people I consider close friends.

My family is extraordinarily wealthy. You don't get that way unless you exploit others. I hate what they do with their money, and the way they hoard it. I'd donate a lot of money away, but I have no access to the money. Father is the only one with access to it, and he gives it out sparingly. Since I'm a disappointment of a daughter, I only receive money when it's absolutely necessary. I've seen my father give suitors more money than I've ever held in my hands. I think I'm close to escaping this hell, but if I'm not careful they'll never give me another chance.

To say I'm stuck in a cult is an understatement. This community is basically a locked down military base miles from the nearest city. Only those in the top echelon leave, and then only if they're male. Everything is shipped in, and while we're not short on space here, I've always felt confined. There seems to only be one road in and out and the rest is surrounded by dense forest.

Only the fact that I'm queer and cause my parents shame gives me any sort of freedom. But I feel that time closing. I've heard them speaking of fixing me. That on my upcoming 20th birthday, they're going to have my suitors 'show' me what I'm missing. They think they can fix me, I think they can fuck off.

It's been hard to plan, but I think I've come up with an escape plan. All this place sees me as is a pretty face and a breeding vat. They see me as a link to my parents' wealth. They don't know me, none of them. Especially not my parents. I don't know how so many people buy into this place, but I want out. They won't allow me to just walk away, so for me, it's do or die. If they catch me…I won't allow them to keep me any longer.

Shit. When did the McMillians have a kid? They're showing her around like a piece of prize cattle. She's got to be only five or so and they've already got adult men looking at her like she's an object at auction. Oh, she looks so scared. I wonder if I can get her out too. I don't know why I'm thinking this. A child that young isn't going to want to be separated from her parents and I don't know how to take care of a kid while we're on the run anyway.

…She won't be safer here, but I can't do it. I'm not capable of saving her. I'm not sure I'm even capable of saving myself.

The night of my escape is upon me faster than I ideally wanted. But if I don't do this now, I'll never escape. I manage to sneak out of the house and across town. The workers at the loading dock are busy bringing in the month's shipment.

Bright lights illuminate the space, but shadows still gather along the walls. I don't plan on being seen, but I've prepared for if I am spotted. Just before leaving the house, I used a stolen knife to slash my hair down to the shortest it's ever been. I've also wrapped my chest and stolen clothes from my father's hamper. They're dirty and rumpled, but I'm hoping that'll sell them as mine if anyone might question why they don't exactly fit.

I crawl through the warehouse space, keeping to the shadows best I can, walking with purpose when I can't. I'm nearly to the shipping vehicles when I feel a tug at the hem of my shirt. I nearly startle right out of my skin as I make eye contact with the world's saddest eyes. It's the McMillians' daughter.

"Are you leaving? Can I come?"

This is the last thing I expected. The last thing I needed. In the distance I see an open office door and vaguely remember Mr. McMillian runs the shipment warehouse. She must have been brought here by her parents and she saw me crossing the warehouse.

I cough and put on a gruff voice that I'm wishing I'd practiced more now.

"I'm going with the shipping vehicles, yes. But you should run along back to your daddy." I crouch and make a shooing motion. Her eyebrows drop comically into a glare.

"I know who you are. My daddy talks about the disgr-, disgra-, bad girl no one in town likes. He pointed you out to me once and told me not to be like you. But you're leaving now and I want to come with you. Daddy's been preparing me for my future, he says. It hurts though, and mommy doesn't do anything about it and I hate it! Please don't leave me here!"

I wasn't expecting such a rant from this pintsize. I quickly shush her, looking around for anyeone who might notice us. We're currently alone in some dark shadow, but I can hear the vehicles starting and know I'm running out of time. I stand and half turn toward the vehicles. She lets out a harrumph.

"IF you don't take me with you, I'll tell on you and you won't leave either."

Crap.

"Fine, fine, fine! But we've got to go, now. No time for goodbyes."

"That's okay. I don't want to say goodbye."

She looks resolute. I shake my head at the life we've lived that she's already so eager to escape. But I can't fault her. Her father sounds like a real piece of shit. I hope I can get us both out of here safely.

I take the bag off my back and flip it around to rest on my chest before crouching back down and offering her a ride.

"We've really got to go, and I don't think you're fast enough, so just hold on and stay quiet. I'll get us out of here."

She nods in reply and I start running. Stealth is less of an option now, with the vehicles beginning to move. The vehicles have a loud engine and the warehouse echoes that noise all over, but I still flinch at every odd sound. There are two men standing at the loading dock watching the vehicles leave. I need to get past them, but they don't look like they're leaving. I whisper up to the McMillian girl.

"Close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to, okay?"

I feel her nod. I creep behind the men as quickly as I dare. I slide the knife from my pants pocket. I hoped I would be able to get out without violence, but I don't think I have a choice anymore.

With the sound of the vehicles drowning out my footsteps, I step up behind the closest man, grab him by the chin and plunge the knife into his throat. He gurgles and blood covers my hands. I start to shudder at the feeling, but jolt when the other man grabs my arm. I cry out and try to throw him off, but he's much stronger than me. He wrenches the knife from my grip and pushes me out the door, away from the dying man.

I nearly fall as I stumble on unfamiliar ground, but manage to stay upright. The girl tightens her grip around my throat and I choke for a moment. I focus on the man coming toward us. He's shouting, but I'm not registering his words. His friend is lying still on the ground behind him in a growing pool of blood.

The dock worker raises the very knife I'd killed his friend with and makes to plunge it toward my chest. I throw up my arms. It's a flimsy defense but it's all I have now.

As I flinch, a pulse in my finger echoes into my body. The ring, my aunt's ring, flares. Flares a violent light, a curious light that I'm able to see without being blinded. I realize there seems to be some barrier of shadow between me and the light.

The man has no such barrier. The light is blinding and he drops the knife in his attempt to cover his eyes. The light disappears as the man falls to the ground. A swirl of black and white light covers his eyes and I realize he can't see me at all. I scramble for the knife before he's able to recover it.

I consider taking advantage of his ailment, but the thought of taking another life tonight fills me with nausea. He's groping blindly on the ground now, like he'll find his sight among the dirt and stones. I take a step back, two steps, and then I'm turning and sprinting for the vehicles.

There's only one left, and it's starting to move. I barely reach the rear bed of the vehicle and pull myself as quietly into it as possible. The vehicle doesn't immediately stop, so I don't think I've been seen. I crouch down behind a crate and breathe heavily.

Muffled crying startles me out of my relief. It's then that I realize the little girl is still hanging on and is weeping through closed eyes onto my back.

I hastily wipe my hands on my bag before tossing it further into the vechile's bed. I slide her hands off my neck and gently lower her to the floor.

"Hey, you're okay. We're okay. We made it. You can open your eyes now."

She does and I can see tears streaming down her face. She's trying very hard to be quiet though, and I recognize that instinct to suffer silently from my own childhood. I pull her into a tight hug.

"It's okay. You're okay now. We're going to be just fine now. You can talk to me about how you're feeling. I'm not going to ignore you."

Her response is quiet enough that if she hadn't been right next to my ear, I wouldn't have heard her over the engines.

"I know you told me to close my eyes, but I know what you did. You killed someone. Did you have to kill him? He didn't do anything to us."

"I…don't think I had any choice. If I'd tried to run past, he would have alerted others and we'd have been stopped before we could get away. I'm sorry. I did what I thought I had to."

She has no more words, only sobs as the vehicles moves through the forest, the half moon shining dimly through the thick branches.

I do my best to comfort her as she cries herself to sleep. My own tears stain into my father's shirt as I hold her close to my chest. I don't even know this girl's name and I've taken responsibility of her entire life now. What the hell am I doing?

As her tears slowly ease into sleeping breaths, I look at my aunt's ring in the dim moonlight. The gem looks gray in this light, no matter which way I turn it. What had happened back there? It had never done that before. It seemed like magic, but I'd not exactly been tutored on the specifics of magic. That I knew of magic at all was thanks to books that she'd found as a child. Even those had been burned as outside propaganda when my parents found me reading them.

/i/I wonder why it activated now. I've been struck before while I was wearing it. Though it's been several years now. Maybe my age has something to do with it./i/

I look down at the child drooling on my chest. I lightly brush the hair out of her face.

/i/She's been through a lot already. I wish I had known of her earlier, though that was probably intentional. Easier to mold her when you're all she's known. I hope I can get us far enough away that no one from that place ever finds us./i/

Tiredness washes over me and I struggle against it. When we break from the trees I need to get us off this thing before anyone notices us. Thankfully, with her cuddled up to me, heat isn't as much of an issue as I had initially worried. For now though, I needed to keep my wits about me. I shake my head to clear any drowsiness. My eyes don't seem to get the message, and they slowly flutter closed.

"Maybe closing my eyes for a few minutes wouldn't be a bad idea. I won't fall asleep though," I mumble, already losing consciousness.

[addictedtostorytelling]

Fellow aroace here! With Valentines Day coming up, I have a question.

Does all this shipping ever make you sad? It didn’t use to, for me. But the way you describe Grissom and Sara’s intimacy and comfort with each other is beautiful. They’re better, healthier people when they’re together…I don’t know. Our society isn’t really set up to find that outside of a sexual and romantic context. Has shipping influenced your perspective at all?

Please don’t answer if any part of this makes you uncomfortable : )

hi, fellow aroace anon!

i'm going to tuck my answer after the "keep reading" here, okay?

__

while i can't say the feeling has ever necessarily been connected to shipping for me, when i was in my twenties, i did experience a kind of mourning for the life i had always been conditioned to expect that i would lead, which i was just then starting to realize was an impossibility for me.

at that time, as i was coming to terms with my aroaceness, i felt heartache over the prospect of being so terminally alone; i was not only sad but even a bit angry that for whatever reason, my biology and/or psychology and/or conditioning had "saddled me" with this weird indisposition toward companionship. it seemed like nature's cruel joke.

not only did i have no interest in having sexual and/or romantic relationships, but i also was such a very private person that i didn't want even a roommate, much less any kind of platonic partnership, even if such a thing were available to me.

for whatever reason, i was "wired" toward complete solitude.

particularly as i watched my friends and siblings pairing off with long-term romantic partners, getting married, having children, etc., i very much had a sense of being on the outside of some of the most fundamentally human experiences looking in, knowing i was incapable of passing over that threshold myself.

i didn't want the sex or the romantic love, but i was also afraid that without them, i'd be lost, unmoored, forgotten about; somehow incomplete; inhuman.

i worried about what would become of me, not only in a more practical/utilitarian sense—who would take care of me when i was old?—but also in the more ethical sense of being concerned about my personal growth and character.

how could i be a full person, i wondered, if i didn't know those most sublime kinds of love, if i never experienced those kinds of intimacy?

there was almost a shame to it and definitely a great deal of fear.

it wasn't until i started to more critically examine some of my underlying assumptions about what i actually wanted for myself in my life and what kinds of things were meaningful to me personally that i realized that a lot of the sadness and anger and shame and fear that i had were inherited feelings, tied to how allo- and amatonormative society generally is.

for my whole life, i had been told that living and dying alone was the worst possible thing, and, frankly, it took a lot of work for me to start to disentangle my actual feelings from that deeply ingrained but ultimately false premise.

part of this process involved starting to live on my own and to carve out a life as a lone adult person sans a romantic partner. the more time i spent by myself, the more i realized how much i liked it.

the other part just involved growing more into myself and becoming more actualized as a person, which is something i think that a lot of people experience going into their thirties.

in time, i realized that i could still be a complete and fulfilled person without experiencing love for a romantic partner and/or child.

while there are plenty of people out there—including fictional ones, like grissom and sara—for whom those kinds of love are their raisons d'être (what is ultimately most edifying and motivating and fulfilling for them), i could draw my inspiration and satisfaction elsewhere.

and it isn't the same, i know.

i have had to come to terms with the fact that there is this whole huge swath of human experience that i will never access; an unknown country i'll never be able to claim the passport to visit.

but there are other things out there, too.

some people might look at my reasons and scoff at how quotidian they are—say that they are not the kinds of things that people write epic stories about, after the same fashion as romantic love.

i've had to learn to be okay with going against those norms and defying those expectations.

in my process of self-acceptance, i looked a lot to my grandmother, who had divorced my grandfather in her sixties and then spent the last three decades of her life living alone. she traveled extensively. researched and wrote the definitive biography on an obscure twentieth-century artist. supported her family members. undertook all sorts of artistic projects. made friends wherever she went. convinced every single one of her thirteen grandchildren that they were, individually, her favorite.

barring when she had guests, she went home to an empty house/apartment every night.

but her life was rich and meaningful.

she found edification in small things.

in her nineties, before she died, she told me that she was so glad to have had so much autonomy in her later life; that she actually reveled in it.

so i've tried to take a similar approach.

my vocation as a teacher and scholar of the arts has become very meaningful to me, as have my friendships, my commitment to being kind, my obligation to keep my dumb cat alive and happy, my identity as a storyteller and writer and a supportive sister and advocate for causes i'm passionate about, even just my role (however small) in making people smile with the pictures and stories i post to the internet.

a lot of people would look at my life and opine that what fills it isn't enough—and especially not to occupy me for the next forty or fifty years.

maybe time will prove them right.

but right now, i am able to find beauty in how i live. i am motivated to better myself. i enjoy living with no one except my cat and cultivating different forms of intimacy aside from the romantic, having different needs filled by different loved ones; "doing it by committee."

though occasionally i am still curious about what romantic love would really be like, most often, i tend to think that maybe the "unknown country" isn't actually so unknown to me after all. foreign as it is, it's still imaginable to me, at least, based on my experiences with other kinds of bonds, different affections.

that's why i can enjoy seeing it in stories.

that's why i can write about it in my fics, despite having never experienced it for myself.

sure, the attraction part i have to purely suppose about, but the parts about devotion, the parts about wanting good things for someone you care about, the parts about finding yourself inspired by someone else—those parts i understand enough, i think, to approximate.

and the rest of what i don't, i'm okay not knowing.

though i do still have some practical concerns about what the future will hold for me as an unpartnered person with no children, the older i get, the more i am not only okay with but genuinely happy in my orientation as an aroace person and contented with my lifestyle.

given the choice, i wouldn't want to be allosexual or to experience romantic attraction.

in my late thirties, i'm not sad to be who i am anymore.

now.

all of the above said, my journey is my journey alone, and i'm certainly not trying to insinuate that you or any other aroace person who does feel that kind of mournfulness is wrong to do so—and neither am i saying that it's something that can just be "grown out of" or that your feelings aren't valid/real.

while i do believe that society being so thoroughly allo- and amatonomative plays a big role in how we as aspec people feel about ourselves and our prospects, i also know that there are many in our communities who do legitimately grieve not being able to engage in sexual/romantic relationships not because that's what anyone has told them they should feel but because that's how they actually do feel, just within themselves.

not everyone can or will come to feel as comfortable in their identity as i have in mine. i know that for a lot people in the community, that regret of not being able to experience sexual attraction and/or romantic love is something that very much "lives where they live." they'll always wish that they could have it; always wish that they were different.

and that's not something light to bear.

i tend to be a very naturally solitary person, even just socially, beyond anything having to do with romance or not.

i like to joke that i am the hermit on the mountain—i love to have pilgrims come to visit me, but i am also totally at peace just chilling up there by myself.

but a lot of aroace folks—probably the majority of them, honestly—have greater social needs than i do. while they might not want romantic partners or spouses, they do long to share their lives somehow; to experience long-term, deep levels of intimacy with one or more people.

to have someone to come home to, as it were.

that's why a lot of aroace folks seek out queerplatonic relationships or surround themselves with platonic friends.

however, those options aren't necessarily either available or appealing to everyone.

like you say, it's not a simple thing to find deep connections outside of the realms of sex and romance.

it can be a very isolating experience, not having an interest in those kinds of intimacy. make it hard to come by companionship, even if one wants to.

so if that's where you are—

honestly, i can't tell you what you should do. the kind of self-examination that helped me come to terms with my situation may not work for you, particularly if you have more of an interest in forming intimate nonsexual and nonromantic social connections than i have, which it sounds like you might.

all i can tell you is that you have every right to curate your life—including how you interact with fandom.

as for the grissom and sara of it all, while they definitely draw their senses of purpose from and experience beauty and healing and growth in their romantic love for each other, theirs is just one kind of experience. there are other characters for whom "transcendence" comes from other sources than romantic love.

for example, catherine.

the same is absolutely true of real life people.

love stories are not only ubiquitous in fiction, but they are also often framed in such a way that they seem like the be-all and end-all in it, with the narrative coming to its culmination only when the characters get married "and live happily ever after."

but they're not the only stories there are.

and other happy endings are possible.

i won't pretend that finding guiding principles, sources of intimacy, motivations for self-betterment, a sense of fulfillment, etc. outside of what society would consider to be the "usual avenues" toward them is easy.

traveling less-frequently trodden ground never is.

but i do know for sure they are possible to find.

there is no one right way to be human.

and there are deep and real and wonderful loves out there—full passions!—that are not predicated on one's ability to experience sexual attraction or romance.

keep looking for yours, anon.

there's a lot of beautiful country out there for us aroaces to explore; parts unknown, just waiting to be mapped.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[kitkatt0430]

C, J, R and S for the fandom ask game!!

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will (be nice)

I attempted to like Cisco/Caitlin, but their platonic besties game was too good and I got too invested in their friendship to be comfortable shipping them. Which is a shame since there are a lot of good fics for that ship, I have no doubt. I just... have no interest in reading them.

Then there's more recently Chester/Allegra. Relationships with big age gaps have to do more to convince me there's chemistry there and since Allegra is 24 and Chester is a few months away from 32, they've got an approximately eight year gap. I've shipped bigger age gaps than that (Harrisco... and also ColdFlash) but those ships typically have so much chemistry on screen that it's difficult to unsee once I've noticed. But Chester and Allegra just don't have that. I mean, I am less drawn to canon ships in general since non-canon ships give more room to play by being divergent by default... but this really isn't that issue for me. They're just... bland.

But I do think that's a hallmark of the Flash's current cache of writers who apparently thought KillerBlaine was a good idea. Mark Blaine's only real impression on me is that he doesn't know how to keep his shirt on and he lacks the charisma, personality, and badass leitmotif of Zaveid (Tales of Zestiria/Berseria) needed to pull that off. ... this said be nice so I should probably stop here.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

Glee. I'm never going to be able to get into the show itself. I tried but i didn't care about high school based drama shows while in high school, so not even the music could make me enjoy the utter slog it was otherwise. But despite the drastic divide over whether Blaine is a good person or terrible and somewhat emotionally abusive boyfriend (which... he does canonically assault his boyfriend in a parking lot so you can imagine where I am on that divide), there's a lot of interesting fics (prose is so much more accessible to me than tv for high school and college type dramas) and fandom meta.

That said, since I'm never going to actually watch the show all the way through or even halfway through, I have no intention of ever contributing to the fandom beyond commenting, liking/kudos-ing, or reblogging. But there's fun to be had in fandom without necessarily having to enjoy the canon its built off of as long as people can be nice to each other... while also liberally blocking those who can't.

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Well, Hartley/Roderick is certainly a pair so rare that I wrote the first fics about them on Ao3. But though they're canon, Roderick is basically a clean slate upon which any personality may be placed. So he's less interesting than basically any character on the show with a defined personality of their own beyond 'loyal minion'. Which is probably why I can only think of one other person, off the top of my head, who also writes for that ship. I think there's more than that now, but not by much. That was a definitely a ship where when I first wrote for it I was hoping that even if there didn't wind up being much interest for the ship itself, people who enjoyed my writing would consider reading the fics anyway.

It was definitely Hartley's devotion to Roderick that drew me to the ship in the first place. It's still what I like most about them.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

So I've got two contradictory headcanons about E2 Oliver.

1.) E2 Oliver drowned in what was a tragic accident. We know that the E2 version of the Hood was Robert Queen thanks to a brief news clip seen on the Flash and, in the final season of the Arrow, Oliver was able to briefly take E2 Oliver's place by pretending to be him, rescued and returned home after all these years so that means E2 Oliver at the very least never made it home himself.

But since E2 Malcolm wasn't evil that means he never orchestrated the undertaking which means he would have no reason to put a bomb on the Queen family yacht. So in order for it to have been lost at sea, the ship must have run afoul an actual accident of some sort and sunk. Assuming E1 and E2 Robert Queen were similarly preferential to Oliver's survival over their own, then E2 Robert must not have managed to find Oliver in the aftermath of the ship's sinking or he might have killed himself to ensure Oliver had enough rations, similar to how E1 Robert killed himself and his bodyguard.

All of which tells me that odds are Oliver died and it was probably that grief which fueled Robert's time as the Arrow.

Admittedly, this is what everyone in E2 thinks happened, no doubt, but canon never actually confirms one way or another that E2 Oliver is 100% dead as a doornail dropped into the ocean, so I say it counts.

2.) While it doesn't change Robert's motivations or belief that Oliver's dead... Oliver did not drown when the yacht sunk. Instead he was rescued by a member of the League of Assassins and was given no real choice about joining. We don't know that E2 Sara was on that boat - or even exists? do we know if E2 Laurel has a sister named Sara? - but E2 Oliver has taken the slot that was E1 Sara's and become an assassin. Only he never tried to leave and remained an assassin up until the universe got red sky-ed to death.

I have no idea if I'll ever use these headcanons in anything, but they're there waiting should I ever need them.

[spinsworthyourfind]

The address of Spinetical Spins Worth Your Find is https://b7ae09.myshopify.com/

Spinetical Spins Worth Your Find is a trademark of the organization, Spins Worth Your Find. (However, the name has not been federally trademarked, yet.) It is something on my To Do List! I need funds to do so.

Anywayz… Spinetical Spins Worth Your Find is a store that is being built, but already open for business. To be honest, I am learning as I go, as far as e-commerce goes, so bear with me. I am also open to any advice that anyone may have… or requests. I may be a soft hearted, loving, and caring person, but, don’t confuse that with weakness. I like positive criticism because it only helps me to become better. And, as far as requests or questions… you don’t know until you ask. I do not take things to heart because I understand how the mind of human nature, business, and people in general, seems to see things or wander or wonder. Therefore, things may seem like they are not… but, could be. I am not out to trick anyone or mislead anybody. So, if you are unsure of something, just ask and let me give you an answer. That simple! (If I can’t answer or something, I will be straight forward and tell you that.) And, I am not the type of person to hold a grudge or put another person to shame. I’m far more mature than that. I’m a very strong business woman, leader, and not in any way affiliated with any criminal acts of sex, drugs, or money crimes, organized or not.

Anywayz… at Spinetical Spins Worth Your Find you will find the e-commerce website where you can buy digital downloads in png 14cm x 14cm file format of my freehand drawings and my digital creations. I am not too familiar with this digital thing and not exactly sure what does and doesn’t matter or make the difference when it comes to the downloadable content. However, I have decided to create all of the links for purchase to be available for the same price, $3.00/each at the moment.(I don’t know what a reasonable price is for that.) But, the download is available immediately at checkout, you also receive a link in your email for unlimited download access, and you are sent an updated link if I complete any changes or updates in my shop to that item.

Also, you can find the second hand items that I have for sale. They are available to be shipped through USPS and they are available to make arrangements to be picked up at my house. (All items are cleaned and sanitized before being posted. All items are legally owned by myself. They are not consigned items. They are all items that I have legally acquired throughout my life for the purpose of resale.)

Finally, you can find items that are available at a wholesale discount. The same items are also available for individual purchase. They are available to the public, businesses and consumers, the same. I am in the process of trying to incorporate all of the items I have available through ArtPal and Spreadshirt in this one place through the Shopify platform. Until then, you can find other new items of mine for purchase, that I created, at: https://www.ArtPal.com/spinetical and https://spinetical.myspreadshop.com . All of these items are physical goods shipped from the United States.

If you are looking for a bulk discount on your order or would like to receive regular scheduled shipments, contact me directly and let me get your discount prepared and place your orders. (Prevents you from the hassle of multiple orders… when I can place one order for all three sites.)

My phone # (580)517-1792

My email spinetical@gmail.com

[rmd-writes]

Hiiiiii!!!! 💖

For the fanfic ask game: 15, 22, 39, 46 and…

28: Music + (Wedding? 👀)Dance Lessons + TK and Carlos.

15. OCs or no OCs? I don't write them often, but I do quite often fall a little bit in love with an OC in other people's fics, so yes to OCs.

22. Do you listen to music during your writing process? What music do you listen to while you’re writing? Not usually while actually writing, (unless a fic is inspired by a song, in which case I listen to it on repeat) though I do have some fic specific playlists that ifyoustay put together for me that I listen to to get in the right headspace to write that particular fic.

39. Collaborations or working solo? porque no los dos?

I've worked on a few collaborations and it's always so much fun! Having said that, even on fics I write myself, I'm never truly working solo - I bounce ideas off friends, send snippets to them along the way, and for longer fics usually have someone with access to the document to read and leave comments for me as I go!

46. Few long essay reviews or many short reviews?

I love and appreciate all comments, regardless of length, truly. Long essay length comments do hold a special place though, because I know how much effort they take to write in themselves, and the fact that someone not only read my words, but took the time to write something so thoughtful in response to it is so touching! 28. I will name you three things (object — scenario — fandom/ship): write a paragraph or two!

Arguably, music is not an object lol. But, having debated this with you and accepting your amended prompt of bluetooth speaker - dance lessons - Tarlos, here you go:

Carlos wakes up and reaches for TK, finding the space next to him empty, but still slightly warm with the remnants of his fiancé’s body heat. He opens his eyes blearily, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He can't see TK, but straining his ears, he can hear him moving around in the kitchen.

He waits, but when it doesn't seem like TK is coming back to bed any time soon, Carlos gets up and pads into the kitchen.

What he finds, is TK, completely oblivious to Carlos' presence, dancing in front of the refrigerator as he searches for a snack. Carlos smiles to himself when it's clear that TK is wearing his earbuds and attempting to practice the steps they'd learned earlier that evening at their wedding dance lessons. While TK loves to dance and loves music, well Carlos doesn't like to be critical but it's not exactly his fiance's greatest skill. TK's dancing is endearing is what it is, the way that he moves without a care in the world, letting the music flow through him as best as it can.

Carlos waits until TK turns around and simply raises an eyebrow at him when he startled at finding that he isn’t alone.

"Did I wake you up, babe?"

Carlos moves and wraps his arms around TK's waist, pulling him close. He can hear the tinny sounds of the music coming from TK's earbuds. "Only because you weren't in bed," he says, leaning his head against TK's. "You practicing?"

TK looks at him a little ruefully. "I don't know why we have to have lessons, we dance all the time."

"Tyler, the lessons were your idea. I believe your words were ‘I don't want you to put me to shame'. If you hate them, we can stop, I don't mind." He punctuates his words with a gentle kiss, before taking the earbuds out of TK's ears and moving towards the bluetooth speaker on the bench.

When the music starts playing from the speaker, he gathers TK in his arms, one arm firm around his waist, the other hand holding TK's with both of their hands clasped to Carlos' shoulder.

In the silver moonlight shining through their windows, they dance; heart to heart, foreheads touching, bodies swaying together to the beat of the music and the steady rhythm of their hearts.

[erdarielthewhumper]

Ok fuck it what do I have to lose

Aka a (admittedly short) list of the ocs I never write about

Lauremeldo aka Meldie: An elven warrior (mercenary, bodyguard, thug for a criminal organization, whatever pays well, honestly) in a high fantasy universe. Flashy D&D style magic (actually Meldie is a D&D fighter from a campaign that fell apart to no one having the time to play; the universe I write her in is not entirely the original one, but it's still largely D&D-inspired), but Meldie can't do magic. Healing magic exists, but she generally doesn't have access to it.

--

Anthony and Elias: A pair of smugglers in a bleak scifi setting, mostly living and traveling in their ship, The Starlady, they occasionally get mixed up in bigger conflicts. There's no aliens in this setting, only humans, but there are a number of stories of ghosts and other supernatural phenomena told among the spacefarers, and who knows, some of them may even have some truth in them...

---

Feel free to send me asks about them! I'll put a bit longer descriptions under the cut, too, if you're curious about them!

Meldie is an elf, exiled for life from her own kingdom for things that weren't really her fault, now living in an area mostly populated by humans. She prides herself on her skills as a warrior, and if she can choose, will consistently pick whatever work is available where she can put her fighting skills to use. She's a bit of a lone wolf, but trustworthy and reliable when working together with others. She has little trust in systems of law or justice or in people in high positions, and generally doesn't care which side of the law she works on, but she tries her best to do no harm to ordinary people, though she won't go out of her way to save others. She will never in any circumstance break her sworn word, unless the other party breaks the promise first. When she cares, she cares fiercely and deeply, and would walk to the furthest depths of hell for those she cares for

Her feelings towards her homeland are equal parts bitterness and longing. There is pain and anger for being unjustly cast out, and because no one defended her then. But should she be given the opportunity to return, there's nothing she wouldn't do for it. She would break every vow, go against every standard and value she ever held, if it meant she could return, even now, after two hundred years. For her, the exile is a wound that won't heal.

---

Anthony is from the far reaches of the Outer Sectors, born on a newly-colonized planet. Most of the population died in natural disasters when he was an older teenager/just on the brink of adulthood. Soon after that, Anthony talked his way to working onboard on a ship off the planet, and some time after that, managed to get a little ship of his own called The Starlady, and started his own business. There are some who still live on his homeworld, trying to rebuild, but Anthony does his best to avoid going back; the place holds too many difficult memories for him. There's freedom in space, when you have a small, nimble ship and knowledge of how to navigate regions outside of the major trade routes.

By now he's learned the ways of life and trade in the Outer Sectors well. There, where the power of Old Earth motherlands is often weak, people tend to rely on their own communities more than any rule imposed from above. People like Anthony often trade with each other in favors in a complicated honor system that hardly anyone dares to break, though with outsiders they use money like anyone else.

Despite often spending long times alone in the Starlady before he met Elias, and despite often coming across as somewhat gruff and blunt, Anthony has no shame about asking for help when he needs it. That's what other people are for, after all. And likewise he will gladly help others when they need help and he's in the position to give it.

Elias, meanwhile, is from Old Earth. He's not on good terms with his family, or at least never talks about them. He always wanted to see the universe, but never got further than working as a general jack-of-all-trades handyman at a small space station along the major spaceway between Old Earth and Alpha Centauri. He sings and plays the guitar as a hobby, and he's not bad at it, either.

He met Anthony on the space station he worked at. Anthony was, at the time, looking for a partner for his business, and though he certainly hadn't planned to have anyone from the Inner Sectors, he decided to give Elias a chance to prove whether his enthusiasm and basic engineering skills could make up for his complete lack of knowledge of the culture and ways of the Outer Sector. Elias has come a long way since then, and the Starlady is now more a home to him than any place on Old Earth ever was.

Elias is more talkative of the two (though when they're alone with each other, their long flights are filled with more silence or music than conversation), but he has mastered the skill of seeming open without actually telling much about himself at all. He's very bad at asking for help even when he needs it, and often hesitant to accept help when it's offered. He'll help others, if he's asked for help, though not as instinctively as Anthony, but he needs to be practically forced into accepting help himself.

[the-willow-tree]

I feel the need to add more to this.

For the uninformed, Australia held a referendum today to enshrine within the constitution an advisory body of First Nations peoples to report to Parliament on any decisions, policies and law that would affect the lives of First Nations peoples. This could be on spiritual, economic, social, education, health and others matters. The specific wording that's important here is this:

"The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice may make representations to the Parliament and the Executive Government of the Commonwealth on matters relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples."

This body would have no power to make laws, to vote, to veto anything. It's an advisory body, nothing more. But one made up of representatives from across Australia, that's gender-balanced, chosen by First Nations communities, transparent and community-led.

Australia has voted No. By a fairly wide margin.

In 2017, more 1200 First Nations representatives from across Australia gathered at Uluru to create the Uluru Statement from the Heart. It called for a First Nations Voice to be enshrined in our constitution. This is what First Nations people in Australia are asking for. The full statement can be found here.

Second Nations people, (or non-Indigenous people) in Australia lose nothing by voting yes. But First Nations people lose so much by us voting no.

In a country with gross inequality, where First Nations people on average can expect to live shorter lives, be less educated, have less access to medical care, are more likely to have their children taken from them, and even face more difficulty gaining access to birth certificates necessary for full citizenship rights, this body could have been a big step towards reconciliation. It wasn't perfect. Few things in life can ever claim to be.

But none-the-less, it was a big step.

But we voted no. Only one state or territory voted yes, the ACT.

The No campaign ran on a slogan of, "If you don't know, vote no." Googling the Voice gave you the information you needed with no further action necessary.

Australia is an apathetic country. Especially white Australians. We don't like shaking the boat. We don't like changing things up. We don't like it when people make a fuss, or boast, or complain too loudly. What happened today is a symptom of this problem. People didn't know and weren't willing to take two minutes out of their day to find out.

But more than that, Australia has a racism problem. A major one. It's so deeply enshrined in being Australian we don't even know what it looks like anymore. We're happy to believe the misinformation campaigns of the No vote, refuse to find out more about what we're voting on and at the same land a massive kick in the teeth of First Nations peoples here, who have been calling for rights for longer than any of us have lived.

In 1967, we passed a referendum to allow First Nation's people the right to vote on a national level. It passed with an avalanche of 90.1% yes. That's more agreement than any of the ao3 ship polls that have been going around recently.

And yet today we won't give up nothing to help First Nations people.

It isn't all bad. All states, including the Northern Territory, except for Western Australia, are working towards Treaty, with Victoria the furthest along that path, ready for negotiations to begin next year.

But it is still a shameful day to be an Australian.

I don't think I've ever been so ashamed to be an Australian

[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. Part 4

Hello All! Sorry for the delay! My Hubby and I have had a busy month of July and I wasn’t able to keep to my schedule like I wanted too. Sorry about that. From Baseball games to Comic-Cons to Disney trips, we’ve been stupid busy. I am working furiously on the other chapters and hope to at least have some words on Cody soon! Y’all, not going to lie, the fact that there has been ZERO mention of him on The Bad Batch is killing me.

As Always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and deals with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 4: It’s You.

You waited with your back to the door on Hondo's ship; another one was docked right outside, carrying the crew that had something either of you wanted. You took a deep breath, adjusting your blaster in your thigh holster and checking over your clothes before putting on your helmet. The base of it was a black Ubese helmet, edged with black dyed bantha hair and painted to resemble a Kaleesh skull in white.  The edges of the white skull were rimmed in a dark red and the faux eyes were painted an electric green, almost making them glow.The breather of the helmet was pointed down, tapering at the end and etched with designs reminiscent of a certain Kel Dor. Twin points also came down from the sides,  once again resembling a Kel Dor breather, but painted to look like the fangs of the Kaleesh skull. When you wore it, you were an incredibly fearsome sight to behold. 

Hondo had stepped out of the cockpit while brushing off his clothes, but when he saw you he went on and on in a poetic manner making you snort behind your mask, "Pretty Lady must you put on that horrid thing? How am I supposed to gaze upon your beautiful Visage? How am I to write songs of your shiny eyes if you insist on covering them? How am I to chant loudly into the heavens about the glory of your smile when all I see is that ugly thing staring back at me?" 

The sound that came out of the modulator was a loud crack of static. It wasn't lost on him though, and he waggled his brow at you, knowing he made you laugh.

"Hondo, one of these days I'm going to launch you out of an airlock. Then you'll be Wild Space's problem."

He laughed loudly, but before he could give a retort, the door-lock opened and the crew from the other ship began to board.

Immediately the hair on your neck stood up and your hackles raised. It was time to go into heartless bounty hunter mode, another mask that became easier and easier for you to put on.

Hondo noticed your posture change and went to greet whoever had come aboard, stepping in front of your turned back. Whether it was to hide his best and most terrifying asset or to put space between you and them for your sake, you never knew. You liked to think it was his way of still protecting you, even after all these years. It probably was.

"My friends! My friends! So good to see you again! Ezra Bridger! It has been too long!" 

You heard the cacophony of voices greeting him in a less than enthusiastic excitement. If these people were your friends, you would have laughed again. But you didn't have friends.     From the sound of it, there were four people behind you. Nothing difficult to take down, but not something you should be careless with. There was something off about one of them though, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but they were...familiar.

"Allow me for introductions! This tall, imposing creature behind me is my associate, bodyguard, smuggler, chief pilot, chief mechanic, artistic muse, platonic soulmate, oldest friend, and beautifully deadly bounty hunter, all rolled into one.  And this band of colorful characters are the crew of the infamous Ghost!" Hondo waved his hands in a grandiose manner between the group and your back; this was a well rehearsed situation that you both had done several times, though for whatever reason, he decided to over exaggerate your titles. Normally he would do the talking and you would scare the clientele. And if you had too, if they had something that you knew belonged to them, you'd kill them. Nothing would keep you from the last remnants of the ones you loved and lost.

"Ahh, Hondo? Does your associate have a name? Or talk? Are they even awake? Are they just going to stand there?" You heard a boy's voice, a cockiness only found in the young lacing every word. 

"Ezra." A woman, probably someone important, chastised the boy.

You waited for Hondo's signal for you to turn, but the door opened once more and you heard one more set of boots and something soft, furry, stepping across the steel. A voice spoke. A Lassat. Dangerous creatures, you had seen a few when you were still a young Padawan with your old Master. Before the war. Before they died. Back when your biggest concern was the eventual Trials. You knew a fight wasn't going to be easy and you hated the idea of killing an already dying race. But you would if you had too.

The Lassat male was arguing with someone about something, but you weren't paying attention.

Hondo touched your shoulder softly, your signal to turn. He had spent the time making pleasantries and lulling them into a false sense of comfort, probably. He could have been talking about the weather on Jakku for all you cared. You were more concerned about making sure the straps on your holsters were open, giving you easy access to draw.

Slowly you moved, letting them see just how dangerous you were, how in control of your body you were, how much they should fear the creature behind the helmet. But, you halted mid spin.

All of the blood drained from your face, your mouth went dry, your throat tightened up, and you were overcome with such anger and gut wrenching sorrow you thought you would snap.

The man that walked in with the Lessat was wearing HIS armor. The armor you had spent 15 years looking for.

You blanked. 

Somewhere there was yelling and cries to stop, but you couldn't make it out. Your head was spinning and it felt like there was cotton in your ears and as tunnel vision took over, everything knocked your senses for a loop. You didn’t realize you were doing it, but you grabbed both your blasters, turned fully, and pointed them at the man. Half the crew jumped out of the way, the others pointed their weapons at you, and Hondo tried to reason with both sides, standing with his back to you while the man had his own blasters trained on your head. Hondo quickly got out of the way of the four barrels, still trying to diffuse the situation. You couldn't understand what he was saying, everything sounded so dull and muted.

No, wait. Those weren't just any blasters. You would know those DC-17s anywhere. 

"HOW DARE YOU!"

 Someone was screaming. You couldn’t tell who it was or where it was coming from. It was garbled and cracking, a mechanical sound. It hurt your head. You just wanted everything to stop, just for a moment. But the world kept spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out any moment. You just wanted everything to be quiet, you needed to think, you just wanted a moment to figure out what was going on. Why was it so loud? Why did everything hurt? You just wanted everyone to just be still. Just be still, if only for a second. 

You could feel your breathing pick up, that tightening fear in your chest, that ache that gripped your heart and threatened to pull it from your body. ‘Just be quiet, please, please, be quiet. I can’t...I need to think, I need to think..’

"HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS HELM!” More screaming,  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE WAS?! DO YOU?! HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS ARMOR AS YOUR OWN! HOW DARE YOU STAND THERE AND KNOW NOTHING OF HIM!" Maker, the screaming was coming from you. You were yelling at him, venomous spit falling from your mouth, words meant to shame and kill. Your blasters were trained on his chest, fingers laying on the triggers. 

"TAKE IT OFF OR I WILL RIP IT FROM YOUR BROKEN CORPSE!"

You could feel something wet on your cheeks but you didn't know what it was or where it came from.  Did this man kill Rex?! Did he rip his beloved armor from his broken body? Did he leave him to rot in some cursed field? Or did he just take it from his already forgotten skeleton? Your heart beat a mile a minute, you were sweating and your whole body shook in anger, but your hands never wavered, blasters trained perfectly on the man. How dare this cretin dishonor Rex, dishonor his memory. 

"YOU WILL NEVER INSULT HIS MEMORY AGAIN! TAKE IT OFF!!"

You were panting and your modulator was straining under the volume of your voice.

No one lowered their weapons. No one spoke. No one moved a muscle. All that could be heard were your wheezing sobs through the helm.

 There was a beat. And then another. And then the man did something unexpected.

You just knew you were going to have to kill everyone. You just knew you were going to peel bloodied, beloved armor from some backwater nothing. 

But when he slowly lowered his arms, holstering the DC-17s, you faltered. Was he giving up so easily? Perhaps he didn't want bloodshed after all. Good. But it didn't make you lower yours. Nor did it make the others lower theirs.

Slowly, like he was trying to coax a scared lothcat, the man raised his open hands to the old helm covered in hatch marks with jaig eyes and pulled it off. 

First you saw weathered skin tanned from the sun, a white beard trimmed nicely, then a strong nose and finally golden eyes, eyes you had seen a million times before. Eyes that haunted you every time you went to sleep. Eyes you thought you would never see again.

When he had taken the helm completely off and tucked it under his arm, he spoke. And everything inside of you shattered.

"My name is Rex. Captain of 501st regiment in the Grand Army of the Republic. This is my armor that was issued to me almost 20 years ago. I don't know who you think I am, but I can assure you, this is my armor."

The others watched you, weapons trained. No one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed. You, on the other hand, felt everything rushing back at you full force. When he spoke, his voice was a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you, causing you to hyperventilate.  Your blasters, still trained on him, began to shake violently in your hands.

You were panting and your eyes blurred from all of the new tears. Panic rose high in your throat, cutting off your breathing. It can’t be. How could it be? He died. The Empire recorded him dying after Mandalore. You were there, you saw the absolute destruction. No one survived that.

Involuntarily you dropped your weapons and they clattered loudly to the durasteel ground, but your arms were still stretched out, still holding onto phantom guns. 

You inhaled sharply, your modulator cracking in a loud hiss. Slowly, trying to control the tremors that wracked your body, you moved your hands to your own helm and unlatched the buckles on the sides. There was another hiss as the airtight seals released the pressure and vented.

"What's going on..." the young boy started. "Hush, Ezra Bridger." Hondo cut him off, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder as you and Rex stared one another down.

You lifted your helm up and then let it fall to the floor, a loud clank shaking the silence between you all.

Rex sucked in a breath and released it in a harsh shudder, his mouth hanging open. "Mesh'la," he whispered; he could feel his knees giving out, causing him to stumble forward and push his way through his crew.

His eyes were as wide as saucers and glistening. Fat, heavy tears tracked down his face and fell into his beard as he reached shaking hands out to you. He paused for a moment, afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear like every dream before. But carefully his hands gripped your face, gently turning it side to side, taking in the scars and faint crows feet and wisps of grey hairs you now sported. Your age and harsh life showed, but you were still just as beautiful, just as ageless, just as perfect as he remembered. Still the same eyes that he dreamed of every night. 

You couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and every nerve ending burned. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, creating a painful rush like being thrown under the oceans. Every part of you felt like it was on fire. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move. Slowly your shaking hands gripped his wrists and held him close. Your body tried to take a shuddering breath, but it only came out as a choked sob while you squeezed your eyes shut.

As the noise left you, Rex pulled you close, his mouth over taking yours in a passionate kiss, full of tongue and teeth. Your hands left his wrists and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to hold your face.

"Rex. I thought....I thought you were...Rex," you whispered into his lips between kisses.

"I searched for you, Cyare. I looked everywhere. I thought you died. I thought Cody.."

Your breath hitched at his name, making Rex pull you impossibly closer. You both stood there, wrapped in eachothers arms, crying, kissing, whispering love to one another, completely oblivious to the others. 

You weren't sure if your knees failed you, or if it were his, but one of you fell to the floor, taking the other with them, still wrapped in each other, crying and holding on for dear life. 

The Twi'lek woman quietly ushered the others, a man and a Mandalorian girl, along with the boy and Lessat, out. Hondo followed behind, a smug smile on his face, ridiculously proud of himself, giving you both much needed privacy.