#it's okay to do things differently to other people

[a-lexia11]

Lost in translation

Emily fox x reader

Word count: 3,1k

Warning: a little suggestive at one point (minors DNI)

Summary: A collection of playful arguments between you and Emily about which words are more appropriate, showcasing the differences between British and American English.

Notes: At the moment, I’m really really into Emily Fox... she’s just sooooo😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 This is also inspired by those videos of Leah and Emily discussing what different things are called in British english and American english.

You never really considered how different two people could be until you started dating Emily.

The two of you, both football players for Arsenal, have been together for six months now.

Six whole months of discovering that the small nuances between British and American slang could provide endless entertainment—and confusion.

You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world; every laugh and every misunderstanding served as a reminder of how close you’d grown despite those differences.

You’d found yourselves lost in translation more than once, but each moment only deepened your connection.

——

It’s the afternoon, and you and Emily are snuggled up on the sofa in your North London flat.

You were immersed in a Netflix binge, the soft glow of the television illuminating the room as the plot thickened on screen

Just as you were getting lost in the storyline, Emily’s voice broke your focus as she got up. “Can you pause it for a moment? I’m going to grab some chips.”

You glanced up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Chips? You’re having chips at this hour?”

Emily shot you a playful look, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Yeah, why not? I’m starving! Plus, I don’t see any rules against it!”

“Isn’t that a bit early for chips?” you asked, puzzled by her choice to have chips at four in the afternoon.

Emily narrowed her eyes dramatically, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated confusion. “Wait, do you really think I mean,like eating fries? Like French fries?”

“Well, of course! You said chips. I just assumed you meant proper chips!” you replied, chuckling at her reaction.

“No, love, I meant…” She tapped her chin theatrically, pretending to ponder the complexities of British and American cuisine.

“What do you Brits call them? Oh! Right! I’m going to get some crisps,” she said, playfully mimicking your accent with a flourish. “Crisps, like a proper Brit!”

You erupted in laughter, shaking your head at her terrible imitation of your accent. “You and your Americanisms! Honestly, it’s like you come from a completely different world!”

——

Later that week, you and Emily are snuggled up on the sofa in your apartment.

The warm, golden light from the setting sun spills through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room.

Your head rested comfortably on her chest as the two of you lay together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, savoring the peaceful quiet of the moment.

You're scrolling through your phone, casually browsing social media, when Emily's voice cuts through, her American accent drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, let's grab some takeout. I'm starving,” she says, gently rubbing your back up and down.

“Takeout?” you repeated, lifting an eyebrow as you looked up at her. “You mean takeaway?”

Emily blinked at you, her face scrunching up in that adorable way you had come to love whenever she was confused. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, love. It’s takeaway. ‘Takeout’ is what you Americans call it.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Whatever… anyway, how about we order some burgers and fries?”

“You mean burgers and chips,” you replied with a smirk.

“Okay, don’t start again” she said, feigning exasperation. “It’s fries, baby. I will die on this hill.”

You chuckled and leaned up to give her a gentle kiss on the lips. “While you’re dying on your hill of ‘fries’, I’ll be over here enjoying my lovely ‘chips’.”

She let out a soft laugh, planting a quick kiss on your lips. “I guess we’ll never agree on that, huh?”

“Not in a million years,” you replied, grinning widely.

——

A few days later, you and Emily found yourselves at a café near the Emirates after a morning training session.

Sitting outside, you soaked in the rare London sunshine while Emily sipped on an iced coffee.

You chose a traditional English breakfast tea, the warmth of the beverage contrasting with the cool breeze.

As Emily scanned the menu, her eyes lit up with excitement. “I think I’ll get a biscuit,” she declared, her enthusiasm palpable.

You nearly choked on your tea, the words catching you off guard. “A what?” you asked, bewildered.

“A biscuit!” she repeated, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Biscuit?!” you echoed incredulously. “Love, they don’t serve biscuits here.”

Her frown deepened, clearly confused by your reaction. “What do you mean? It’s right there. Biscuits.”

You followed her finger to the menu, squinting to read the fine print. “Oh, those are scones. Not biscuits.”

Emily stared at you, completely flabbergasted. “Wait, so what are biscuits to you?”

“Biscuits are, well, they’re like…” You struggled to explain, finally settling on, “They’re sweet, crumbly things you dip in your tea. Like digestives.”

She blinked, processing your explanation. “Digestives? That’s the most unappetizing name for a snack ever.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” you replied defensively, a hint of laughter in your voice. “And a scone is more like a… pastry. You Americans don’t have those?”

“I guess we do,” Emily said, still sounding unconvinced. “Alright, ‘scones’ it is then.”

——

Another weekend rolled around, and you and Emily decided to spend the day exploring Camden Market.

The vibrant atmosphere buzzed with excitement, and as you strolled through the bustling stalls, Emily’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, you felt a warm sense of belonging.

“I could really go for some candy right now,” Emily said, her eyes sparkling as she spotted a nearby sweets stand.

“You mean sweets,” you corrected her playfully, earning a playful roll of her eyes.

“I mean candy,” she insisted, her American stubbornness shining through.

You chuckled, tilting your head toward a stand selling fluffy pink cotton candy. “Candy floss, at least?”

Emily laughed, shaking her head. “You mean cotton candy. You guys make everything sound so proper.”

With a teasing grin, you replied, “Doesn’t ‘floss’ sound way more fun?”

She smirked, a glimmer of affection in her eyes. “Only you could make floss sound fun.”

You both laughed as you made your way to the stand, picking out a bag of the sugary treat. With the fluffy candy in hand, you strolled through the lively market, the air filled with the scent of delicious food and sweet treats.

As you took turns stealing bites, the sugary taste melted on your tongues, sending delightful bursts of sweetness through your senses. Your fingers brushed against each other with each exchange, igniting a flutter of warmth between you.

——

One sunny afternoon, after an intense training session, you and Emily found yourselves in the bustling parking lot, surrounded by teammates packing up and heading home.

“Emily, can you open the boot, please?” you asked, casually tossing your bag over your shoulder.

“The boot?” she replied, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked at you.

“Yes, Em, the boot,” you insisted, giving her a playful nudge.

“Baby, what the hell is the boot?” she asked, a puzzled expression crossing her face. You searched her eyes, half expecting a grin, but she looked completely serious.

“You know, the space at the back of the car where you put stuff,” you explained, gesturing toward the rear of the vehicle.

Emily huffed, crossing her arms. “That’s a trunk!” she declared, marching over to the back of the car.

You joined her, your laughter bubbling to the surface. “That’s a trunk,” you said, playfully imitating her American accent,putting your bag in the boot.

She shot you a mock glare, clearly unfazed by your teasing.

“A boot is a shoe, not a part of a car,” she countered, shutting the boot with a flourish and turning to face you.

“Whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes dramatically.

Emily smirked and wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer as you wrapped yours around her neck.

She flashed a mischievous smirk, her eyes sparkling with playful intent. “And speaking of trunks, you definitely have some junk in the trunk!” she teased, her hand playfully finding its way to your butt, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Emily!” you exclaimed, quickly taking her hand away from your ass, a mix of surprise and laughter in your voice. “Not here!” You raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused. “What does that even mean?”

Emily just grinned, leaning in close to plant a soft kiss on your lips, the warmth of the moment washing over you. You couldn’t help but smile and kissed her back, the playful banter adding a sweet layer to your day.

——

One night,you stood in the kitchen, chopping onions for dinner, the sharp aroma wafting through the air. As you focused on your task, you sensed Emily’s presence behind you; she wrapped her arms around your waist, her touch warm and comforting. “What are you making, baby?” she asked, her voice soft and playful.

“Just a little something for us,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a smile. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Her grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, you really don’t have to go through all that trouble just to impress me. I’m already impressed just by being here with you.”

Before you could respond, Emily leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss against your neck. The warmth of her lips sent shivers down your spine, and for a moment, you lost your concentration. In that instant, the knife slipped, and a sharp sting cut through your skin.

“Ow!” you yelped, quickly pulling your hand back and cradling it instinctively. The onion rolled off the cutting board, and a small but deep cut opened on your finger, causing a few drops of blood to trickle down.

Emily’s playful demeanor vanished as she turned you around, concern flooding her features. “Oh my god! What happened?” She said in a rush, her hands hovering anxiously over your injury. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” you assured her, waving your other hand dismissively, though the blood continued to ooze from the cut. “I just need a plaster.”

“A what?” Emily asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“A plaster!” you repeated, trying to keep your composure as the sting from your finger intensified.

Her face fell as she glanced at your hand, now smeared with blood. “Oh! You mean a band-aid?”

“Exactly! A plaster is a band-aid!” you argued, slightly exasperated but amused by her reaction.

Emily shook her head, her initial panic giving way to a slight smile as she tried to process it all. “No, a band-aid is a brand! It’s like saying ‘Kleenex’ for tissues!”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to help the smile creeping onto your face despite the situation. “So you’re telling me I have to say ‘band-aid’ when I clearly meant ‘plaster’?”

She rolled her eyes but laughed softly. “Whatever you say, British girl, but I’m getting you a band-aid.”

As she dashed off to the bathroom, you chuckled softly, shaking your head at how even in a moment of crisis, the two of you could turn a simple mishap into a playful debate, your lighthearted banter lingering in the air.

——

You and Emily stood in the parking lot of the grocery store, the sun shining down on the bustling scene around you. You leaned against the car, a playful smirk on your lips as you watched her scroll through her phone, likely checking the grocery list for the hundredth time.

“Alright, let’s grab the trolley!” you called out, feeling a rush of excitement.

Emily paused, her head snapping up as she gave you a confused look. “The what?”

“The trolley! You know, the thing we push around the store to put our groceries in,” you explained, waving your hands animatedly.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “You mean the cart?”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “No, it’s a trolley! Are you really going to argue with me about this too?”

“Absolutely,” she replied with a smirk, stepping closer. “It’s just a cart, Y/N.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, trolley sounds much more sophisticated. Imagine if we were royalty! You wouldn’t see the Queen pushing a cart around, would you?”

Emily giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can just picture it now: Her Majesty at Tesco, pushing her trolley and loading up on biscuits. It’s all very regal.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “And don’t forget the scones! But wait, are they biscuits or scones?”

“Honestly, I think they’re both!” she retorted with a grin, nudging your shoulder playfully. “But let’s not confuse the grocery store staff with royal titles, okay?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Come on! It adds a bit of charm to the mundane shopping experience. Just think about how much more fun it would be.”

“Fun? In a grocery store?” she laughed. “You’re delusional. But fine, I’ll call it a trolley while we’re here.”

You pointed a finger at her, feigning seriousness. “No cart talk in front of the Queen, got it!”

“Exactly!” she replied, biting her lip to suppress a laugh. “But if anyone asks, I’m still going to call it a cart. No one can take that away from me!”

“Fair enough,” you conceded, chuckling as you reached for the car door. “But just so you know, every time you say ‘cart,’ a British person cringes.”

“Good thing I’m an American then!” Emily shot back, sticking her tongue out at you.

——

You and Emily sat on the living room floor, with you nestled between her legs, surrounded by an array of toys and vibrant blocks.

The joyful sounds of laughter filled the air as you both watched your niece, Nina, an adorable baby with sparkling wide eyes and a toothless smile, crawl around and explore her little kingdom.

The two of you were enjoying your impromptu babysitting session, exchanging glances filled with love and laughter as the baby babbled happily.

After a while, Nina’s expression shifted, and you could smell that familiar odor wafting through the air. You chuckled softly, glancing at Emily. “Looks like someone needs a nappy change.”

Emily blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. “A what change?”

“A nappy!” you repeated, smiling at your niece as she reached for a colorful toy. “You know, a diaper!”

“Why on earth would you call it a nappy?” Emily asked, incredulous. “That sounds ridiculous!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction. “Ridiculous? It’s just what we call it over here! Nappy sounds way cuter than diaper, don’t you think?”

Emily shook her head, a playful smirk on her lips. “No way! Diaper is straightforward and to the point. Nappy just sounds… fluffy and weird.”

You stood up, scooping your niece into your arms. “Fluffy and weird?No way besides I like ‘nappy’ because it feels more affectionate.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I guess if you like it that much, I can live with it. But it still sounds like you’re trying to dress her for a tea party or something.”

“Hey, maybe I will! Nappies and tea parties go hand in hand,” you teased, gently bouncing your niece in your arms.

You set your niece down and knelt beside her, picking up a fresh nappy. “Alright, let’s get this little one sorted out.” You gestured to Emily. “You ready to help me with the nappy change?”

Emily approached, looking both excited and a little apprehensive. “I’m ready, but I’m still going to call it a diaper. You’re going to have to deal with that.”

With a dramatic sigh, you shook your head. “Fine, but just know that you’ll never win this argument. Nappy is superior.”

As you both got to work, the baby giggled, seemingly enjoying the chaos of the moment.

You looked down at your niece, who clapped her hands, and then back at Emily. “Maybe one day you’ll come around to ‘nappy.’”

Emily shrugged, playfully rolling her eyes again. “I doubt it, but I’m willing to humor you… for now.”

——

You and Emily lay on the bed, the dim lighting casting a warm, intimate glow around you, heightening the sense of anticipation in the air.

You straddled her, your bare torso exposed, and your lips met in a fervent kiss, tongues intertwining passionately. “I’ve wanted this all day,” you whispered breathlessly between kisses.

Her hands roamed over your chest, fondling and caressing, eliciting soft moans from you. "You feel amazing," Emily murmured, her voice husky with desire.

As the intensity grew, her hands began to trace a path down your back, sending shivers through your body. "I want to feel every inch of you," she added, her fingers exploring every curve and contour.

Pulling back slightly, you smirked down at Emily, feeling your heart race with anticipation. “Hold on, I’m going to take off my trousers,” you said, your voice sultry and playful as you leaned in closer.

Emily’s hands traveled down to your ass, squeezing it possessively as a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “You mean your pants,” she teased, her tone light yet charged with heat.

You raised an eyebrow, a laugh escaping your lips. “Really? You’re going to debate terminology while we’re about to have sex?” you shot back, shaking your head in disbelief as you slipped off your trousers.

Emily laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she reached out for you again, pulling you back on top of her.

With a teasing grin, you captured her lips with yours, feeling the warmth of her body against yours.

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the playful banter heightening the desire simmering beneath the surface.

——

While you generally accommodated the different words Emily used, like saying “apartment” instead of “flat” or “zucchini” instead of “courgette,” there was ONE term you simply couldn’t let slide.

“Baby, what do you want to watch ?” Emily asked, casually flipping through the channels with a relaxed ease, clearly in no hurry to settle down.

“I don’t know, love; you choose,” you replied from the kitchen, where you were busy finishing up making popcorn. You tossed a pop corn into your mouth just as you heard her next words.

“How about soccer?” she suggested. In that instant, you nearly choked on the popcorn, coughing violently as you struggled to catch your breath.

Emily jumped up from the couch, rushing to your side and giving you a few supportive taps on the back. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Here, baby, drink some water!” she exclaimed, quickly grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and handing it to you. You took a long gulp, desperately trying to calm your coughing fit.

As you finally managed to breathe normally again, you exclaimed, “You tried to kill me!”

“What!? I didn’t do anything; I was just sitting on the couch!” she protested, her expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“You did! You called football ‘soccer!’ Idiot!” you shot back, your eyes wide in disbelief. The look on her face only intensified your frustration.

“You almost choked to death because of that!” she cried, hands thrown up in exasperation, though you could see a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Yes! It’s called football! Not soccer!” You crossed your arms defiantly, your heart racing from both the choking and the absurdity of the argument.

Emily rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter with a smirk. “Oh, come on! It’s just a word. Why are you so worked up?”

“Because it’s a matter of principle!” you insisted, tapping your foot for emphasis. “If you can’t respect the game, what’s next? Will you start calling basketball ‘handball?’ ”

“Okay, that’s just ridiculous,” she shot back, unable to contain her laughter. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I think not!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exaggerated frustration. “This is serious business! I might have to reconsider this whole relationship if you can’t call it football!”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but also a little taken aback. “Are you really going to break up with me over a word?”

“Of course!” you said, pretending to think it over seriously. “If you keep calling it ‘soccer,’ how am I supposed to take you seriously? This is not just about the word; it’s about respect!”

She leaned in, her expression teasing yet sincere. “You know I respect it right? Even if I call it ‘soccer’?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, crossing your arms and turning your gaze away from her. “Calling football ‘soccer’ is just disrespectful! Honestly, maybe I need to find someone who actually knows how to call it football”

“Oh, come on!” Emily said, feigning exasperation.

You stood your ground, trying to hold back the grin that was slowly spreading across your face. “Maybe I’ll consider staying with you... if you can say it properly,” you teased, your voice light but with a hint of challenge.

“Fine! I’ll call it football,” she finally relented, rolling her eyes but smiling all the while. “Happy now?”

You turned to her with a mock-serious expression. “Very! But if I hear one more ‘soccer’ slip out of your mouth…”

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around your waist, and looked into your eyes. “Then I’ll make the dishes, laundry, and all other chores for a whole month, how about that?”

“Hmm,” you mused, your heart racing at her playful tone. “You’d better remember that!”

With a playful smile, she pressed her lips to yours, the tension dissolving into laughter as you both sank back onto the couch, feeling grateful for every little difference that made your relationship so uniquely yours.

————

Bonus scene:

As Emily stood in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone while waiting for her plate to heat up in the microwave, you quietly approached her from behind and gave her a firm but gentle slap on the back of her head.

“Ow!” she yelped, rubbing the spot as she turned to face you, clearly confused. “What was that for?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

You gave her a pointed look. “Saying that I had a fat ass. Junk in the trunk?Really?” you asked, shaking your head in disbelief before turning to walk away.

FIN

[creatingblackcharacters]

do you think you could provide a lesson on how to write villainous Black characters if you haven't already, please? i think i definitely need something because i've noticed that some of my Black characters tend to go through the most in the story i'm writing and i'm scared that i may be doing something wrong with their arcs...

Hm. My original answer was no, just because writing Black villains is the same as writing any other type of villain. If you want a complex villain, you gotta write that complexity. The difference is that you need to be aware of any unintentional antiblack bias. Some examples to question yourself:

Are your Black characters always villains and/or antagonists? Versus the heroic nonblack characters?

Are they always undergoing gore and violence and misery, while your nonblack characters don't? Why? "Because they're the bad guy" might be one thing, but again... If they're always Black... 😬

Do you think, if you dig deep, that your Black characters can somehow deal with the physical and mental pain better? That they don't need empathy along with the suffering?

Does your narrative treat them as though they deserve that pain? Does anyone nonblack ever get treated like they deserve it? Is there any sort of story behind what led them here?

What type of misery are you putting them through? (A low hanging branch here is whipping and/or brands. Some white man using a whip on a Black villain is sus to me.)

Whump and hurt/comfort is okay! I love those! But if we've got a Black character undergoing it, is anyone like... Upset that they are? Does anyone care, does it hurt others that they are hurt? Or are we just using the Black character as the punching bag and then it's like "aight we back up"?

Are the ways you describe them leaning into antiblackness? Does your writing of their character overall reveal some beliefs you have that are questionable?

If you're one of those people that cheers for the bad guy (and trust, I have sometimes too) do you find yourself cheering more for the white ones? Do you "girl boss" your Black villains?

That being said, I suppose I could go ahead and wrap these concepts up into a lesson. These are things that I have somewhat already addressed here. But also, I do have a lesson on violence towards Black bodies in media in my writing queue already, so I might as well go ahead and toss it in. 👍🏾

[bewareofthenewphannie]

I made a spreadsheet listing all the keywords Dan and Phil have used for their DAPG videos on YouTube since October! Yay!

I have a few things to say that are interesting even for all non-data-obsessed people here, so you might want to stick around to read this first part:

THEY TAGGED PHAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THREE OF THEIR RECENT VIDEOS!!!

The first one was the tatinof reaction. I haven't checked any pre-hiatus videos and only a very select few from their solo channels, so I can't say for sure but there is a pretty good chance that this was the first time they've ever done that.

The other two videos they've tagged with phan are the phanfic video and the latest phan twitter reaction video. for the latter dan also tagged phan here on tumblr.

(sidenote: the one phil tagged as phan here (dress to impress irl) is not tagged phan on youtube)

some more interesting things + infos about the spreadsheet under the cut!

All of the videos they've tagged with phan so far had phan either in the title or in tatinof's case in one of the original thumbnails:

Phan aside, they seem to have a few standard tags that they use for many videos, always in the same order:

dan and phil, dan and phil games, danisnotonfire, amazingphil, phil lester, dan howell, gaming channel, games, daniel howell, play

However, sometimes they don't use these and I can't see a pattern to when they do and don't use them, if you do please let me know!

Now, some notes on the spreadsheet:

I am planning on keeping this up to date.

So far I haven't done much with the data (I only colour coded phan lmao) and I personally don't want to do much more with it. However! If you want to analyse it, make graphs or anything, feel free, go wild!

(if copying/extracting the data doesn't work feel free to dm me about it)

This is not directly about the spreadsheet but I'm just assuming everyone know what keywords are and how you can see them, if that's not the case, just send me an ask.

You guys are able to leave comments! You can debate things there, point out funny tags, leave suggestions on how to format things differently...

Just be aware that this makes your gmail address visible for anyone else who has access to the doc!

okay, that's it from me now, have fun looking through this!

(a lot of it is quite boring but there are some gems in there)

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 11

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: this is a direct result of the power of commenting/reblogging an author's work. someone said they were sad they didn't think i was going to finish this, and i realized i hadn't finished it, and i have some time for once, so i decided to be skibidi sigma. (gen alpha brainrot is starting to come out unironically. i work with middle schoolers. sorry.)

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

previous part | series masterlist | next part

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

When the judge tells you, “Mrs. Y/N L/N-Barnes, you’re a free woman,” you let out a sob and feel yourself yanked into a firm chest that you’d recognize anywhere: Bucky.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re coming home.”

—

You would think that months working for the enemy, followed by months locked up in a cell, followed by a month of trial, that finally ended in your freedom and return to your family would bring you peace.

It doesn't.

Sure, finally sleeping in your own bed again and cuddling up next to your husband was amazing, hugging your daughter again was amazing, having privacy again was amazing... but freedom and its perks don't erase trauma. You get to lie in your own bed again and cuddle up next to your husband, but you can't sleep lest the nightmares come. You get to hug your daughter again, but you're always looking over your shoulder, worried someone will snatch her away from you again. You get to have privacy, but you never trust that you're truly alone.

After everything that has happened, you realize, you will never be able to go back to how things were. You're a different person than you were before you and Becca were taken. You're a murderer now, not a hero. When you look at your hands, all you see is blood, and when you look in the mirror, all you see is a shell of the woman you once were.

—

The first week back home as a free woman is spent making amends, as per the recommendation of your court-mandated therapist.

"Steve, I am so sorry for trying to kill you. I... I don't even know what to say. If it weren't for Bec, I wouldn't've, but-" You say, throat dry, palms sweaty as you wipe them on your pants.

"Hey, it's okay. I understand. I forgive you. If anyone is going to understand turning on a friend to protect someone they care about, it's me." Steve gives you a comforting smile, his tone so earnest. "Just ask Tony and Bucky."

You crack a smile.

After Steve, came Fury and Coulson, the late presidents' family, the families of the many politicians you killed... the list felt unending as you worked your way through it.

It takes months to track down the loved ones of all the people you hurt while with HYDRA, and by the time you're finished with it, you're more exhausted than when you were literally locked up and starved while in HYDRA's custody.

With a huff and a frown, you flop onto the couch. You fall over the arm of the couch and land on your back. Bucky laughs a little as he watches your dramatic display, walking over and leaning over you, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

"Tired?" He asks.

"Yeah. This making amends stuff is exhausting. Don't know how you do it." You flop an arm over your eyes.

"Slowly but surely," he says. "And it helps that I have a super hot and supportive wife to encourage me when it feels like too much." He reaches over the couch and pokes your stomach. You giggle and squirm.

"I don't know that the 'hot' part helps the amends," you say pointedly.

"Maybe, but it doesn't hurt."

You smirk but say nothing. Bucky watches for a moment.

"Well?" He asks finally.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to say it back?"

"Say what back?"

"You know."

"I don't know."

"That having a super hot and supportive husband makes making amends easier," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. You lift your arm off your face to look at him; he's wearing a shit-eating grin.

"I guess it does help a little," you concede.

He jumps up, throwing his arms in the air in victory. It's a little out of character for him, but it makes you laugh. He's been going out of his way to make you laugh, even when it includes him doing things that feel unnatural to him. Bucky Barnes wants his wife back, yes, but he is also aware that after everything that you went through, you won't be the same. Things won't go back to normal: there will just be a new normal. In the meantime, he just wants you to laugh a little while you figure out what your new normal is.

—

At some point, you fall asleep on the couch. Bucky leaves you there, afraid to move you lest you wake up. Ever since your captivity with Frost and HYDRA, you've been having nightmares that Bucky worries rival his. Any nightmare-free sleep you get is rare and needed.

Bucky had lain a blanket over you before putting Becca to bed and heading to bed himself, and even though he'd deny it, he was exhausted, too. So when your nightmares start, he doesn't wake up.

The nightmare starts out slow, and you toss and turn in your sleep, pitiful whimpers leaving your lips. Though, it doesn't take long for the nightmares to progress. Soon, you've tossed the blanket onto the floor and your whimpers have turned into screams. Bucky doesn't hear, but Becca does.

The 4 year old walks through the apartment, leaving her room quietly in search of her screaming mother. She's scared; she's never heard you scream like this. While locked up, she heard you scream in anger—she still remembers how you screamed and pulled the chains out of the wall—but she has never heard you scream in fear. Until now. Her mommy has always been the bravest person she knows, and that's even braver than her daddy—he said so himself.

Clutching her stuffed rabbit in one hand, she slowly walks into the living room where she can see you flailing and screaming on the couch.

"Mommy?" Becca calls out softly, nervously. When you don't answer, she tries again, moving closer still. "Mommy, wake up."

Again, you don't answer. You're still deeply asleep. Becca walks up to the couch and stands right beside you. Tentatively, she places the hand not holding her rabbit against your shoulder and shakes.

"Mommy, wake up."

When you still don't wake up, she shakes your shoulder a little harder and speaks up a little louder.

"Mommy, wake up! Mommy, it's just a dream. Just a bad dream. Wake up!" She gives a good push to your shoulder with the last 'wake up' and you sit up quickly, swinging your arms in a punch. You hit Becca, and she stumbles back, loses her balance, and falls, hitting her head against the coffee table.

You start to fully come to. You're looking around the room frantically, breathing heavily, and, slowly, you realize you're in a familiar place. Slowly, you recognize your living room. Slowly, you realize your daughter is bleeding on the floor.

You do a double take. Becca is sat against the coffee table, her bunny abandoned at her side. She's holding her head, but blood is still dripping out from the sides of her small hand, and she's bawling.

"M-m-mommy, I'm s-s-sorry!" She cries.

"Becca! Oh, no, no, no!" You quickly stumble off the couch, sitting on your knees as you hover your hands next to Becca's head, trying to assess the damage.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Mama's so sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

The commotion is loud enough that it wakes Bucky up and he slides into the room, panic staining his face.

"Y/N, what's going on? Are you okay? Is Becca okay?" He says worriedly, rushing over to you and kneeling beside you.

Noticing that you're not actually touching Becca or trying to help, he pushes you out of the way, pulling Becca's hand away from her forehead. He grimaces as he gently swipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. He lets out a relieved breath.

"It's not that bad. It's okay. You're okay, sweetheart," he tells Becca, kissing her forehead.

Bucky turns to see that you've backed yourself into the corner of the room, as far away from him and Becca as you could possibly get. You're holding your head in your hands, crying, and muttering "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to," over and over.

"Doll, she's okay. It's just a small cut. You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky reassures you, scooping Becca in his arms as he speaks. He was piecing together that you'd hurt her in a post-nightmare haze (he was familiar with them).

You just shake your head frantically.

—

Bucky gets Becca cleaned up and put back to bed. When he returns to the living room, you're still huddled in the corner, but you've stopped crying. Instead, you're staring blankly at the wall. He walks over.

"Doll? Hey." He gently tilts your chin towards him. "Bec's okay. She's not mad—a little rattled—but mostly worried about her mama. You didn't do anything wrong. You know that, right?"

You shake your head and he sighs.

"She's asking for you."

You finally make eye contact.

"No. I don't want to see her; I can't see her. You have to keep Becca away from me, Bucky." Each word that leaves your mouth is deadly serious. Bucky's mouth is slightly agape as he takes in your words.

"Sweetheart, she's okay. You can see her," he tries.

"No, I can't. I'm a danger to her, Bucky. I hurt my baby." Your voice cracks, and the pain in your voice breaks Bucky's heart.

"Promise me you will keep her away from me," you beg.

He nods reluctantly. "Okay."

You nod and turn your gaze back to the wall. It's silent for a few minutes.

You stand abruptly and Bucky quickly mirrors the action.

"What is it?" Bucky asks.

"I'm going to kill Frost," you say at the same time.

A beat. Bucky stares at you.

"I'm going to hunt that son of a bitch down, and I am going to make him pay for everything he has done to this family." You make direct eye contact with your husband. "Everything."

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansource @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom @scatteredstardustt @babysbreathbabes @ordinarylokix @lilstarfish88 @ordelixx @shizukestar @filmsbyblair

[genderqueerdykes]

Is there a difference between terms 'transgender' and 'transsexual'?/gen

I've seen the argument that they mean the same, but the latter is older and now it can be considered 'incorrect' because it looks like it's a name of sexual orientation. But recently I've seen some post re: sex≠gender and someone said they prefer to use the term transsexual because it refers to changing their sex. So is there a difference? And it made me wonder, if someone is trans but didn't start medical transition, are they transsexual? (I think yes. Otherwise it'd be transmedicalism which is bad. It's 2am and I'm overthinking, but it's a genuine question)

good question!

some people do not make a distinction, and some people do! it depends on the individual, many people are okay with using them interchangeably, many people make a distinction and choose one or the other. some people identify as both!

"transsexual" was the first term coined for our community alongside "transvestite". at the time, there was not much clinical distinction between sex and gender, however, a Jewish physician and sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld was extremely compassionate when he heard his queer patients expressing extreme guilt for how they felt about themselves and their identities. he felt an especially strong passion for his trans patients.

this was during WWII in Nazi Germany. Magnus went on to perform the first successful sex reassignment surgery that we know of in modern history. he went on to pioneer the techniques that we have today, however, a lot of it was lost when the Nazis decided to torch the facility at which a lot of his research was being kept. a lot of it still lives on today. Magnus did not care so much about whether or not his patients felt like their sex or gender was the issue, he just wanted them to feel like themselves- if they wanted to undergo medical procedures for gender affirming care, that's all he needed to know

transsexual was used in common vernacular for quite some time before the term transgender sprouted a few decades later and rose to popularity in the 90s, when people started speaking about the societal and biological differences between and implications of sex and gender. when this became a conversation that was common place, many people began advocating that they felt that their gender was what their focus was on, not their biological sex. many people wanted to advocate for a more diverse range of trans experiences that weren't focused on the body, but what the person felt inside. many trans people do not want to medically or even socially transition, so people wanted to advocate for those as well as those who do transition medically

ultimately transgender became more of an umbrella term and stuck with the community moving forward. it can be inaccurate at times, some people identify as transsexual only. some people identify as transgender only. after a while people began shortening to "Trans" in order to become more inclusive and i think that's the best way to approach it. there are many older trans people who call themselves transsexuals when they may be describing a transgender experience, but that's okay. some people never changed their vernacular.

they can mean the same thing- but they also may not to certain people, and both of those are okay. it's best to ask the individual what their experience with the word is and what it means to them if you're ever confused.

[hellcheeriest]

i bet hes never had a backstreet guy

Twitch Streamer!Eddie x Single Father!Steve

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Steve and Dustin arrive at the convention, Steve finds Eddie more attractive in person, Eddie finds Steve attractive in general, Robin and Chrissy begin to figure some things out.

Content warnings: Slight age gap (Steve is 31, Eddie is 26) Steve feels as though he's too old to be acting like he is (I know 31 isn't old! Steve just grew up too fast as a teen dad, so he feels like his mind is beyond his years.) light angst, smoking, swearing, flirting

A/N: hey team.... lol. so sorry for the wait! now i wrote this between the hours of 2-4am (as i am uploading it is 4:10) so i apologize for any mistakes! Thank you for reading!

W/C:4.6k

STEVE HARRINGTON

“Dustin! Slow down!” Steve called out. His son had already made it halfway across the parking lot, practically sprinting to the doors.

“Come on Dad!” Dustin turned around and let his dad catch up. He grabbed the elder's hand, pulling him along.

“Okay, Okay!” Steve kept a tight hold on Dustin's hand. He’d done his research on convention etiquette and came across an article about adults losing their children and he told himself he’d be completely sure of where Dustin was at all times. The backpack he donned was filled with multiple water bottles, and his wallet had both cash and his debit and credit cards in case of any financial emergency.

They’d gotten there much earlier than they needed to, but with Steve’s anxiety and Dustin’s exhilaration, neither of them minded having to wait around until they opened the doors for the panel. Dustin talked Steve’s ear off, rambling about anything and everything related to the convention.

Steve fiddled with the tag on the lanyard he and Dustin were given upon entry, and he finally realised the reality of the scenario. Soon, he’d be in a room with not only a hundred other people, but the man he’d been pining for in secret for the past who knows how long. He was brought out of his thoughts by Dustin tugging on his sleeve.

The two filed into the large room along with a bunch of other people, and Steve’s grip on Dustin’s arm was probably tighter than it should’ve been as they found their way to an open pair of seats. The group that Steve had paid an exorbitant amount of money to see would be taking the stage soon, and Steve could feel his son practically vibrating next to him.

“You sure you’re gonna make it through this without exploding?” Steve asked and Dustin nodded.

“I have to!” Dustin exclaimed and Steve laughed, putting a hand on his son's head, twisting his fingers into his curls. Dustin wore a bright yellow sweater Steve recognized as his own, and the smile he wore was brighter than Steve had seen in a while. More people would pour into the room, and the multiple conversations would be overwhelming if Steve wasn’t focused on the way the lights dimmed and a woman walked on stage.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” She called into the microphone. The voices around quieted, and Steve tensed in his seat. “My name is Tory, and I will be hosting the event we’ve all come out here for. So, what do you say we get our guests up here and get this thing started?” The audience cheered and the streamers came on stage one by one before walking to their respective seats. A guy with dirty blond curls led the way up the stage, introduced as ‘Gareth,’ and the rest followed in. There was Austin, Chrissy (who Steve recognized from the singular stream he’d watched), Robin and Jeff. They all seemed to notice at the same time as the audience that Eddie wasn’t trailing behind them. After a moment, the applause faded and Gareth sighed into the microphone in front of him.

“This asshole.” The audience laughed, and only a moment later did Eddie shuffle on stage. Clapping and cheering surrounded Steve, but he could hardly hear it as his eyes focussed on Eddie’s form. 

It was different to seeing him through a TV screen, and he wasn’t sure how Eddie could get any more attractive. His hair was loose, reaching down past his collarbones. It was curly, and wild, and free. He wore a pair of black skinny jeans, torn at the knees and thighs, chains hanging from two of his belt loops. His shirt was looser, the white fabric clashing with the black of the tattoo’s that spread down both of  his arms, and had graphic text of a band name Steve could vaguely recall. He could feel Dustin’s grip on his arm as he too watched in awe, although for a completely different reason. Eddie finally reached his chair, taking a theatrical bow before sitting down. 

“I love you, Eddie!” Someone called from farther back in the room. Eddie’s eyebrows raised and he smiled.

“Woah,” He spoke into his microphone, pulling a piece of his hair over his mouth. “Love you too.” Part of the audience cheered and Eddie leaned away from his microphone.

“Stop flirting with the audience, man.” Gareth scolded half-heartedly and Eddie returned his words with a raised middle finger, sparking genuine laughter from Gareth.

“So!” Tory spoke, cutting off the pair's bickering. Let's start off with a few games, yeah?”

About half an hour and a couple of games later, they’d finally reached the question portion of the panel. Tory explained that they would start off with submitted questions and then move to having a few audience members ask their own. Pulling out a clipboard, presumably the clipboard that held the predetermined questions, Tory smiled.

“Alright! First question is from ‘Hellfire’, with an ‘i’ on Twitter. It reads, ‘Robin when did you first realise you were a lesbian?’” Robin smiled and thought for a quick moment before answering. 

“Well, I think I've always known, you know? Like, I never had actual crushes on boys in school and I remember asking myself why I couldn't like girls like the boys liked girls. But then after I got older and learned the queer people existed, and what each label meant, is when I really was able to realise who I am.” Robin rambled, and Steve couldn’t help but smile. The audience gave her claps and snaps and cheers of encouragement.

“Beautifully said, Robin! Our next question is for Austin-” The voice of the host faded away as Steve zeroed in on Eddie once again. He was resting his chin on his pale hand, chunky rings and bands covered his fingers and chipped black nail polish was painted messily on his nails. Even from where they sat, Steve could see the way the corner of Eddie’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, smile lines and dimples on his cheeks accompanying the grin that blessed Eddie's face. The purple and yellow lighting gave his hair and skin a glow that Steve found terribly alluring. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, getting lost in the bright baritone of Eddie’s voice as it mixed in with the others, studying the man before him as if he’d be tested afterwards. He only came back to reality when Eddie’s chuckle crackled through the microphone, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually tune into the words being said.

Soon, the pre-submitted questions had dwindled and after the last few had been asked they moved to having audience members voice their own queries. The audience questions were less organised, many asking about mundane attributes such as favourite meals or shows while others were completely obscure and had the panel struggling to answer.

“Well, we have time for just one more question from the audience.” And before Steve knew it, his son’s hand was shooting up. “Alright, you in the yellow, back there!” A smile spread across Dustin’s face as he stood and made his way to the microphone placed in the aisle between seats.

“So,” Dustin began nervously. Steve watched as he fiddled with his fingers, a nervous tick he’d developed. “Uh, my question is for Eddie?”

“Shoot, little man.” Eddie smiled, warm and welcoming, and Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Ah, um. So, you talk about how school was for you quite often and I wanted to know how exactly you overcame all the uh, the name calling and everything?" Dustin was stuttering through a few words and Steve wanted nothing more than to go over and rub his boy's back. He could do that when Dustin returned. Eddie's face softened and he started to fiddle with the rings that Steve wondered always riddled his fingers.

"Yeah. So for anyone who doesn't watch me that often, I do streams where I talk about my unfortunate middle school and high school years to kind of-- shed light on what it's like for kids who were and are like me," Eddie started. "Uh I was called names," He moved a hand in Dustin's direction. "Messed with physically, all that. As for your question, I think I just started to realise that I'm not what any of those assholes say I am. That they can't push me around anymore.

Obviously, things might work differently for other people but that's what worked for me personally. Plus I was held back a couple of years so my bullies were out of my school life and I was able to be who I am." A few people from the crowd clapped, egging on the rest. Dustin beamed at Eddie's response.

"Thank you," Was the last thing Dustin said before he stepped away from the microphone and back to his seat beside his father.

"How was that?" Steve asked his son who was practically vibrating in his chair.

“That was so cool!” Dustin whispered and Steve smiled. Little did he know how cool it was going to get.

“Who knew you were such a poet, Eddie?” Tory asked and Eddie laughed and shook his head.

“Well, I am a songwriter so I'm technically halfway there.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“That sounds about right.” Tory spoke over the few cheers that broke out. “Well, folks. That’s the end of our time here. Give it up for our wonderful guests!” Applause roared throughout the room as the panel stood and waved to the audience as they left. Steve felt like he could breathe again. He held Dustin close as they made their way outside, just as he had on the way in, and once the warm sun fell on their skin Steve took the backpack off his shoulders and pulled out a few granola bars and bottles of water. Steve spoke again after a few minutes.

“I have a surprise for you.” He stated as he zipped the backpack up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Really?” Dustin asked from his seat on the concrete curb. “What is it?”

“Can’t tell you. But, we have to be there in the next fifteen minutes so we should make our way over there.” Steve pointed to his watch as Dustin stood up. The boy was obviously starting to grow tired, though the afternoon sun shining in the sky should mean he should still be energised. He tired easily, Steve found, and between the fact Steve knew Dustin didn't get much sleep the night prior and the amount of excitement that filled the boy, Steve was surprised he hadn't crashed yet.

“Lead the way, father dearest.” Dustin said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could. That was okay, he’d be truly enthusiastic soon.

EDDIE MUNSON

Eddie thanked any god that was out there for the short break he and his friends were given after the panel. It was so much fun being able to talk to his fans, though he found it unfortunate that it was by way of him being on a stage. A specific boy who asked a question stuck out to him. Surprisingly over the others who shouted compliments or "I love you's" at him. Yep. Just a young boy in a large yellow sweatshirt, probably in his middle school or early high school years asking how he overcame the bullying. Eddie swore it almost done broke his heart.

He took a swig of his bottled water and ate a few pieces of the slightly stale pizza that sat in the small room he and his friends were provided. Eddie popped the tape out of his walkman to flip it around. He closed the lid, and pressed down the play button, letting the sound of his mixtape fill his ear through the single earbud he had in.

Wayne had poked fun at him when he bought it. ‘You tryna be old-school or somethin’?’ He’d said as he rubbed his knuckles into his nephew's scalp. Eddie missed his uncle, and couldn't wait to go see the man someday soon.

"I'm so excited to go meet everyone!" Chrissy gushed. She sat on the loveseat, Robin next to her. 

Haha, get it?

"I'm just happy I get to be with you, Chris. I don't know how I would handle everyone by myself." Robin smiled sheepishly. God, Eddie was gonna barf if Robin kept this up. How could two people be so clueless?

Literally, just ask her out already you idiot.

"I'm gonna make my way over to where I gotta be. Good luck, girls." Eddie clipped his walkman onto his jeans waistline and shot finger guns at the two.

"Good luck, Eddie!" Chrissy jumped up to hug him and over her shoulder, Eddie winked at Robin. Robin returned a shy look as Chrissy pulled away.

"Bye, Eddie," Robin mumbled and Eddie huffed humorously before leaving and shutting the door behind him. He took a deep breath, and finally started to make his way to the next phase of completing this con.

-

It had been about half an hour of meeting fans, taking photos, and receiving small trinkets from crafty fans that he graciously took and thanked their makers. He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d felt so appreciated.

"I love you!" A fan said as they waved each other off.

"I love you too," Eddie would return those words multiple times, and each time he meant it. The photographer called for the next people in line. The next thing he knew, a familiar flash of yellow entered his vision and he recognized the owner of a mop of brown, curly locks. Eddie grinned. Then he noticed the figure following the young man. He was tall, and broad, and also had a mop of brown hair on the top of his head. His hair was not curly like the boy he was with.

Wow, okay.

"Hey, little man!" Eddie brought back the nickname from earlier as the boy tucked himself into Eddie's side, the other man standing just behind his son and in turn behind Eddie.

"Hi!" Yellow shirt was ecstatic and Eddie hugged the boy back. Eddie took a quick look over his shoulder at the slightly taller man, blinking him a greeting and receiving a nod in return. Eddie was sure he’d never seen someone so handsome.

Handsome. He couldn't believe he was using that word, but matched completely with what he was seeing. Broad shoulders, swoopy hair, and shiny eyes. Freckles, straight white teeth and a warmth that radiated off of his body. Eddie wanted to lean into it, always feeling so cold. This guy totally would’ve bullied him in school. But, here he was, not a malicious gilt in his eye.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t as over high school as he thought.

"Three, two, one." The photographer counted down before the flash struck, capturing the image. The youngest started to move and Eddie grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Hey," He started and the boy's confused eyes met Eddies. "Just wanted to remind you of how awesome you are." Eddie's smile was as soft as his eyes were and the latter's eyes widened. The photographer shouted out, trying to keep the momentum, and Eddie wished the boy farewell, giving one last look to the other man. The latter looked back at him, his expression was unreadable, but devastatingly attractive. The two left and Eddie continued on with the now shorter line of people left.

CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM

Chrissy sighed as she lay down on the loveseat in the group's room. Taking photos and meeting fans personally was super fun, but also very tiring. Robin was going to return soon. She had just left to grab a couple more bottles of water since she and Rob had finished theirs and the only one in the room was Eddie’s and frankly, she did not want to ingest whatever that man's mouth touches. (It was mostly cigarettes, that's all she knew.)

Her mind wandered back to Robin. Chrissy rested her head on the small pillow that sat in the corner of the cushions, almost wishing it was Robin's chest she were resting on instead.

Wait, what? She couldn't think of her best friend like this, could she? 

She couldn’t help but realise she thought this way a lot. What would Robin think? Yeah, she was a lesbian, but that doesn't mean she's interested in just any girl who comes along. Plus, she's Robin's best friend. Keyword, friend. There's no way Robin likes her in any other way than platonically. What would Robin think? Would she hate Chrissy? Her thoughts were cut short when the taller girl burst through the door, Eddie and the rest of the guys following.

"Guys you will never believe this. That one kid that asked that really deep question to me, came to my booth and I think he was there with his dad or something. Anyway the dad, or whatever, was like, super fucking hot--" Eddie's voice trailed off. Chrissy wanted to pay attention to Eddie's rambling, she did, but she had too much to think about right now.

"Hey," Robin's voice cut into Chrissy's thoughts from her spot on the floor next to the loveseat. As much as she loved to hear Robin speak, it was currently the last thing she wanted to hear "You okay?" 

"Yeah, 'm just tired 's all," Chrissy mumbled. Robin looked skeptical before nodding and sending Chrissy a sympathetic look.

-

Chrissy ended up going back to the hotel early while everyone else stayed back a bit longer before they left for a restaurant for a celebratory dinner. Robin offered to stay with her, but Chrissy waved her off and told her to have fun with the guys. Robin promised to bring her back some leftovers and let her know she hopes Chrissy feels better. Chrissy smiled weakly before Robin would leave and Chrissy would change into a tank top and shorts and slip into the sheets of the bed she would have to share with the girl she was currently struggling over tonight.

She felt herself tear up.

Why did this have to be so hard? Why did this have to happen now and not in like, high school? She couldn't be having a sexuality crisis right now, not while they were supposed to be having fun at the convention for the next couple of days. Chrissy was scared of rejection, she admitted to herself. Not having feelings bigger than their current friendship, but the idea that she tells Robin these feelings and Robin rejects her and never speaks to her again and--

The tears slid down her cheeks and Chrissy wiped them away.

It was no use though when the last tears would be replaced quickly.

STEVE HARRINGTON

Music quietly played through the speakers of Steve's car. He had placed an order for pickup at his and Dustin's favourite restaurant and they were on their way to go get it. Steve was starving and Dustin was on his way to falling asleep in the passenger seat. After another couple more minutes, they finally arrived at the place and Steve softly nudged Dustin's shoulder.

"I'll be right back, 'kay? Just grabbing the food." He said quietly. Dustin nodded and Steve took that as acknowledgment. He got out of the car and went inside, waiting for a staff member. Someone quickly arrived. Steve told them his business and his name and in return, he earned a big  warm paper bag that would be filled with the dinner. Steve thanked the person who helped him and he walked out of the door and made his way back to his car.

Until he saw a cloud of smoke from where the end of the small parking lot and the wall of the building met. There stood a man who he recognized all too well.

This was stupid. Steve was stupid.

Still, Steve walked over to the other who still wasn't made known of his presence.

"Hey," Steve greeted as he got closer. The long-haired man turned his head, blowing out another cloud of smoke. He tilted his head curiously before he spoke.

"Hi," Eddie said before he dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. "You're the guy that came in with the kid in the yellow, right?" Steve nodded, ignoring how his heart stuttered at the fact he was recognized.

"Yeah, he's my son. I wanted to thank you for what you said to him," Steve began, fiddling with the handle of the paper bag. "He's been having some issues at school. Says watching your videos and stuff makes him feel better." Eddie smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Nah," He put his cheek to his shoulder and his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Sucks that shits happening to him. Looks like times haven't changed, huh?" Steve sighed and pursed his lips in a silent apology. "What's your name, pretty boy?" Eddie asked. Steve laughed and shook his head lightly as blood rushed to his face. God, he hadn’t felt like this in ages.

"Steve," He answered. Eddie stepped forward, leaving limited space between the two. Steve blinked, his legs feeling as though they were full of lead.

"Well, Steve." Eddie pulled something out of his pocket before reaching his arm through the space of Steve's arm and torso, slipping whatever was in his hand into the back pocket of Steve's jeans. He let his hand stay there a second, eyes not reaching Steve's, but rather trailing over each feature on his face. After what felt like forever, Eddie removed his hand. He patted Steve's hip. "An… Offer. If you want it." Eddie stared up at Steve through his eyelashes. Their height difference wasn't much, but it was enough for Eddie to have to turn his eyes upwards.

Eddie took a step back. Steve sighed.

"I have to return to my friends. They're probably wondering where I am." He took one last look, up and down, at Steve. "Hope that serves you well," Eddie smirked before he turned around and walked back towards the entrance of the restaurant.

Steve froze for a second before he reached into the pocket, still warm from Eddie's hand. He pulled out what the other had put in. It was a wad of paper. Confused, Steve unrolled it. There he found digits scribbled. Eddie had given him his number.

ROBIN BUCKLEY

"Night, Ed! Night Austin!" Robin called from down the hallway, receiving a couple of grumbled replies. She giggled to herself before she continued her way to her room. She got to the door, pulled out her key and let herself inside. There she found minimal lighting and a mound under the covers of the bed, some strawberry blonde hair peeking out from the top. 

Robin shut the door as she sympathetically sighed. She put the pasta she'd saved for Chrissy, her favourite, on the vanity and quietly made her way over to Chrissy's side of the bed. Robin put a gentle hand on Chrissy's exposed shoulder.

"Chris? You awake?" She mumbled quietly. No response. Chrissy's cheeks were stained with tears and Robin bit her cheek. Why had Chrissy been crying? She wasn't feeling too good, Robin knew, but what had made her cry? She pushed Chrissy's hair behind her ear and stayed there for a moment before returning to the door where she took off her shoes and coat, accidentally knocking Chrissy's coat off of the hanger. It was a quiet sound, but still, Chrissy awoke.

"Robin?" She yawned as she sat up and turned to where the other was standing.

"Y-yeah. Sorry for waking you," Robin's apology was soft as she picked up the smaller coat. She paused for a moment after hanging it back up. "Chris? Were you... Crying?" Robin moved back towards the bed. She was never the best at this type of stuff. She never knew how to help people feel better, oftentimes she felt useless in these situations. But, her best friend was hurting, and she needed to try.

"No! Uh..." Chrissy pulled her knees to her chest before huffing defeatedly. "Yeah,"

"How come?" Robin sat down and shuffled closer to Chrissy, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her into a side hug. "You okay?" Chrissy sniffled and shook her head. "What's wrong?"

"Can't tell you." Chrissy put her forehead to her knees. "You'll hate me." Robin ran her hand along the shorter girl's back.

"I won't hate you, Chris. I could never hate you. I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything." Robin was even more concerned. Throughout the years Robin had known her, she’d never seen Chrissy this way, so full of self depreciation. The only time that had come close was just after her ex-boyfriend, Jason, broke up with her. But even then, she seemed more relieved than upset. Whatever was bugging her had to be serious. Chrissy was silent for a moment, the only sound in the room being the friction of Robin's hand on Chrissy's tank top.

"I think I like girls," Chrissy said. Robin's jaw almost dropped before she went to console her friend.

"Well, Chris, you know I'm a lesbian. Why would you think I’d-"

"I think I like you." Chrissy whimpered.

Oh.

"Chrissy... You're serious? You're not playing with me, right? Because this has happened before where a girl tells me they like me as a joke, or they think they like girls and want to use me as, like, the test to find out if they really do, and then turn around and--"

"I'm serious Rob, I just..." Chrissy let tears roll down her face once again and Robin unconsciously let herself wipe them away. "This is all so new to me and you're my best friend and I don't know how to feel." Robin frowned. She remembered her sexuality crisis in grade eight and how hard it was for her. She felt for Chrissy at this moment. Carefully she turned Chrissy around and pulled her onto her lap, grabbing the hands that covered the latter's face and moving them away. Robin smiled gently as she spoke.

"Hey," She started with. "It'll be okay, Chrissy. Trust me. It's hard for a while, I know." Robin brought Chrissy's head to her shoulder. They were silent for a moment until. "I like you too," Robin whispered. Chrissy gasped and pulled back, staring at Robin with surprise.

"You-- You do?" She gasped, staring up at Robin with big eyes. Robin took Chrissy's face into her hands pulling her in to leave a kiss on her forehead. Chrissy was a light shade of pink and less upset than before.

"I do. I have for a long time." Robin laughs. Chrissy smiles and lays her head back on Robin's shoulder. They stay there for a few minutes before it seems like Chrissy's about to fall asleep. Robin carefully took Chrissy out of her lap and laid her on the bed. "We'll talk about this in the morning, 'kay?" She said softly. Chrissy nodded and Robin smiled fondly. "I'll be right back." She pulled the blankets back over Chrissy's half-conscious body and she left to the bathroom before pulling out her phone.

Me

guess who might have a chance at getting a girlfriend

eddie help me

After a few minutes, Eddie didn't reply. He must be sleeping, Robin thought.

When actually, Eddie was up making a few text messages of his own.

tags:

@marklee-blackmore

[olderthannetfic]

This NaNoWriMo stuff with AI is largely unsurprising to me. I don't know how many people have gone beyond reading the viral clipped out bit about classism and ableism, but there was a follow up statement on that, in which they claim to take a very neutral stance. That their initial intent was apparently trying to curtail harassment of those who are using AI and they at least apologized for their confusing and unthoughtful wording of their original statement. Which seems legitimate enough to me. I'm sure they are sorry, considering the swift and unforgiving backlash they received. What I find kind of bizarre about this whole thing is, like, if you are running an event surrounding writing and making guidelines for what is and isn't okay in general-- then wouldn't it be a perfectly reasonable addition, to set out some level of encouraged practices for how one should or shouldn't use AI for during said event. Guidelines that are encouraged, that follow what everyone believes to be the spirit of the event (sitting down and actually writing a little every day for a month) would seem like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, to me. Like, am I off base here? With the rise in AI this seems like the natural progression. Even if only in spirit, not allowing generated works specifically seems like it would be a completely understandable guideline that keeps the event fair to those trying to do it the way it's meant to be done. And if you wanted to be neutral about it, it could be presented alongside a more lax policy around using AI to say, generate a plot bunny when experiencing writers block or create names for places/characters. People have been using tools like that for ages so there's precedent to allow "thoughtful" use of AI for these purposes. Anything at all, even if it can't be completely enforced, seems like it would have been better. The random endorsement of AI for people in certain circumstances from their follow up statement, and how it can be life changing, if one were to take their meaning in the most charitable way possible, does not feel like it's on topic here. Like, all this effort to be "neutral" on their part is not really coming across that way it's all just so damn clumsy. I try to always assume positive intent, not attributing to maliciousness (such as capital gain at the expense of creatives, which is one of the major problems with AI generated work) what can be better explained by ignorance, but even taking all that they've said in such a fashion, it largely feels like they didn't want people arguing about AI but also didn't want to have to make rules around AI that they would then have to, even if only in spirit, enforce. I can sort of understand that, considering it would be (most likely) impossible for them to differentiate between generated work and stuff that was written by a person. But again. They could have just said that it wouldn't be possible for them to police AI usage, blah blah blah, honor system (which again is already part of how NaNo works-- an honor system) but that targeted harassment campaigns of individuals for any reason would not be allowed within these spaces, up to and including suspected use of AI. Like there were so many different ways this could have been approached to accomplish what their stated goal was. Without??? Accidentally taking a very strange and not well thought out direct stance on AI that they later had to halfway walk back and apologize for. I don't think NaNoWriMo ever intended the message to be "We allow AI generated works now" (unless there's something I missed) -- That's not explicitly something they said, but rather the at large and reactionary interpretation of it. Now, I just have to wonder, what the hell happened to their September update post from last week, that was apparently addressing other issues. One thing I'll say for this whole mess, is it's at least amusing to watch the absurdity of their slow motion collapse hitting the speedrun stage toward total implosion. The org has had major internal problems for years now.

--

Honestly, I think the reaction is at least as much about longstanding issues with the organization as about people's fears of AI. Poorly thought out corporate idiocy feels in-character.

[ollybenrio]

I’m gonna get my thoughts and predictions out before the new Chaos Theory season comes out.

I think, genuinely, they’ve gotten all the ships and relationships set up to bring together the endgame couples. they’re setting all these relationships up so that when the real endgame plots happen, it hits us harder, gives us more of a deeper plot.

So far what i think is going to happen to the current in CANON couples we see/have;

Sammy and Yas: YES endgame, a beginning couple that they plan to keep.

Kenji and Brooklyn: NOT endgame, a beginning couple they gave for those who enjoy it, but as of now (chaos theory s1), it’s grown deeply complicated, and has made us dislike them (atleast me, they grew unhealthy for eachother). Gives plot and “complication” to future Kenji & Brooklyn relationships, gives us shock factor, entertainment for when/if future relationships with different people occur.

How i think it’ll end up;

Brooklyn and Darius: YES endgame. CT s1 we already see Darius has a crush on her, and we’ve previously (cc) seen them with lots of romantic history and chemistry. Most (?) of the fandom prefers them, and the creators know this (they also are not the type to ignore what fans want!). They’ve foreshadowed this relationship in s1 during the abandoned house scene (with that weird tub) where Kenji gets mad at Darius for liking her (I think?) but later towards the end of the season, we can see them forgiving each other, which MAY be forshadowing and giving that underlying feeling that Kenji is okay with Darius/Brooklyn, and that technically, they don’t like each other anymore, so Darius can do whatever he wants, even if that means dating her.

Ben and Kenji: YES endgame. We’ve already gotten tons of chemistry and dare i say, romantic history, with these two. that whole monorail scene where Kenji wears Bens “dork pouch” for ever? they were testing the waters with that. we know these creators aren’t scared of putting lgbtq relationships out there, so we know this also has plenty of potential. We know they didn’t interact so much during ct s1 but that whole egg scene with Speckles? that was a little… yk. They fit perfectly especially since everyone else is already going down their endgame routes with others that aren’t these guys. so in the end, they put these two together.

as a writer, and person who has watched plenty of movies and read books, i can see the route writers will go for things like this. it’s not always about preference, but where things/characters slot in. in relationships, these couples all make sense for endgame purposes. They gave us Kenji x Brooklyn for those who wanted it (more than enough seasons, might i add) so know they’ll feed the others who like Kenji x Ben and those who like Brooklyn x Darius. it all makes sense in the end.

let me know your thoughts on this!!

[ascendedice]

shifting literally has no evidence to prove it's real other than purple haired mfs on tiktok saying ts is 😭😭 stop lucid dreaming and get a job

another tip - don't listen to degens like this. first and foremost, do your fucking RESEARCH. shifting is a term that's absolutely different than lucid dreaming. just for people like you who have no access to google: shifting - switching your awareness to another reality of your choice. lucid dreaming - becoming aware of a dream and controlling it. second, all of us experience shifting in one way on another at any given time of the day. if you: - changed your intentions about ANYTHING - thought of something and then seconds later it appeared randomly - manifested a change in reality subconsciously/consciously - done a prayer/spell you shifted.

It's okay if you don't believe in that, I respect it, but going into MY profile to say it's not real while I'm experiencing it is another thing ☠️ sorry pook, but I'm the one living my best life while you struggle with everything thinking you aren't powerful enough to change it. just because you think none of this ever happened to you doesn't mean that said "purple haired mfs" on tiktok didn't. unlike you, they are happy and know what they can do! so pls for the sake of all of us close your mouth, not just in my profile but overall just stfu 😭 (id also like to remind yall that my ask me anything is about shifting and witchcraft questions, if you plan to try to convince me that what I experience isn't real better don't bother. my page is NOT a debate one trying to prove shifting to random people. you either believe in it or not, it's not my problem. feel free to ask me any question about shifting though!)

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eight - Deep into the hole

“I can't believe this is happening. What do you think happened to him?” Amelie asks, looking more than a little worked up.

“I really don't know…” You lie. It feels awful lying to her, but telling her the truth would be far worse. Why did you ever have to cross paths with Lestat?

“I can't believe it.” She says again.

You focus on making the coffee. There was very little chance of you getting any sleep right now anyway. You pour two cups and hand one to Amelie. She takes it with a soft ‘thank you.’

“You know… you were the last person I saw him with…”

You look at her. “Please tell me you're not accusing me of anything. Amelie, I don't know where he is.” 

“I know. I was just saying…” The tone of her voice leaves you a little unconvinced. There's doubt lingering in your mind and for the first time ever you're left wondering who your real friends might be.

“I'm a lot of things, but a murderer ain't one.”

Amelie seems to realize how her words had sounded and moves closer to you. She reaches out for your hand and sighs loudly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I've just been thinking too much.”

“I know. I'm sorry. Please don't let whatever is happening come between us. You're one of the few people I have.”

Amelie puts down her coffee so she can hug you. You return the gesture, but doubt is still eating away at your mind.

‘Come to me, Chéri.’

You hear him in your head. He was probably disappointed you had left. You needed time to think before you went back. There was too much going on.

You wake suddenly. Light is illuminating your room through your curtains. Amelie is fast asleep on your couch and you're curled up in a chair beside her. Two forgotten cups of coffee sit on the table.

Your head pounds as you get up out of the chair. You take a few moments to gather yourself and then start cleaning up. Amelie only stirs after you start filling the sink with water to wash up with.

“What time is it?” She asks, stretching.

“Noon.”

“Oh no! I'm supposed to be at the theater to answer questions about Noah. Damn it. I have to go.” She scrambles to get up.

“Wait a minute.” You wipe your hands and walk over to her. “What do you mean?”

“The police were going to go back to the theater today to ask questions. I promised Jack I'd be there.”

You feel an uneasy feeling in your body. “I'll take you.”

Arriving at the theater, you only see one police car parked outside. It gives you a feeling of dread as you look at it. Amelie leads the way inside.

All the performers are gathered in the lobby. They're all talking amongst each other. Through the commotion you can see Jack talking to two officers. After a few moments he turns to everyone and steps up on a chair.

“Quiet!”

Everyone falls silent. Jack turns to the officers. The tallest of the two steps forward. “We're here to enquire about Noah. It would seem his disappearance holds more questions than answers. One by one we're going to take you into the theater and ask you questions. If anyone knows anything about where he may be, dead or alive, please come forward.”

It feels like it gets harder to breathe.

The shorter officer steps forward and calls the first name. While they go inside, the rest of the crew all begin talking again. They're all trying to figure out what's happening. Jack gets bombarded with questions.

You take a seat on one of the small couches in the lobby. Amelie turns and looks at you quietly. She walks over and takes a seat beside you. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, just… can't believe this is happening. Do they really think something happened to Noah?”

“His sister certainly thinks so. She went to his place and all his stuff was still there, but the door was locked. Reckon he was taken or something before he even got home.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Was Lestat even going to do anything about all of this? He knows what's happening. He surely knows how much trouble you're in. Then again, can the police even connect you with Noah's disappearance. No one actually saw you with him alone. Lestat came in quick at the time and took him just as fast.

There's no evidence you were with him after the show.

One by one more performers were called into the theater. The ones who have been questioned already get asked to leave immediately. You watch each of them head on home.

Jack comes over to you after half the lobby is empty. He sees you with Amelie.

“I didn't realize you were. You don't need to be here.”

You look up at him. “Don't they want to question everyone?”

“Yes, but you're clear.”

You furrow your brows at him. “What do you mean I'm clear?”

“I already told the police that after the incident on stage, you left and Noah came to me. You were gone before the end of the show.”

“What?”

“Noah came to talk to me after you left the stage that night. I don't know where he went after, but when I came to your room, you were already gone.”

Jack doesn't know about the brief altercation in your dressing room. It really did happen too quickly for anyone to notice.

“Oh, I see.”

Jack places a hand on your shoulder in support. “You look tired. Go home.”

“No, let me stay.”

The short officer comes out to call for the next person when he sees you and Jack. He walks over and checks his list. “You're the pianist.”

“That's right.”

“Jack has already cleared up your whereabouts, but may we ask you some questions?”

Jack goes to interfere, but you're faster. “Of course. I'll come with you now.”

Jack looks at you with a column expression and watches you go with the officer.

Amelie looks up at him. “She'll be fine. She always is.”

“I know.”

Inside the theater you make your way to where the tall officer is. He's writing some things down. As you approach he looks up.

“This is the pianist Jack mentioned,” the other officer said.

“Oh. Wasn't expecting you here today.”

“I want to help if I can.” You tell him.

He nods. “I'm officer Michaels. That's officer Jackson. Take a seat, ma'am.”

You sit down beside him.

“Did you know Noah?” He asks.

“Not very well. He came to the theater to perform. Jack had suggested we do a duet, but I declined.”

“Yes, I heard as much. May we ask why?”

“I perform alone. I play solo.”

Michaels nods and makes a note of that. He looks at you again. “What happened that night?”

“I was performing. Same as I do every Friday. I was only just into my first song when Noah stormed the stage singing his heart out. I was furious, but only because he ruined my music. Not that he was a bad singer, just that I like my music to speak without the need for words.”

Michaels nods again. “Then what happened?”

Lestat happened. But you can't tell him that.

“I left the stage, ending my performance early. I was not in much mood to be made a fool of. I retreated to my dressing room to gather my things.”

“And then?”

“I went home. I was too embarrassed and furious to talk to anyone. I was gone before the show was over. Didn't even say bye to Jack.”

It wasn't a complete lie. It wasn't the whole truth either.

“I see. Jack said as much. He spoke to Noah briefly and then went to check on you after he had the next performer on stage. Your dressing room was empty. No sign of Noah either. You did not leave with him that night?”

“Not at all.”

Michaels makes a note. “Understood. Thank you for your time, ma'am.”

You nod and rise from the seat. However, before you get too far, you turn. “May I ask, what do you think happened to him?”

“I can't say for certain, but it is likely he disappeared after leaving the theater, but before reaching his home. Rest assured, We will find our answers.”

You nod and leave quietly.

By the time you're leaving the theater, Amelie is going in for questioning. You don't stop to talk to anyone, just like the others did before you. You're on your way home when someone comes up beside you.

“Hey there.”

You turn and see Eleanor has joined you. You had just wanted to go home.

“Hello.”

“May I join you for a moment?” She asks kindly.

“Sure.”

You walk in silence for a few moments before she talks. “My brother wrote about you in his letter to me.”

“He did?” You ask, almost worried about what he had said. You felt too involved in something you didn't actually do.

“He said he had the most beautiful piano piece he had ever heard in his life. He had said to me that he was going to sing to that piano one day.”

You look at her. “He really wanted that?”

“Yes. My brother is an admirer of the arts. Music is his passion.” She smiles. “He used to sing to me all the time.

“I see…”

“It's a shame I didn't get to see him sing with you. You'd make a good pair.”

Her comment makes you feel rather sick. You can feel your stomach turning as you walk. You just wanted to go home and disappear for a few days.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… tired.”

She seems to fall for your lie and loops her arm around yours. “Let me walk you home.”

You decide to just let her.

As you walk you drift away with your thoughts. It's still day, so Lestat will be asleep. Should you go visit him at nightfall? Should you just leave him be? Lestat seems like more trouble than he's worth.

Yet, the way he looks at you. The way he held you in his arms and kissed you. You can't deny your attraction to him. Lestat was like a drug you couldn't get enough of. You wanted to see him again.

Though he is still the reason this whole mess has happened.

You were confused on what to do.

Before you know it you're standing on your doorstep. Eleanor lets go of your arm and smiles kindly at you.

“Take care.”

You find yourself smiling softly. “I'll try.”

She walks away slowly, clearly lost in her own thoughts. You can't help watching her go. She shouldn't have come here. Everything would have been fine had she simply not come here.

Too late to do anything about it now.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4 @darkqueen1995 @bridkesby @caribbeangal @sarcasticandfangirl @missjadesfics @kaybart19 @whereismymindnow @chauchirem @angelrenee239 @ppureheroiine

[silverzoomies]

Okay, here's my question: If the reader wanted a serious relationship, like an official one, how do you think dofp! Peter would react? Is he capable of fidelity? Or would he run away?

this is definitely up to interpretation. a lot of reader-insert writers seem to view him at a surface level. they prefer him when he's more of an aloof, goofy hero with mischevious tendencies. reader's bestie who then becomes their playful, caring boyfriend. and that's totally fine, if that's your preference !!

me personally? i like to dig a little deeper.

i genuinely think commitment would freak him out.

i mean, think about it.

peter grew up a mutant. he probably has a lot of trust issues. his power separates him from other people. it makes him especially impatient. he perceives everything differently. nothing is a threat to him. he lives in his mom's basement. he plays ping pong with himself. he's all over the place all the time. he's nosy. he isn't patient enough to let you finish talking. and he might be so blunt, he risks hurting your feelings because he doesn't think about what he says before he says it.

he's the human embodiment of adhd. it's safe to assume he prefers immediate gratification over something that takes time. like a long-term relationship.

most importantly, he grew up without a dad. which can have a huge impact on a guy growing up !! his father left his mom before he was even born. which means the idea of fleeing a serious relationship might be somewhat normalized to him. subconsciously, anyway.

at most, i think he and reader would be super close buds. and if they were patient enough with him, even after everything - then he might develop feelings. he just wouldn't know what the hell to do with himself. if reader wanted a serious relationship...yeah, he'd probably bail. he might wonder why you'd wanna ruin a good thing with something so serious. when in reality, he's just too scared and self conscious.

i could definitely see him finally settling down once he hit his mid-thirties and realized how lonely he is, though. but i'm an overthinker, so i'm probably wayyyyy off base here lol

[girlwithrituals]

HOW TO STAY UNBOTHERED!

1. Never say more than necessary.

2. Don't allow your emotions to overpower your intelligence.

3. Lower your expectations from others.

4. Let your success do the talking.

5. 10 people 10 different opinions. Stop pleasing.

6. Remember your haters are your fans.

7. Don't be afraid to say "NO".

9. Know your truth and be okay with someone else not believing you.

10. Stop taking things personally.

• Let go of control: You can't control others' actions or words, just your reactions.

• Humor: Learn to laugh things off when appropriate.

• Set boundaries: Limit contact with negativity and prioritize supportive people.

• Communicate clearly: Ask for clarification Instead of assuming negativity

• Shift your perspective: Consider the source and if their comment reflects on them more than you.

• Focus on what you can control: Improve your own communication and self-care.

• Thicken your skin: Build strong self-worth and know your value.

11. Healthy detachment.

• Let people be who they want to be, then decide if you want them in your life.

• Trust that rejection is always redirection to something bigger and better.

• Some people are only meant to help you grow, not be in your life forever.

• What if everything is falling apart to come together in a way you can't guess?

• Focus only on what you can control.

[ninyard]

Hii, I guess this is a question not only for you but also your followers. Why wouldn't it be ok to like aftg? Like I've seen people say is problematic? But the only thing I've seen criticized is how unrealistic it is and like is a book so... idk maybe I lack critical thinking on some topics so if anyone could point me where to look I'd love to keep liking these books while being aware of it's failings :3

this is an interesting question! i guess the biggest part of whether it wouldn't be "okay" for someone to read aftg would be somewhat down to personal tastes.

re: the unrealistic part, i think if you go into a lot of books expecting them to be "realistic" you'll probably find there's a lot out there that just... isn't. i myself think that 90% of the biggest arguments i've seen about it's realism are from people who 1) refuse to suspend disbelief for the sake of enjoyment or 2) go into it with a certain expectation as to how realistic it's going to be before reading.

you can pick apart a million different books and movies and tv shows out there and find "unrealistic" parts in them all. and what do people say is even unrealistic about it? the different languages that are spoken in it? the trauma all the characters have? i understand it, to some degree, but i think people who think that fiction that is unrealistic = fiction that is bad, are probably just reading the wrong things. and that's fine. it's personal taste. but not everything has to be realistic for someone to enjoy it. that's just me.

as for the problematic aspects of it, i guess my gut instinct is to say that's once again down to personal perspective and opinion. i personally don't like or agree with some things in it, but i don't know if i can definitively say, oh it's problematic for this reason or that reason. are there triggering topics in aftg? are there uncomfortable scenes and problematic things that the characters do and say? are there bad people who do bad things? yes. that's just the truth. does that make the books themselves inherently problematic? i don't think so. but maybe i'm wrong with that. i don't know.

if you try to justify and explain and dissect everything that happens or is said in a book like aftg, i think you can probably find yourself in a real rabbit hole of is this appropriate? is this okay? is this problematic? i just feel that, it's a book, that has shitty things said and done in it, and it's up to you yourself whether you think those shitty things cross the line of being problematic or not. there's limits to everything, and while i dont think aftg crosses those limits, it doesn't mean i think it's perfect or an exception to criticism.

i guess what i mean is that if you try to find things wrong with aftg, you'll probably find something. it's not perfect. you could pick it apart if you really wanted to. but i suppose i'm just happy enough to enjoy it without doing that because it is what it is. it's a book about people who have had shitty things happen in their lives, about people who say and do shitty things, but i don't think it glamorises or makes those shitty things okay. me liking the series also doesn't mean i'm 100% a-okay super cool with everything that happens in it either. i am not the media i consume or enjoy.

but it's also really important to listen to people who talk about things that do personally hurt them or make them feel like they're not seen for who they are or what they've been through. i can say that i personally am not offended or hurt by 99% of what happens, but that doesn't invalidate someone who was. that doesn't invalidate other people who aren't me who say "it's problematic for x reason". i'm happy to share any insights into this if anyone wants to send them my way!

maybe this isn't a good answer to your question and i'm still not sure if i've gotten my point across properly. there's a million things problematic about aftg, i guess, but it's just about where you draw the line between the problematic content inside the series, and it maybe being a problematic series from the outside. i don't know exactly where to point you towards to have a balanced understanding of why it might be okay vs not okay. i'd just say to keep an open mind and listen to what people say when they raise their concerns about it.

[vi0let-writes]

Alright then, may I request Cyno, Xiao and AlHaitham. S/o pranking them, you know that one period prank girlfriend do on their boyfriend?, telling them to go by her some pads with wings. To see what they actually get for her (like would they actually understand the assignment or actually got her pads with Chiken wings thinking that's what s/o meant) or even told them to buy non-existent feminine products for example "help me buy the Super Jumbo Tampons with Wings✨✨✨" that kind of stuff. This is just crack request, wanting to trick these innocent stoic guys hehe~ 😈😈😈 this can be a modern au if you want

The dividers I used are here

thank you SM for the request!!!! This is such a silly idea! There is a screenshot of the messages for each one, and then a written part below, so make sure you don’t miss that!

characters: Alathiam, Cyno, Xiao

includes: Crack, fluff

Alhathiam

“I’m home” Alhathiams voice sounds as he walked through the front door. He made his way into the living room, where you sat on the couch, reading a book. You looked up, seeing your boyfriend with a shopping bag in one hand, and a takeout box in the other.

“oh! Did you get me food too? You’re so sweet!” You cheered happily. He rose his eyebrows confused.

“yeah, the wings you wanted?” He confirmed, his face obviously filled with confusion. You paused for a moment, before realizing that he misinterpreted the request, you then started crackling out in laughter.

“y-you.. thought I mean.. HAhAhaHa! Chicken wings?!” You wheezed out.

“what..?”

“let me see the pads you got.” He nodded, handing you the package over. “Baby, look, here on the package, it says ‘winged’ that’s what I meant” you giggled, taking one out and showing him. “Here, these flaps wrap around to keep them in place.” He looked utterly embarrassed.

“yeah.. I knew that.. I- I.. uh just wanted food..” he tried to play it off.

“it’s okay! I’ll go get these put away and then we can cuddle and eat these!” Alhathiam nodded, ears still red.

Xiao

“Love” a voice suddenly appeared behind you, causing you to jump.

“Xiao! Hi” you sighed out. He fell into your arms, face hiding away from you.

“I’ve failed you..” he grumbled out. “I couldn’t find the feminin product you requested.” You laughed, feeling kinda bad.

“it’s okay sweetie, I was just joking with you! Now I feel bad…” you ran your hands gently through his hair.

“what.. why? I went to 5 different places,people staring at me rummaging through things, and being sad for a silly prank? You have no respect for the Adepti..” he huffed, letting go of you and crossing his arms.

“no Xiao! I’m sorry.. come here, we can cuddle.” You apologized. He just rolled his eyes.

“fine.. only for a bit. I’m a busty person.”

Cyno

Cyno trudged through the front door, and to you in a hurry, 3 bags in his hands. When he came bursting through your bedroom door, your eyes widened in concern.

“Cy, what?” You questioned.

“I’m sorry, I took so long because I went to like 10 places trying to find the ones you mentioned; but I couldn’t… so I just got a bunch of them, you could stack them!” He reasoned, putting the bags down on the bed, revealing MANY boxes of pads. Your eyes widened again in surprise, before you laughed.

“Cy, you don’t stack them for one, also I was pranking you..” your smile was wide. He was quite for a second.

“oh.. haha, darling, I left work! For a prank?!” He sighed. ”what? You could have said that you were working!” A frown appeared on your face.

“hmm, it’s okay, but what do we do with all of these?” He motioned to the pads.

“I’ll use those eventually.” You bummed out a response. “Why don’t we play TCG to make up for it” Cyno pondered your proposal.

”I suppose I could take the rest of the day off”

Hope this was good!

you can leave requests in the “ask me anything”

my list of fandoms is pinned in my blog.

[raayllum]

a/n: sometimes i don't realize how much my autism has affected my life / relationships and then it slams into me. a ficlet

It's been an hour since the spat at negotiations, for lack of a better term—Opeli still winces when she thinks of the sharpness in the young prince's voice, straightening out his Evenere green robes with a finicky flourish—and Ezran had requested to be alone for the break.

Opeli had obliged him, not pleased he'd wanted distance from even Soren and Corvus when they had visiting nobles and servants over, but so long as they stood guard at wherever he'd gone, she couldn't really find it in her to object. Being king could be overwhelming even if you weren't eleven years old.

It's nearing the time negotiations will re-commence, though, and... she can't find him.

He's not in the kitchens, or one of the smaller dining halls he likes to use with Soren and Corvus. He's not with Callum, who went to the courtyard to sketch, a worried crease in his brow (he'd checked on his brother—you alright, Ez?—talked down the prince, but Ez had shooed him off).

Opeli is beginning to despair that maybe he's run off into one of the remaining secret passageways, or even gotten stuck somewhere, when she spots Soren and Corvus standing in front of the library doors. Corvus seems as troubled as Callum, Soren catching her eye and arm when she moves to go inside.

"I think he's having a rough time," Soren says softly. "You might wanna..."

"I don't know if we can delay the next meeting any further," Opeli says apologetically. He releases her, nodding but unhappy about it, and she pushes open the door.

It takes a few moments, peering through the tall aisles of shelves and one or two alcoves, but eventually she finds the young boy king in one of the armchairs tucked away in a corner, a book open in his lap. And in truth, Opeli hears him before she sees him, because Ezran is... crying.

Big fat tears rolling down his cheeks in ways she hasn't seen since they completed King Harrow's memorial statue based off Prince Callum's sketches, or since those early, overwhelming weeks of being king once the Moonshadow elf had left... Bait's not in his lap either, pawing at his thigh but otherwise ignored, which isn't like Ezran either; so much so, Opeli stops right in her tracks.

"I'm, er—" She starts, then stops. He's clearly not okay so there's no point in asking. She eases onto her knees instead beside his armchair, unsure of how to proceed until she knows what's distressing him. It's not far from the anniversary of the attack, so maybe...? "I'm afraid the meeting is going to resume, soon, King Ezran."

He sniffles, looking briefly at her and then just starting at the floor, his eyes hardening. He doesn't move. He doesn't even wipe away his tears.

She purses her lips. "Ezran?"

Finally he looks at her, his face contorting—livid like she's never seen. "I don't know how to do this, Opeli."

"King Ezr—"

"Prince Erik asked for more information, so I gave it, and then he snapped at me and—I just don't understand!" Ezran cries, tiny fingers curling into fists. His eyes go wide with frustration, searching for something he can't find. "I don't get it. We've always had these trade deals and they worked fine, and this new one is the exact same, but now the policy's a problem? And when I pointed out it's just like the old ones, he said it just feels like Evenere needs something different even though those things are there for a reason—and no one cares about the reason but me!"

Opeli reaches for his arm. "Ezran—"

He stands, pacing. "And then when I explain those reasons, it's like... I knew as a kid the other kids didn't like me because I talked too much, and I was boring about wanting to talk about bugs or animals, or—so I just... I tried so hard to use less words and always say what I mean, but people still didn't get it, or like it." He pressed his palms to his eyes, tears leaking out underneath. "And it's the same damn thing in court, I don't—at the last Summit, Prince Erik didn't mind how much I talked because we were agreeing on policy, but now that we disagree I-I can't, for some reason? I'm just trying to explain, but he thinks I'm being condescending, but I don't think I'm smarter than him, I don't, I try so hard to say things right and I just don't know how —"

"Ezran." She takes him by the shoulders and he looks up at her, red-eyed with a runny nose. She takes a deep breath for her own measure, reaching up to wipe away some of his tears. "The prince, as many do, have an ego. You are doing your—"

"Well yeah, some people are jerks like him. But most people aren't, and I still can't... Why can't people just know you value them? Why do I have to remember to spell it out every time? Why do I have to read their mind and know what they need without them telling me? If I'm listening it's because I think we can reach common ground... Because the respect is already there. And I try so hard to explain so we can just reach common ground, but people just—they don't see that. And I don't know how to make them see that. I came up here to read hoping I'd find something so I can understand where His Highness is coming from, but it still doesn't make sense to me, and... I'm so tired, Opeli."

Gods, she wishes she had a better answer for him. She gives his shoulders a tiny squeeze, and then reaches up and takes off his crown. "Go to the gardens for the rest of the day," she says. "With your crownguard, or your brother, or both. Down by the town. I'll tell the prince and his delegates you're not feeling well."

Ezran's eyes shine as she presses the crown into his hands. "But—"

"No buts. It's like you said: you're tired. You deserve rest." Opeli offers up a tiny smile. "Go on."

Ezran steps away, bottom lip trembling, and then throws his arms tightly around her in the middle. They've never hugged before, she thinks, but she hugs him back now, rubbing his shoulders gently.

"Thank you, Opeli," he mumbles, some of the last tears fading. "'M sorry I'm so..."

She shushes him quietly. "You're a very special boy, my king. Not everyone is going to understand that. And I know it hurts, but not everyone needs to. Just keep... being yourself. We all love you here. You know that, don't you?"

He pulls back slowly, not smiling, but not looking nearly as worn down as before. He tucks his crown under one arm, and picks up Bait with the other. He has one last big sniffle. "Yes. I do."

[frownyalfred]

tl;dr: what's your opinion on posting roleplay replies on ao3?

i know they are frowned upon on ao3, at least that's what i've seen so far, which i can understand... to some extend. they are allowed in the archive, yes, but they also clock tags and it's annoying to read something you don't understand without the other replies and further context. they are tolerated, but i get the sentiment.

here's the thing... i rarely write for myself. i enjoy writing with others and building something together, and sometimes i create pieces i'd love to share. like, recently i have written a reply for someone that explores two different bruce's; one that has helena wayne/the huntress as his biological daughter, one that doesn't, how she got cursed into another universe, and how one deals with losing his child, while the other tries to re-order his life in order to make her fit. it's something beautiful that works on it's own, something i am very fond and proud of, but i'm torn on wether i should post it or not.

i could've kept the fact it's from roleplay a secret, but that also feels shit, lmao. i could keep it to tumblr, but no one would read what i put out -- let's be real, tumblr works very different compared to ao3. so i thought i'd give reaching out to one of my favorite authors a chance.

sorry for the lenght, feel no need to answer.

Hmm. I guess I haven't given it a ton of thought before now. I don't usually engage in roleplay myself, but I absolutely view it as a legitimate version of creation. Just because it's created a certain way doesn't mean it doesn't belong on ao3 -- it's an archive for transformative works, not just cookie-cutter fic formats.

I would say, err on the side of caution and tag as much as you're comfortable (tagging things after the required ao3 warnings is always optional, I want to reiterate, but sometimes additional tags help readers a lot). Make sure it's clear what the structure of the work is, if possible, but don't do yourself a disservice by making roleplay a dirty word, if you use it.

I don't think you're "clogging" up the tag, any more than the person writing 139/250 50 word individual fics haha. There will always be floods of content in various tags, and people who throw shitfits about that need to grow up. Unless someone is breaking the ao3 TOS, everything else is "etiquette" and that truly is nebulous and subjective, even if people will insist it isn't.

As for the missing context and replies -- I think that's something you can get creative with, if you want. But also, if you never fill in those blanks or provide that context, that's okay too. It's an archive, not a site where you have to actively promote your fic and make it the most appealing it can be to the largest group of people.

A final note on context though: I've found that the roleplay chunks I do come across in the wild look a lot like dialogue planning I do for some fics! If you ever want to turn them into a traditional fic structure, I don't think you're very far off at all. But only if you wanted! As I said above, I think what you have is 100% legitimate and should stand on its own on ao3.