#sometimes you gotta find comfort in a man who is the living embodiment of one of the things that traumatized you. you know how it is

[jesteraunt]

irrational

[bestnoncannonship]

I'm drowning in the gender sandbox guys.

I am agender. At least....I think I am. It's the closest to what I'm feeling. In that I really do not have an attachment to any gender and cannot conceive how people identify with a gender. Like....they just FEEL a gender? All the time? No matter what they look like and what they're wearing they FEEL a gender?? Whaaaa??? Sounds hella fake but okay.

And now I'm gonna talk about that and my experience for a while, in a series of ways that's probably gonna get the gender and sexuality neo-puritans to come yell at me for not being ritually pure enough in the way I talk but.....I'm talking from my own brain, baby. This is the toolkit I'm packing right now and the world I live in and I just need to spit it out. Maybe see if it resonates with people who know more than me. I don't know. Help.

I didn't question being a woman for the longest time. I grew up in a rural area culturally dominated by "Christians" (Not Catholics. I was Catholic. That comes with a whole different set of religious traumas pre-installed. I mean the ScAaRy protestent and nondenom Christians.) You didn't question anything. Not an adults orders. Not authority. Certainly not straightness. Gender was biological. I'd never heard of a trans person. There were rumors of Gays™. For most of my life it was just "Gender is the meat suit you got stuck with, right? I got stuck with this meat suit so it's my gender, I guess." And when I finally left the middle-o-nowhere for Le Citè and I met some (mostly bianary) trans people I was like "OH! OKAY!! Having strong feelings about being in the wrong meat suit can make a gender!" And the non bianaries that I met were still playing on that bianary scale. The "bit of boths" and the "different genders for different days" varieties. They has strange attachments to genders. And the whole retoric of "Questioning your gender and feeling things about you gender is the indicator that you might be trans!!" Just furthered my feeling that I must just be female by default cause like.....I didn't question anything. I didn't think about gender. I had a COMPLETE lack of feelings about gender whatsoever and that was normal, right?? Just meat suit gender. I certainly didn't have a strong feeling about wanting to be the opposite: *gag* a man?? A straight white man? Nope! I have no desire to be a bianary man and frankly I find 99 percent of men and male culture traumatic. So I must just be meat-suit gender.

And yes, I wanted to scrape my breasts and hips and thighs off with a cheese grater. But I wrote that off as a symptom of having started putting a finger down my throat after meals when I was 6 and having a family that forced hour upon hour exercise with their thighs and tummies wrapped in saran wrap and sang "I don't love her! She's too fat for me!" to a literal toddler and put that same toddler in oversized clothes to hide the healthy baby squish that toddlers HAVE. OF COURSE I wanted to die when my breasts grew in and my hips and thighs filled out. They were evil fat deposits. And they meant nothing but unwanted attention from yucky men. (Lesbianism to be discovered some 15 years later. My comphets we're almost as bad as my compgenders.) It had nothing to do with gender. Gender is just the meat suit ....and I already hated the meat suit by the time I had breast buds, they just enhanced a disgust that I thought was normal by then. Everyone kind of hates their meat suit, right?? Yes I wanted to look like men sometimes.....but they were skinny heroin chic men. I also wanted to look like kate moss. I wanted to look like a sideways door but my family is Italian and we have hips and thighs. It's just the meat suit I was assigned. Just have to learn to deal with it and dress it in the way that it looks most socially acceptable and get on with life. And my meat suit had a very gendered look, even in the deepest throws of my illness. "All woman." "The curves of a real woman." So that was just the hand I was dealt. Like having a hard to match foundation undertone. You don't gotta like it, it's just reality. Yes, I wanted to wear nothing but waistcoats and gay vampire clothes but they weren't cut for my body type so *shrug*.

Did I start to have way too much fun cosplaying and embodying male characters? Yes. But that was just identifying with characters. I'd always identified with characters. Did I still distinctly identify with the character's gender, even when I femmed the costume to avoid the hellish pain of binding? Yes. Did it make me feel weird when people referred to my Thor as a woman, even though it was technically a femme? Yes. But that was just feminism. Heroes don't need to be called girl heroes. No gender issues here!! Besides it's not weird in fandom circles to stongly identify with people across gender lines. The fact that I found the gendernope option if there was one available in the fandom and *attached* was surely just coincidental. Right??

Did I absolutely loose my mcfreaking mind when the gyno started talking about having to take my uterus away because the amount of blood it was loosing was doing irreparable harm to my body? Yes. My gender is my meat suit. When you take it away....what am I???? A *gag* man??? Nothing at all?? Am I still even human?? If I am not *gag* male and you take away the female part of the meat suit am I an aphid? A plant? A chair? But I was comforted by a chorus of voices saying "No!! You're a WOMAN. Infertility doesn't make you not a woman! You still have a woman's body!! Because you're a woman!!! Just look at you in your skirts and with your long hair!! You're a woman!!!" So.....still a woman, I guess. Because I still LOOKED like one. Gender = the PRESENTATION of the meat suit. That made sense. The structure of my meat suit made me limited to woman-presentation. So I was woman.

Then, it was the stupidest thing, I was talking to the other half of my life on the 4/5 train on the way to a friend's house about HER issues with gender presentation and the amount of attention to detail it takes to be socially acceptable as female and she said "You just know you're a girl. Like if they just picked you up and put you in a robot body you'd be a girl?" And I was like "......no? I'd be a robot?????" "But you'd still feel like a girl???" "No.....I'd feel like a ROBOT." "BUT you'd still like hear she/her and identify with those???" "No. I'd probably identify more with It/it's because that's what I'd be. A ROBOT!" And she's like "But what if your brain got transplanted into a boy body???" "Then I'd be a boy." "But what would you feel like?" "A BOY?" "Okay but what if you had a very neutral body with like no genitals? What would you feel like then??" "I mean....then it would depend on how I'm dressed. I'd feel like what I was dressed like." And we went around like this till she surmised that my entire relationship to gender was basically "You are what you look like." Which is apparently NOT how people relate to their own gender. They "feel" it somehow?? (I genuinely thought "FEELING" like a gender was what made trans people.) I feel nothing. I identify with a lot of things and ZERO of them are a gender. I thought that was normal. I thought that was the default. Apparently it's not. And then if you ask me what I want to be.....I can't answer. I really don't want to be a gender. I guess I want to be able to put different genders on at my will, like outfits, for societal convenience. But I don't "identify" with any of them. Hell, I have sweaters I identify with more than any particular gender. But there aren't really systems in place for describing and portraying that.

Gender.exe was not installed.

I did a lot of research. Agender felt closest. I actually felt closest to a Good Omens meme about Aziraphale describing his gender as "No, thank you!" That's what I feel like. But all the agender folks were vibing that moment. So I joined 'em. I am aware that puts me under the trans umbrella, but I don't really identify with that word. I don't feel like there's any transition. Any changing. Can't change what was never there. Also I feel like it's for people who....CAN present as their gender. I would be seen as an invader in those spaces. Its not bad enough to justify being in those spaces. I can live with being gendered. I just don't have one.

In the society we live in one cannot present as "not a gender". Someone with MY body definitely cannot present as "not a gender". The clothes that they make in size "giant human with planet tits" are agressively gendered. And even in a binder.....they're still REALLY there. (Yes, a reduction is desirable but I don't have reduction money.....and you can't reduce the fact that I'm the bowl shaped robust extreme female hipbone they use in Forensic Anthropology textbooks.) It is what it is. My body will always be perceived the way it's perceived. And frankly a lot of what we perceive as genderless is just "skinny body in masc style with short hair and makeup". That's not really want I want. I don't want to cut off my hair. It's my one really good feature and I've worked hard to grow out these Valkyrie worthy lengths. Mens clothes are so limiting. And there are no gender: no thank you clothes. (One well meaning friend kept trying to send me "genderless" clothes......but it was all rail thin afabs in mens clothes with short hair and heavy makeup. That's not looking genderless. That's just being skinny.) Gender no thank you presentation is very tied to short hair and thin bodies. So I've accepted that I don't get to play in the gender sandbox outside of the privacy of my own mind. It's a societal flaw. But whatever.

But pronouns are starting to really bother me. Everyone is so into them and identifying with them. And like.....I don't get it. I don't get the joy. I don't think I've found the one. Like.....I'm used to she. I will always be read as she. I will always be Miss and Ma'am in stores and restraunts. So I just kind of roll with it. I don't hate it. I don't like it. It's just a thing that I have to have to exist in society. Like a social security number. I actually think I identify with my social security number more. There's no point in making myself uncomfortable with something that's just going to be a part of my life. And I don't want to be the kind of person who expects people to address me by a pronoun they can't see and aren't used to. It's too much to ask of the average citizen of a gendered society to go through that much gender theory for just me. So "she" is an inevitable part of my life. And He....well ......I don't hate it. I dont like it. It's just there. I certainly don't get called it. And I'm not capable of presenting it well enough for this to be relevant. Now they......fuck I HATE they. I hate that it's the acceptable pronoun for anyone not bianary male or female. It just rubs me the wrong way. When people refer to me as they, I feel like they're referring to me and the host of mental illnesses I carry around and you don't have permission to address those troops thank you very much. They causes a genuine squick. But it's kinda the only widely acceptable option. I kinda like "it". I VIBE with it. It feels good. Unfortunately the people in my life have a certain reluctance about calling me it as they believe that happy vibe around a traditionally dehumanizing pronoun may be a trauma symptom. They might be right so I'm tabling "it" till I find a good therapist. Also...I cannot ask strangers to call me it. I don't have the confidence it takes to explain why and I frankly don't want to be faced with the criticism and questions I would face because I am unable to make my body be perceived as Nonbinary. I don't have the confidence or conviction to face that every day forever. Ditto neopronouns. I also haven't found one that I vibe with at all yet.

And queer labels get harder when you pull away from gender entirely. Like ... I am a Lesbian. I am solely attracted to women. But now I'm getting a lot of "You can't be a lesbian if you don't have a gender!!!" And like ...can I??? I like being a lesbian. It feels right. It conveys what I want it to convey. I like the exclusion of men entirely, after being taught to structure my life around men. I have a kinship with womanhood. It's where I was raised. It's how people see me. I just don't identify with it. It's not how I see myself. I guess that can kind of exclude me from the label? All of our terms are defined by being attracted to "your own gender" or "the opposite gender" or "both your own gender and other genders" and like ... I don't have a gender. And the opposite of nothing is....?? Fuck if I know? So what term am I allowed to use? I love queer for exactly this reason. But it just doesn't have the same clarity that lesbian does.

So I'm just kind of in a hole rn. Grappling with the fact that I really don't have a gender in a gendered world, and dealing with the fact that so much of our understanding and acceptance of gender is about presentation, a door closed to my body. I don't have the confidence or the spoons or the knowledge or the experience to fight this fight. The path of least resistance is sticking my head back into the sand and going with straightforward womanhood....but now it feels like I'm lying. I feel like an intruder in woman's spaces. And I can't go in men's spaces, they see me as....well...a woman. Lesser.

Someone out there who's better at the genders please help.

[tsuumu]

good intentions.

kuroo x reader

your long-term boyfriend is perfect. i mean perfect. he excels at basically everything he does. well, except one thing. at least he has good intentions, right?

based off of a request found here.

word count:

tags/tw: y/n & kuroo are uni students, lots of playful insulting, kuroo is perfect, well not really, y/n is a mess, y/n is me doing any kind of work, domestic x1000, kuroo cooking is so cute.

You know those people who just seem to have it all?

No, not literally, but it’s so sickeningly easy for them that they might as well be arms reach of anything they want.

Usually we tend to dislike people like that, mainly because... well, we’re not them (much to our abysmal dismay, too). They end up taking a spotlight of jealousy in our lives and we find ourselves constantly thinking: Man, i’d love to kick their asses, but would alternatively jump at the oppertunity to switch lives with them ‘Freaky Friday’ style.

These people are the embodiment of admiration.

Young. Good looking. Fit. Successful. Socially conscious. Killer smiles. Can always hold a drink. Never seem to embarrass themselves even a little, but on the off chance they do, everyone adores them more and sees it as a cute little incident or quirk of theirs.

Just thinking about it makes you want to build yourself a bunker, deep underground, just to sulk in for a decade or so, lamenting angrily at the dusty walls.

Yes. You know the truth is that there will always be someone better than you at simply existing, but that doesn’t stop that simmering of content from rising within. Realistically speaking, you’d avoid these people like your life depended on it because they’re so... detestable.

So who would have known that you —of all people— would end up falling in love with one?

Well, you did. As much as they repel you, you find that they weirdly attract you too.

That’s right.

The man who stole that pretty little heart of yours, who’d caught your attention indefinitely with his cut-throat prowess and charisma. He’d approached you one fine evening at some bar you’d never been to before, ordered you your favorite drink because he’d seen you order it twofold previously (vodka cranberry, heavy on the juice) and chatted you up the way you’d always wished a guy would.

The appalling epitome of cliche.

The whole encounter practically ran like he’d planned it before-hand. It’s almost infuriating, how easily he swept you off of those tipsy feet of yours.

Something bumps lightly over your head as a shadowy figure passes by. You groan lightly in response.

“Hey, cut it out!”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself on the floor, crossed-legged, pen in your mouth and both your hands. One is furiously scrawling something down, the other flicking the cap off to highlight. It’s an understatement to note that you look like a bit of a mess, brows scruched up in an untidy pile in the middle of your forehead, dead-focused on the first draft of your thesis that was due weeks ago.

Yeah, you were one of those people.

A mocking string of apologetic noises come from the figure in front of you as he chucks his keys onto the kitchen counter.

Kuroo Tetsurou. That’s your A-list Boyfriend.

A-list of what? Of life, for god’s sake.

If it were him that’d been assigned a task with this ridiculous deadline, he’d probably have handed it before it was fucking given to him in the first place! Not only is he academically adept to the point of pure indignancy (on your part, of course, you’re too prone to jealousy for your own good), but his organisation is nothing short of freakishly unnatural.

He says he’s minimalistic, you say he’s an alien.

If someone had told you that the man you loved was actually some kind of secret government- made equipment to survey you, you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. He’s that good.

He chuckles at his own jeers, slipping a hand through the fridge handle. It unlatches with ease and he takes a cold can of beer out, pulling the tab back and allowing it to hiss open satisfyingly. Your eyes flicker upwards, gnawing at your knuckle, you’re not only stressed out, but unbelievably embarrassed that you’re at it again. He’s seen you like this countless times, after promising to clean up your act and follow in his footsteps.

Following in his footsteps. Well, that’s how he described it. You were close to socking his arm.

“Shut up.”

Tetsurou tilts his head back, drinking to his heart’s content before catching your eye. You’re correct. He has seen this before, so he knows not to take your off-handed comments to heart. Instead, he’s rather bemused.

“Your scruched up nose.” He begins, setting the can down to the side, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s your classic concentrating face.”

You’re not even listening if you’re honest. You’re trying to understand what this section of the task even means after re-reading it for the fifteeth time. The responses you give are made absently.

“Hm.”

“You look like a cat that’s been forced to wait to eat. That little glare. It’s cute, kitty.”

Your head jerks up questioningly. Did he call you cute?

His head tilts.

“Oh, you’ve relaxed your face now. It’s gone back to being ugly.”

You scowl and throw the highlighting pen at him.

“Go away! I’m almost done!”

Your fingers move to your lower back, pressing on your spine in hopes it’ll crack and relieve some of the tension in your body. Kuroo retrieves the pen, sweeping the can up with his spare hand. He plods over, craning his neck down to study whatever it is that you have on your lap.

“It’s too dark in here to see that properly.”

“I’m fine!”

“Well—“ He leans back to switch the overhead lights on. “—now you’re finer.”

You turn to him, pausing for a moment.

“Oh, thanks.”

It’s like you fall into this crazed state when you’re overworked. Frantic. Snappy. Cowering in the dark like some sort of parody Dracula— that is, if Dracula were three weeks late on his university assignment worth a disgustingly high percentage of his final grading. If Kuroo came too close, or said something a little too sly, you’d probably bite him. He knows this too, opting to keep quiet from now on. Instead, he sits leisurely on the floor, just behind you, placing his hands against your propped up body and gently pressing his thumbs into the blades of your back.

“Drop it a sec, yeah?”

Your body’s stiff, but you can tell he’s shocked at just how stiff it is. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, before rolling your shoulders back forcefully.

“Can’t... gotta finish—“ and you gesture wildly at everything around you. That answer was to be expected. You weren’t as academically driven, sure, but you weren’t one to give in easily. Or fail, for that matter.

Tetsurou plants a gentle kiss onto the nape of your neck, mumbling into the ridge of your spine.

“That—“ he copies your movements. “Can wait. I know you think it can’t, but it can. And you’re going to stop now.”

Your eyes lower a little, vision blurring.

“But—“

“Nope.”

You twist yourself to look at him, giving him another sour look.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” It rolls off the tongue so easily for him. He’s utterly calm. But then again, he’s not the one that needs to be on bloody ‘X-Games’ mode.

He’s never the one. Damn it.

You lift yourself up a little by placing your palms under you, wincing at the twinges of pain it induces. You’d made friends with the floor for a little too long, butt totally numb.

“Fine.” You resign, suddenly falling back onto him. “I’ll email my professor for the tenth time this week and wait as he rips me apart. Shall I?” Kuroo tuts, snaking an arm around your upper-body, the other brushing at your baby-hairs so he’s able to see your face a little clearer.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh— yes he would. Would you like front row seats to my untimely demise?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

For the first time through that entire day, you smile, even if it’s just a little. And to him, he’s managed to fish you out of that downward spiral you’ve been plunging into. Job well done on his part. He softly runs a his palm down your side.

“Your professor covers mine when she’s busy.” He states matter-of-factly. “Let me email him. It’s not ludicrous to say that i’m your boyfriend and you’re a little troubled at the moment.”

You’re slumped over, at the moment, chin buried into your chest.

“Troubled sounds like i’ve lost my mind.”

“Well not like that—“ The eager boy begins sifting out your laptop from under the seemingly endless piles of paper. “Let’s think of a better excuse.” Your body doesn’t move an inch, fiddling with the cap of the pen lid. You throw it by accident and it bounces too far to reach comfortably. Shit.

“Mmm.” He buries his nose into the crown of your head. “Shall I tell him you got into a car accident?”

“What? Tetsu, that’s stupidly unbelievable. I don’t even drive.”

“I guess... maybe not a car.” His fingers teasingly splay over your stomach, body bent intrusively over yours. They move against the softness of your flesh, dipping down slightly.

You suck in a breath.

“I’m sure I can do something for you that’ll keep you from walking for quite some time.” Tetsurou hums deeply, and it feels like he’s talking directly into your brain.

Your fingers fumble for the pen he just gave back, before hitting him square on the forehead with it. It ricochets back perfectly onto your chest with a loud snap.

“Ow!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Geez.”

“I don’t need excuses. I’ll just come back to it later.”

“Oh— yeah. That too.”

With a heave, you sit up, rubbing the side of your head as the blood rushes back.

“I’m kinda hungry.” You’d been so distracted with this work that even simple, human needs took a backseat.

This is why Kuroo doesn’t like it. At times like this, you’d barely eat, sleep, breathe. Seriously. Sometimes you’d hold your breath for absurdly long periods of time whilst reading, only to hack and gasp and apologise because you were so into it.

That’s... extreme. And he does not approve in the slightest.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm...” Your eyes sparkle hopefully. “Did you get me something to eat?”

Tetsurou scratches his neck timidly.

“Well, not exactly.”

Immediately, your face drops and he protests wildly.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Well— well— you couldn’t help but be disappointed! You were starving and tired and ready to email your professor a string of rather unpleasant curse words instead of another half-assed excuse. Your fingernails had been worn down considerably from all the abrasive biting you’d done, aching and red.

Being a full-time student was covert self-destruction. You heavily relied on your boyfriend to bring in food because you didn’t have the time to do so yourself. This had been discussed and agreed upon prior though, since along with Tetsu’s many formidable talents, a balanced work to school life was yet another.

He ambles back to the kitchen area, gesturing to the island smack bang in the middle.

“That doesn’t mean I came empty-handed.”

Oh. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he’d come home with groceries. Um. Groceries?

“What’s that?”

“Stuff I picked up on the way back.”

“Like, ingredients?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The both of you are quiet for a moment, and you’re eyeing the bag like it’s appeared out of nowhere with something potentially life-threatening inside it. Yes, that sounds stupid. But the truth is... you guys never really got groceries. Not actual groceries with actual ingredients. Because that is a strong indicator that they’d have to be cooked.

And god, neither of you knew how to do that.

You’re a student who’s barely stepped into adulthood, not Gordan Ramsay.

Okay. You sound ridiculous. Cooking isn’t that complex. It’s actually quite simple if your heart’s in it.

“I figured i’d be able to do something with these.” Kuroo pats the bags and they crinkle a tad.

Of fucking course he’d ‘be able to do something’ with them.

He’s Kuroo-Genius-Tetsurou!

CEO of doing things with other things and it actually working out. Building cabinates, lock-picking, gardening, guitar, skateboarding, poker. Since you’ve been together, these are a few of the varation of things he’s naturally picked up.

You? You’re a more do-it-once-it-fails-and-never-do-it-again type.

In your mind there’s literally no doubt he’d ace cooking and list it under the other fifty(billion) things he’s also capable of, just so he can mention it off-handedly to other people at parties or something.

If there’s something to criticise about your boyfriend, he’s awful at shutting up about himself. He’ll go on forever, as if he’s showcasing his entire life to strangers in some desperate attempt to sell them his excessive excellence.

Is he arrogant? Maybe. But is he able to do it in a manner that’s utterly bewitching? Absolutely. He’s not gloating, you see, he’s ‘modestly sharing’. And you find yourself wanting to praise him, you want to hear about how much better he is than you.

Let’s be honest. Kuroo and modesty were not made to be placed in the same sentence, any humble talk of his is utter bullshit.

But everyone loves it all the same.

That’s what you mean about perfect people. They spark something in others. It’s almost hypnotic. And when you snap out of it, it’s like it’s been confirmed that you’re undoubtedly inferior. Post-Kuroo-Encounter depression. PKE. You having a devastating case of it.

Maybe you have a bit of a complex about this. Ugh.

He’s lucky he’s so damn loveable.

And that you’re so damn hungry.

“Okay.” You state.

Plus, you are a little curious to see what exactly will unfold with his newfound persuit in the culinary arts.

You haul ass to get up, audibly cursing, hopping around from foot to foot to get your blood-flow back in action. Eventually, you’ve nestled yourself onto a stool, hands propping your chin up, observing expectantly.

“What are you making, chef?”

“Uhh..” He’s rolling his sleeves up, eyes glued to the screen of his phone that’s placed facing upwards. “Chicken Alfredo.” Tetsu sounds a little uncertain but you’re staring into his head and you can almost hear the cogs turning. Really, it’s only a matter of time until the bastard works his Area 51-esque magic and concocts the dish.

He takes a little more time to familiarise himself with the recipe, before looking up, giving you a wicked grin.

“I’ve got this.”

You’re sure he does, smiling back.

Whilst he’s preparing god knows what, you peek into the grocery bag to see if there’s anything you can nibble on. You recieve another gentle smack to your head. Tetsu’s holding a packet of dry pasta.

He’s hit you with pasta.

“Nu-uh. I didn’t bring any kitty treats for you, be patient.”

“Stop hitting me like i’m a fly, or a cat!”

“Don’t be silly. I’d never hit a cat! They’re precious, adorable, i’d protect one with my life. And you—“ He hits you again. “—well, you’re you, baby.”

You snatch the packet forcefully and lob it at him again.

“You have a death wish, Kuroo-san.”

“Eesh. The formalities! I’m kidding!”

You cradle your cheek in your palm, sighing tiredly. The two of you usually ordered in, or got something you’d be able to set up pretty easily. Neither of you were particularly passionate about cooking, hence its absence in your routines. Yes, it’s excessively healthier than your current lifestyle, but you weren’t suffering. And even now, watching Tetsurou fill a pan with water, muscles firm against the shy of his shirt. You know he isn’t either.

Now that you’re looking, and looking some more, it’s pretty hot, seeing a guy cook.

“You know, you should make breakfast shirtless so I can tell my friends my hot boyfriend cooks me breakfast shirtless.”

He laughs.

“You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. I can’t keep indulging you.”

He means that your desire for immediate gratification is your biggest weak-point. Kuroo’s recently been trying to teach you the art of patience. Abstinence. You don’t get it. Apparently perfect people believe in ‘self-control’ crap.

“Also, oil.” He adds.

“Oh, I suppose it’d hurt, right?”

“Mhm.”

Your boyfriend alternates from his phone to the actual practice in short cycles. To you, he looks like he’s on track, though you’re not quite sure what to be looking for in the first place. These things usually came ready and steaming on plates in restaurants. Even now, having to wait, it’s so difficult. But you’re enjoying the light conversation it brings, so it’s whatever.

Though, that lasting etch of confusion and concern on the boy’s face leaves you wondering if actually, this is proving slightly difficult for him.

“Is everything okay?” You pipe up.

He doesn’t answer at first.

“Think so.”

“Oh— i’ve never heard that from you before.” It’s usually straight confidence from this man.

“Shut up.”

From the stool, you slip, dragging your hand over the counter as you walk around to see it up close. You don’t really know what you’re expecting, but... it’s not this.

“Tetsu, that’s boiling a little violently, don’t you think?”

“...No?”

“Yeah. It is. That’s not a good sign.”

He bats you away.

“We can’t both stand here!”

“Why not?”

“Spaaace.” He whines. “And if we both stay crowded around it’ll—“

And it happens, exactly what you’d predicted.

You, of all people, had made an assumption your boyfriend hadn’t. Ain’t that crazy? The water rises up too high, boiling over and spilling absolutely everywhere. The gas flame heightens all of a sudden, curling up next to the fabric of a dish towel next to it. In a panic, you pull him back.

“What the fuck—“

There’s no time for you to think, your hands fumbling to close the stove, you hadn’t realised the water had seeped over it, causing you to cry out in pain in the process, hand burnt silly.

But you do it. Quickly too. And Kuroo’s utterly dazed, like he hadn’t even thought to react. Your immediate response post-injury is to suck on the wound, trying to suppress the pain with the soothing movements of your tongue. That doesn’t do much, so you flap it about like a mad man, that only instigates more irritation.

Tetsu snaps out of it when he hears your hissing, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you to the sink forcefully, apologising profusely as he does.

Cold water hits you. It’s instant relief.

“God— i’m so sorry, (y/n)—“ He stumbles, still panicking, he seems to be experiencing everything five minutes too late. “I don’t know why that happened, I swear to God i’ve done that before but it just—“

You let out a giggle, and it shuts him up.

Another one slips. It gets louder and louder, harder to suppress until you’re full on belly laughing, hunched over. He stares at you, wordlessly surprised.

“T-Tetsu— you burnt water—“ You try and stifle your laugh but it only shakes your body more. His deep shame morphs into relief when he sees you’re okay. Tearfully making fun of him, but okay. He pulls you into a tight embrace, ignoring your remarks and still feeling unbelievably guilty.

It’s okay. You’re still chortling, holding him just as tight.

“Here, let me— let me bandage this.” In a cupboard somewhere, he pulls out a small wrap of fabric, proceeding to do just that. You watch happily enough, before turning to the boiled water that had completely stilled.

“Thanks. Let me do this.”

With considerable time and effort, you’re able to clean up the haphazard mess and start afresh, filling his place. Yeah, Kuroo is pretty humiliated, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the time than anything else. Seeing you unwavered was enough to make him feel like things were good.

It’s a miracle really, that you do end up filling two plates with delicious smelling pasta.

That lingering look of sorrow is still plastered all over the poor boy’s features, watching you with wide eyes.

“How did you manage that?”

You just shrug, licking a smidge of sauce off of your thumb.

“Dunno. Guess I have potential.” Your gaze moves up to his, pinching his cheek and blubbering jokingly. “Baby. What’s with the long face?”

“Feel bad.” Tetsu looks so glum. It’s adorable.

“Hm.”

The scrape of the plate against the counter is clear as bells as you urge him to eat.

“I should thank you, dumbass.” Admiring the bandage work, a grin settls upon you. This ordeal helps you to see that, actually, Tetsu wasn’t good at everything. In fact, for once, you were better.

And God. That’s— that’s different. You don’t want to be as cocky as him, but it feels nice for a change. He admires you.

“Got an excuse for that late assignment now.” You muse.

“Oh my god.”

You’re always going to be a handful.

“Ugh. Tetsu. Something good always come out of your actions. It’s sickening!”

“I hurt you, silly!”

“I’m feelin’ pretty good about it, regardless. Plus—“ You jump up, leaning over the counter to flick his forehead. “—i’m going to tell everybody this pretty little golden boy set our kitchen on fire because he tried to boil water.”

“Cruel. You’re cruel.”

“The cruelest.”

[brynfelan]

PFFFFFFT WAIT REALLY?! Listen hurt/comfort is my fav trope, I CAN KEEP GOING. NO LIES. Alright then here's another one! I think KuzuKomaHina would be interesting here, but if you're not comfortable with that then just Komahina is also great! (I'm a multishipper and my pain is immense. Gotta spread the love.) This could be either Non-despair...or Pre-despair depending on how much you wanna kill people. Heehee.

Hinata and Izuru are twins and both go to Hope's Peak, Izuru in the main course and Hinata in the reserve course. Hinata meets Izuru's hell class and they all warm up to him eventually, plus they feel bad for him. Izuru's an overgrown cat and Hinata's basically his babysitter, god bless his soul. Everything's somewhat hunky dory, because that Reserve vs Main course divide creates enough tension to be a problem. Then main class 78 is assembled, and Junko's batshit crazy and ready to drum up despair.

She still decides to try and break class 77, throw suspicion off of her and Mukuro, but there aren't any obvious cracks to be exploited within the class...until she sees the bonds they've all made with Hinata, Natsumi, and Sato. So Junko starts doing her despair schtick with those three, but mainly Hinata. I mean, mentally breaking the brother of the Ultimate Hope AND the boyfriend of one or two of the Ultimate Hope's classmates AT THE SAME TIME? That's the best first round of despair you can get, so Junko goes hard and all-in from the get-go with Hinata. She also starts with Natsumi and Sato, because their past is ROUGH and a great second round of despair for class 77.

But Hinata is her main focus. And when Hinata starts acting weird, class 77 don't know what's going on. Whether they figure out and save Hinata from Junko's plan or fall to Junko's game one by one is up to you...

multishipping is where it’s AT babeeey. i ship both hajime and fuyuhiko with ANYBODY that makes them happy, that’s it that’s my thing. and i like komahina. i like kuzuhina. kuzukomahina? that sounds IDEAL.

but oh man i love hajime and izuru being brothers? like, so much? and hajime as an honorary/adopted member of class 77b? my FRIEND this is too good.

izuru is 100% the first to notice what’s up. he lives with hajime, sees him all the fucking time, and on top of everything is the ultimate Everything. he doesn’t know WHAT’S up with hajime, but he does notice that hajime’s colder and spending less time with everybody. he blows off fuyuhiko and nagito (and they both take it VERY differently. nagito’s like “ah, it seems I’m not even good enough for a reserve course student, I am a bug!” and fuyuhiko is pissed off and basically yells at izuru to get his fucking brother in check), but then when they do see him he’s all weird and shit both fuyuhiko and nagito start hatching a plan to figure out what’s going on. izuru is in on it, because that’s his brother and he hates not knowing shit.

so uh, basically they start stalking hajime. they follow him around, take notes, like if this wasn’t his boyfriends and his brother this would be creepy as shit. slowly people start to ask where hajime is, or what’s up with him because like... dude’s usually one of the nicest motherfuckers out there and he’s gotten really fucking blunt recently. hell, sometimes he even gets mean, agreeing with nagito about him being worthless, that kinda shit and that’s when everybody really notices something is UP.

it ends up essentially becoming a class-wide thing, where they all report back to either izuru, nagito or fuyuhiko after seeing hajime. izuru is kinda the brains here, taking all the information he can get and analysing it, but it’s nothing he’s seen before ever.

and then one day, everybody’s wandering around the school grounds, and finds the stairway. when the walk through there, which is hajime’s idea, he disappears. like, off the face of the earth. it basically runs the same way as in the anime when chiaki is captured by junko, but instead he’s there willingly to show everybody he loves this beautiful thing called despair. he knows he’s going to die, and he loves it.

as shown previously though, izuru can’t be kept in one place if he doesn’t want to be there. ultimate escape artist who? anyway, when he hears junko’s voice, he knows what the fuck is up, he knows some shit’s about to go down if they don’t intervene immediately. the man manages to get them out of there, and starts running. everybody’s running with him (except for teruteru who’s complaining that he’s too short to go as fast as everybody else lmao). unfortunately, this is not anime izuru and he doesn’t know the layout of the place, but he does remember exactly where hajime disappeared and uses that to help him.

when they do find hajime, he’s basically bleeding out and he’s fucking pleased about it. he starts saying a load of really mean shit to fuyuhiko and nagito, how he hates them and shit, and it’s taking everything for fuyuhiko not to just deck him. yeah he’s dying, but he’s also being a massive douche?

most of the class carry hajime to the nurse’s office, so that mikan can stabilise him. izuru, nagito and fuyuhiko absolutely have more business in this building. using some logic that i am too tired to figure out because it’s nearly 6 in the morning rn they find junko, who blames mukuro entirely for everything going wrong. it isn’t mukuro’s fault, but that’s not the point here at all. she’s got the brainwashing video ready anyway, and starts going to play it when nagito just fuckin tackles her. this scrawy twink literally throws himself at junko at full force. fuyuhiko is restraining mukuro and izuru stops the video from playing.

back with hajime, when they were transporting him back to somewhere that he can be treated properly, juzo probably saw them and went in to try and find junko because they’ve got their whole thing. he walks in to find a skinny twink and a shortass restraining the Ultimate Despairs, and the human embodiment of a cat fucking with a brainwashing video. it would be hilarious if a student didn’t nearly just die.

either way, hajime gets stabilised but he’s still Royally Fucked Up and has to be basically restrained to stop him from trying to get back to Junko. Junko and Mukuro get fucking arrested (this will later cause media uproar because everybody loves Junko, but that’s not the focus here), and Izuru has to come up with a way to fix his brother.

I’m gonna leave that here because I need fukin SLEEP and maybe come back to it when I’m less dead but i am a sucker for a happy ending after a load of angst so for now ya get a happy(ish) ending, with everybody alive! for now!

[alecmagnuslwb]

I Wear Your Winter Coat (The One You Love To Wear)

Read on AO3

The moon is high in the sky bright and shining, hell you can even see a few more stars than usual in between the city lights. The air’s not too cold just a nice chill that her big black jacket covered in patches and a few old clothes pins keeps away. There are clouds in the distance, but they’re hours away from causing any trouble. She has no magic shows lined up and she and John have agreed to at least a week of fun, they’ve earned it after everything that’s been on their plate lately. It’s the perfect, easy kind of night to go out and do something. So of course, Nick wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

“Oh come on mate, we took out three whole rabid vampire nests the past week. Not to mention the shows Zee’s been putting on. We agreed to a week off,” Constantine says as Nick declines so much as a dinner before he heads back to the brownstone.

“You both agreed to that,” he says turning to look at the two of them. “I have some research I want to do.” Zatanna sighs and steps away from John’s side to lay a gentle hand on Nick’s shoulder. Research seems to be his only past time these days, a past time that more and more so lately he doesn’t seem to want to share with them and it’s starting to worry her.

“You know you’re allowed to have fun, right?” she says with an encouraging smile. He brushes her hand off and shrugs.

“I have plenty of fun, see you two later,” he says without even entertaining the possibility of staying already turning around to leave. Zatanna watches him go, trying hard not to let Nick’s concerning behavior ruin her high spirits. John steps up next to her tossing his arm across her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair and immediately she starts to feel at ease again. For all his brashness sometimes John Constantine can be incredibly soothing. For her at least, most others probably wouldn’t agree with that statement.

“How about you help me pick out a new jacket? Seeing as you’re the reason I don’t have one anymore,” John says with a smirk watching as Nick saunters off around the corner leaving them to it.

Zatanna slips out from under John’s arm to stand in front of him mood completely restored with a bright, innocent smile on her lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says tugging at the jacket that was once his. She stuffs her hands into the pockets shimmying her shoulders playfully.

“Of course you don’t,” he says rolling his eyes fondly as he reaches out a hand to fix the collar of the jacket.

“Not a clue,” she says leaning in to place a quick light kiss on his cheek his stubble a little rough, but grounding beneath her lips. He scrunches up his face at the action, but she knows he’s secretly pleased. They may have been flirting from day one, but this thing between them is still new. It’s sweet even if they’re moving at high speed most of the time.

John loops his arm through hers entangling their fingers together inside her pocket before pulling her along down the street as he chuckles at her playful denial.

An hour and a half later they’re practically buried in a pile of coats and jackets in a small shop with Zatanna forcing every single one of them, no matter how ridiculous, onto John.

They start off simple enough with a classic black leather jacket with a few unnecessary buckles here and there that he looks great in, but he complains about the buckles purposely flicking himself in the face with one. A simple black bomber jacket is next.

“You look like Shaun of the Dead,” Zatanna says scrutinizing the look. The loose red tie, the white shirt and black pants, add in the fact that there’s a high chance any given day of him ending up covered in blood spatter and he’ll be the living embodiment of the character.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says as he pulls the zipper all the way up to his neck.

“It is for me,” she says unzipping it immediately. No disrespect to Simon Pegg but she doesn’t need to hear movie quote quips while they’re out fighting for their lives on top of his usual snark.

John huffs but concedes moving on to the next jacket. A bit later she gets him in a long purple coat with the collar turned up.

“I look like Harry Potter,” he says scrunching up his nose.

Zatanna snorts, “I don’t think you know what Harry Potter looks like.”

Personally she thinks it looks good on him, even if it clashes with the tie, but she can tell from the displeased look on his face there’s no way he’s going to budge.

The yellow leather jacket he tries on next has extreme Freddie Mercury vibes, but this particular bisexual man isn’t pulling it off quite as well and the green fur one that comes after that, well Zatanna just wanted to laugh and point and call him Oscar the Grouch she didn’t actually think it would look good.

“If you get this one, it’ll definitely distract from your personality,” Zatanna jokes with a big smile looking at John in the mirror when they move on to the next possibility. He turns in the horrendously loud jacket and glares at her.

The coat lands at a bit below waist high, it’s technically black but there’s so many rhinestones, random neon numbers and a large patch of a gold and silver tiger on the back that any subtlety it could have flies right out the window instantly. It’s hilarious and tacky and it’s Zatanna’s favorite jacket she’s ever seen.

“I am a fucking delight,” he says a little loudly, catching the startled attention of the poor shop girl who’s been putting up with them. She’s seemingly not asked them to leave yet because she genuinely believes they intend to make a purchase. Which they will theoretically after Zatanna’s had her share of laughs that is.

Zatanna snorts which quickly turns into giggles as she continues facing on John’s glare in the mirror. He rips the jacket off tossing it into the chair Zatanna has been occupying for most of this fashion show and reaches into his pants pocket. He gets the cigarette barely halfway to his mouth before the shopgirl is rushing over and snatching it from his hand.

“No smoking in here, sir,” she says sternly handing the cigarette to Zatanna who it seems she has determined is the logical one between the two of them. Which is a great and accurate observation. “Also please do not throw the merchandise.”

She huffs and walks away from them grabbing the hideous jacket from the chair as she goes.

“Alright we gotta wrap this up before that girl kills us,” Zatanna says pocketing the cigarette and trying not to laugh some more.

“I just need something simple,” John says wandering over to the wall in the back that houses the shops normal everyday looking coats. “Something easy to clean and easy to replace, cause fuck knows I get dirty.” He says looking back and winking at Zatanna, she just rolls her eyes.

John shifts through a few more hangers before he makes a triumphant sound pulling a knee length tan jacket from the rack. It’s a trench coat of all things, he slips it on easily as he walks back over to the mirror.

“Whaddya think?” he asks flipping up the collar. Zatanna steps up behind him looking him over. He looks pretty good, definitely better than most men would look in one. She thinks he might be pulling it off in a completely non-creepy way which Zatanna has never seen a man do.

She walks around him a couple times surveying as he tugs at the wrists smoothing them out.

“I think,” she says as she stops behind him lifting up to rest her chin on his shoulder and meet his eyes in the mirror. “You are the first man in history to successfully not look like a creepy flasher in a trench coat.”

John meets her eyes in the mirror and gives her that flirtatious smirk she’s so used to.

“Thanks love,” he says twisting the price tag. “This one’s actually in my price range too.”

John turns around jostling her from her comfortable position on his shoulder and threads their fingers together walking over to the main counter. The shop girl looks beyond relieved when they check out happily taking John’s money and more or less stressing in her fake chipper goodbye that they never come back to this particular store.

Zatanna feels a little bad, she wishes stores had tip jars to at least pay the girl a bit extra for her troubles. They step outside finding that during their shopping not so spree the far away clouds from earlier have turned the pleasant weather into rain. John pushes the door open holding it for her. He steps out behind her ripping the tag from the coat and tossing it into a puddle.

They huddle together and move down a bit out of the eyeline of the shop girl while still staying dry under the awning.

“It’s a good thing I got the new coat,” he says reaching into Zatanna’s pocket and grabbing the cigarette she’d been handed by the shop girl. He holds out his hand to her. “Make a run for the pub?” he says gesturing in the general vicinity of where a pub they’ve taken to frequenting sits a few streets over.

“One second,” she says standing in front of him. She grips the lapels of his coat and closes her eyes.

“What’re you doing?” he asks the unlit cigarette muffling his words just a bit.

“Hush,” she says refocusing on the task at hand. She mumbles a few backwards words of protection and luck under her breath feeling the crackle of magic at her fingers as it seeps into the coat. She opens her eyes just as it glows for a second the magic settling in.

“It’s not bulletproofed or anything, but it should keep you a little safer, maybe even bring you a little more luck now,” she says with a smile looking up at him. John just shakes his head a little look of disbelief moving across his face. He pulls the cigarette from his lips and puts his hands on each side of her face gently.

“I’m already more bloody lucky than I deserve,” he says. He leans in kissing her soundly not giving her a chance to say anything in defense of himself. She gets lost in it, in him, like she does so often these days, not feeling a thing except for the warmth of his body against her and that constant taste of smoke that lingers on his lips that she’s grown to love. The moment is broken however when a large bang on the glass behind them tears them apart. The girl from the shop is on the other side her hand still pressed to the glass a frustrated look on her face.

John starts laughing putting the cigarette back between his lips and Zatanna follows suit not being able to hide her amusement. She grabs his hand and tugs him out into the rain. They rush down a bit before they find another awning to huddle under. It’s much smaller than the one in front of the shop the rain still whipping in and hitting them. John tugs his jacket off and lifts it over top of them as a makeshift umbrella fighting off the rain that’s sneaking in.

He tilts his head gesturing for Zatanna to move in closer and she does, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Want to see if we can wait it out?” she says speaking a little louder so he can hear her over the bouncing of rain on the awning above.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine right here,” he says putting his arm around her as best as he can while still holding up the jacket. He seems to remember the cigarette still between his teeth then looking down at it.

Zatanna snaps her fingers saying a quiet ‘erif’ under her breath. An orange flame comes to life at the tip of her index finger and she lifts it up lighting the cigarette for him, he smiles in thanks taking a deep inhale. She pulls it from his lips taking a rare drag of her own as well blowing it out into the rain.

“The jacket really does suit you,” she says looking up at the piece of clothing and putting the cigarette back between his lips. “I think you’ve found your signature look.”

“It’s no fishnet and corset, but I think I can make it work,” he says with a smirk forming around his cigarette looking her up and down hungrily.

Zatanna just huffs a bit snuggling in closer against him and under the trench coat watching the rain fall steady around them.

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 25: 2x16 The Gamesters of Triskelion

Finally watched some more Star Trek. I feel like it’s been forever...

Today’s ep is The Gamesters of Triskelion, which is... okay. It’s not terrible but I think its best aspects are the most familiar: the type of alien, the moral values at play; and its weakest are its most unique.

I think Spock likes it when Kirk says “mind the store.” What a folksy human thing to say!

Plus now that he’s Captain he gets to sit in the chair.

This conversation between Spock and Scotty is hilarious. “I’m assuming you mean they disappeared in an unusual way??” “Uh, yeah?? Do you think I’m dumb?”

This alien looks like Lady Gaga c. 2010

Kirk is being very Dramatic today.

Come on, Spock, gotta get your man.

You know Spock is worried when he mentions hope. That is, as McCoy says, a human emotion.

“Collars of obedience.” Kinky.

Stylish pink jail.

I’m really feeling this Spock and Bones interaction today. That’s a great eyebrow lift.

If the random alien is leaving, Uhura must have been his ass down.

“Nourishment interval.” We need to bring this into our modern vocabulary.

Not one, but TWO ladies in command gold today (one at Communications, and one at Spock’s station).

Wild aquatic fowl.

I feel like this episode is another example of a writer putting her alien sex fantasy on television. Like, a hardcore alien sex fantasy. The obedience collars, the training harness, the whipping, the weird flirtation between Chekov and his “training thrall”--herself a very androgynous alien, just to throw some gender play in there.

Kirk turning up the charm again. I missed Charming!Kirk. I mean, picking up a silver platter to use as a mirror and saying “That’s beautiful”? This man has no shame.

I feel like this episode shows how Spock’s logic is actually a very effective life strategy. He’s facing a very mysterious situation with high stakes--literally his best friend/soulmate/captain lost, plus two more crewmen--but he isn’t defeatist like McCoy or defensive like Scotty. He just follows the evidence, even when the evidence seems wild. And he was right.

Detective Kirk time!

“Are they computers?” He’s hoping so, since he’s very good at defeating computerized enemies.

Could it be instead another example of aliens who have transcended their physical bodies?

He is really laying the charm offensive on thick here.

I get how people have vague memories of TOS and remember Kirk as slutty, because certainly there are lots of shots of him kissing ladies, but like... 90% of the time he's using charm as a weapon, like he doesn't like Lady Gaga, he just wants to get off this planet.

“Love, for one thing.” Time for Kirk to be a Romantic Nerd again. He sure does love love!!

See imo just as it’s ridiculous for him to limit love to being one of the most important things on Earth, since he barely even spends any time on Earth and his general thesis is about what all intelligent creatures can care about besides their basic needs being met by “Providers,” I think it’s silly to limit love to being between men and women. And just as he’s kinda lying about the Earth thing, I think he’s lying about the heterosexual thing.

People in love “live together, help each other, make each other happy.” I love his definitions of love!! Like with Edith, he center helping each other in the definition.

McCoy and Scotty think they can take on Spock lmao. The Captain’s life is at stake; he’s not fooling around. And he’s right too so y’all can shush!!

Honestly, that leaning down to talk quietly to them--I know it’s because he doesn’t want to say the word “mutiny” too loud where other people can hear him, but it really reads like he’s mocking them.

Shauhna is harassed at work.

Spock’s like ‘screw a landing party, I will retrieve my space husband by myself... and I guess McCoy can come too.’

McCoy’s voice was the one Kirk heard but he still calls out to Spock.

Mmm, yes, disembodied alien brains.

I like the painted background behind them, too. Which is apparently stolen from Devil in the Dark. S2 needs more painted backgrounds.

“You think YOU’RE competitive? A race that does nothing but gamble? Well you’ve never met humans lol.”

Since when has Kirk ever competed for a woman? Hardly a competition when he always wins.

“Fresh thrall” something so... ugh about that phrase.

Ah, yes, an Andorian.

I’m starting to feel like this is Spock’s Pre-Reform Vulcan Sex Fantasy.

I feel like Shauhna will eventually become the leader of the Triskellion people. My mom thinks it would be cool for Kirk to meet her again in the future. I feel like there’s a fanfic in there somewhere...

“I didn’t lie, I just...lied.”

Honestly, don’t bother leaving everything to these disembodied colorful brains, just take Shauhna with you and enlist her in Starfleet. Or at least, like, high school.

...And after all that she STILL has a crush on Kirk. The man is too powerful.

What, no return to the Enterprise? No Kirk appearing shirtless on the bridge? No everyone acknowledges that Spock was right the whole time? No awkward little joking time?

I guess perhaps Kirk is embarrassed.

So overall... again, B basically.

As far as commonly used tropes in Star Trek go, this one is actually one of my favorite ones. I like it more than “godlike man must be defeated” and probably even more than “computer runs society,” though not as much as “old Earth tech becomes sentient.” But generally speaking “aliens transcend corporeal bodies by becoming too smart” is a good trope and I like seeing the different spins on it: the Organians, who can choose corporeal bodies if they want and are incredibly peaceful; the aliens from Return to Tomorrow, who wish they still had bodies; the aliens from The Cage/The Menagerie, who do have bodies but can’t do much with them, who must rely on aliens they capture to do physical work on the planet’s surface for them; and these aliens, who are so bored they must rely on arbitrary wagers using enslaved aliens just to have something to do. There’s something sort of... sad but fitting about that fate. Understandable, awful, pathetic. Still, I wouldn’t call this my favorite take on the trope.

But the specifics of the story, outside the “brain-aliens trope,” I didn’t like so much. The BDSM kink stuff mixed in with like actual slavery made me super uncomfortable. I know it’s based on Ancient Rome but like... even though it was a clear bread and circuses situation, that was not what I was thinking of tbqh.

This is a good episode for showcasing Star Trek Values, which overall I would say are my values. I do see how some people today would criticize them for being a little... well. How to say it. Colonizer-savior. I completely disagree that this is the reading that should be given to them and in fact I think it’s a bad faith reading but people are the way they are and certain things are in vogue sometimes and not others, so. I just mean that when Kirk says that they (the Federation, one would assume) have helped other civilizations “progress” or whatever word he uses, it sounds a little like they came in and made alien societies better using their own values. But I would say that what we actually see, in specific examples throughout the series, is the Federation wanting the civilizations it interacts with to be free, in fact requiring members state to be free, and that is really the one value a free society can impose on others or require of others--choosing slavery or dominion is choosing to relinquish all future choices, and thus cannot be allowed by any society that values freedom. That catch-22 that we see so much now. So, my point is, I think the values Kirk epitomizes for the show are freedom, self-determination, and a certain conception of progress, too: the ability to grow and develop, the avoidance of stagnation. And certainly this episode shows a clear case: having everything provided for you in exchange for being the professional playthings of a bunch of disembodied brains is objectively bad! Surely we can all agree on that. But this obvious example is used as an excuse for Kirk to speechify on the topic of what a utopian future will look like, what the best of humans can be, and what the rest of the universe could be like if it learns from our best traits (and not our worst). Which is overall something I find very comforting.

I’d just been thinking, at the beginning of this episode, that I think S1 is a better Kirk season than S2. S2 has too many episodes that problematize his leadership or his heroism, or that barely even use him--even episodes like The Trouble With Tribbles that outright mischaracterize him imo. But this episode really was Classic Kirk and I appreciated that. We see him being charming, smart, selfless, strong, creative, romantic... coming in at the end to embody the utopian values of the series.

Spock was so well characterized and so smart and so heroic, too, that he kinda was the mvp for me, though... Don’t take away my Kirk stan card lol. Spock was just so In Command... You can see how he could become a captain later, even if being in command never really interested him much.

I don’t entirely get why Kirk bargained for the thralls to all stay and make their own government (or to be trained in self-governance by their enslavers... a whole different issue tbqh), given that it’s already been established that most/all of them have been kidnapped from other planets. Should they not be... returned?

And if most/all of them are 2nd or later generations, that’s a whole other complex issue that could perhaps use third party mediators or something...

I also wondered about Shahna's origins. Was she the descendant of another civilization that is native to the planet, or is it just that her people were kidnapped so much earlier that she herself, personally, has never lived anywhere else?

I think it both makes more sense and is a more fitting ending if it’s the first. It makes sense to me that the first peoples enslaved by the brains were natives of the planet: more convenient that way. Also, I think we need to see more alien planets with more than one humanoid or human-intelligence level species.

And, if her people are native to the planet, having them become leaders of their own right again and not just possessions of the glowing brains is more powerful. Otherwise it's kinda sad: yes, they can form their own government here, but they've still been robbed of their real history and their real homeland, which they don't even remember.

Also as my mom pointed out, it’s not clear the brains themselves are native to the planet. They could have been invaders--the last real thing they did before they started wagering fake money--and Shauhna’s people the natives.

I really did like Shahna a lot and I hope she becomes the leader of whatever government they set up and eventually does get to travel into space.

Imo this was one of those TOS eps where the potential back story and the hints of world building are more interesting than the actual story.

Also apparently the actor who played Galt was trying to walk in a gliding manner so it wouldn’t be clear what he was hiding under those robes and... I have to say, definitely wheels.

Next up is A Piece of the Action, one of my favorites. Great plot, great fun, great sci fi concept, great Kirk material!

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Jake Webber) Reckless

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Supernatural, AU, Fluff, Romance ☁

Word Count: 2,564 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Jake ☁

World: YouTube ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Dating a YouTuber came with its own set of hardships, but that list was nearly tripped when you dated a reckless one. Jake Webber was the embodiment of reckless – he never considered consequences, he just wanted to live for the moment and make videos. The site itself was partially to blame. So many were losing ad revenue and getting demonetized, making it nearly impossible to survive doing what they loved. With this, people had to find more creative and insane ways to ramp up their view and sub counts. Jake was no exception.

“Hey, babe. Do you work tomorrow?”

You glanced down at your boyfriend who was using your legs as a pillow and scrolling through his YouTube comments. “No, why?”

He leaned his head back to look up at you. “There’s someone a few hours from here that claims their house is haunted. They invited us to stay the night.”

“Is staying at a stranger’s house overnight really the smartest thing?”

“No,” he paused, grinning. “But it’s not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Come on, it’ll be fun!” He sat up, pulling you into a messy kiss. “He says that there’s some poltergeist activity. Think of the views!”

“Jake…”

“I’ll protect you~” He pouted, playing with the pendant around your neck. It had been a gift from him when you first started dating. “I know you love haunted locations.”

That’s what he thought because you always insisted on joining him on his haunted trips, but you didn’t enjoy it at all. If you were to be honest, you hated it. You grew up in a family of people who hunted and killed things that go bump in the night, and you know how dangerous spirits can be. Not just spirits, but his group sometimes comes across demons, as well. Jake is a skeptic and doesn’t take the paranormal seriously. Of course, you have to tag along – that idiot would get himself killed without you. He doesn’t know about your past, however, or your current job of taking care of supernatural creatures. Colby is the only one in the house that knows.

“Please?” He snuggled into your neck, pressing his lips against your skin. He smiled when you sighed in defeat, knowing he had won.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Jake Webber.”

He chuckled. “We’ll go together, babe.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

The house was tucked back in a wooded area of the mountains, surrounded by thick trees that towered over the Earth. It was a mixture of old Victorian and wooden cabin and it sent chills down your spine. The grass was overgrown and the house was in bad shape. It wasn’t the least bit welcoming and looked like the kind of place a serial killer would stay.

Demons and ghosts, you could handle. They were predictable and straightforward with what they want and how they act. But humans? They scare the shit out of you. They’re unpredictable and you never know what someone can and will do. You’d take the supernatural over humans any day.

Jake’s hand slipped into your own. “Are you scared~?”

“This is a bad idea, Jake.” You stated firmly, despite knowing that he wouldn’t change his mind.

“Thank you!” Corey cried from behind you. “At least I’m not the only sane one in this group.”

“It’ll be fine.” Jake waved us off as he approached the house. “This guy’s a fan!”

“So he says,” you muttered under your breath. Did he forget that human beings lie all the time?

Colby came up behind you, leaning close so the others wouldn’t hear him. “Do you sense anything?”

“No, nothing paranormal, but…”

“But?” He prompted.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Was all you said as you headed toward the house. Jake had already knocked and was talking to the homeowner – a balding man with a beer belly and beady eyes. He looked at you when you approached and you felt a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. All you wanted to do was turn tail and run, but you couldn’t leave your idiot boyfriend behind. He was as stubborn as he was reckless, and would refuse to leave. Knocking him out was always an option, but you had the rest of the roommates to worry about too.

Jake threw his arm around your waist when you settled by his side. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. That’s Colby, Sam, and Corey.”

“Nice to meet y’all.” The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. “Name’s George. Come on in, I’ll show you around.”

The inside of the house was even worse than the outside. The floor creaked under your weight, feeling like it could give at any moment. The smell of ammonia and mothballs invaded your nose, stinging at your eyes. You didn’t even want to think about the various cobwebs that covered the walls. The furniture was old and worn, and the couch looked as if it had been taken from a dumpster after twenty years of being chewed on by rats.

You refused to sit on the couch, so you decided to inspect the rest of the room. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, stained a pale yellow. There was only one single painting in the living room, of an older woman sitting on the very couch in which Jake now sat. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her thin lips pursed and beady eyes narrowed.

“That’s my ma,” George had come up behind you, far too close for your comfort as he breathed into your ear.

You quickly stepped away, nearly stepping on Sam’s foot, since he was beside you.

“Where is she now?” Sam inquired.

“Dead,” The way he said it with no emotion or attachment unnerved you.

“Did she die in this house?” Jake asked, not stopping to think that it may be insensitive. You shot him a look and he just shrugged, making you want to facepalm.

“Yeah. She was attacked in the kitchen and dragged to the basement where she bled out.”

“Attacked?” Corey was looking between all of you with wide eyes. His own unease was growing and he was regretting letting Jake talk him into this.

“It was a break-in. They never caught the guy.”

Something told you that there was more to the story, but you didn’t ask.

He took the group on a tour of the house, pointing out areas that he deemed ‘hot spots of paranormal activity’. Jake asked to see the basement, but the man refused, saying that it brought back too many bad memories and he didn’t want the door opened. After finishing the tour, he said that he was going to run into town to get some beer and would be back soon.

Jake waited until the old pickup truck was out of view before he turned to the group with a grin. “Let’s find out what’s in that basement.”

“What?” Corey looked between him and the other boys. “He specifically said he didn’t want us in the basement.”

“Think about it, bro. There’s got to be something down there! If she died in the basement, it’s gotta be the most haunted area.”

“I checked the door earlier, it’s locked,” Colby added, his hand resting on the side of his neck.

Jake approached the door, which was off to the side of the living room, and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. It turned with ease, clicking as it released.

“I swear it was locked.” He looked at me with confusion in his eyes.

“Well, it’s not now.” Jake shrugged, pulling it open. “Let’s go, boys. And babe,” he added as an afterthought.

“I am not going down there.” Corey folded his arms over his hoodie.

“Fine, you can be the lookout. Yell if you see him coming.” Jake rolled his eyes and started to descend the stairs, followed by Sam. You and Colby brought up the rear.

“Y/N,” Colby followed close behind you, his voice a whisper. “Do you think he unlocked it before leaving?”

“I don’t know…” You sighed, feeling a headache beginning. “I thought it was strange that he left right after giving us a tour. This could be a trap.”

“God, it reeks down here.” Jake scrunched up his nose, using his phone flashlight to look around.

“It smells like death,” Sam commented, bringing his shirt up to cover his nose.

It was a smell you had become familiar with after years of working as a hunter – the smell of a rotting corpse. Your body became tense as you realized what was happening, but Sam yelled before you could say anything.

“What the fuck is that?!” Sam pointed his phone towards the corner of the basement, but the light wasn’t bright enough to fully cut through the darkness.

“We need to leave.” You stated, your voice full of authority as you locked eyes with Jake. “Now, Jake.”

He hesitated, but seeing how serious you had become, he reluctantly stepped back, glancing back in the direction of the corner. Sam took a step forward but Colby grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the stairs.

Corey appeared at the top of the stairs, looking panicked. “He’s back!”

You all picked up your step, rushing up the stairs and slamming the door moments before he entered. He wasn’t carrying any beer, and his face was blank as he stared at the group. You caught sight of a knife concealed under his shirt and tucked into his faded jeans.

You stepped forward, standing in front of Jake. His hands went to your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your pants.

“We’re going to leave,” you announced, doing your very best to make your voice loud and confident. “You’re not going to stop us, and we’re going to forget about all of this. Right?”

His lifeless eyes met yours – he seemed to be contemplating your words. “I can’t let you do that.” He reached for the knife, slowly pulling it from his pants. It glinted in the low lighting. Like everything else, it was ragged and rust-covered the blade in several areas. It would do some serious damage.

“Woah, calm down.” Corey took a step back as the group tensed. Jake tried to tug you back, but you didn’t budge, nor did you let him place himself in front of you.

“Babe – ”

“Trust me.” You whispered, eyes not leaving the man’s. He didn’t step away, but he didn’t try to move you.

The man tilted his head.

“It was you, wasn’t it.” You stated, eyes narrowing at him. “It wasn’t a break-in. You murdered her and staged it to look like one.”

Sam took in a shaky breath. “That means…”

You nodded – the thing Sam had seen in the basement was the rotting corpse of George’s mother.

‘Jeez, why couldn’t it have been a demon? I can’t read this guy!’, your lips tugged down, hand inching towards the pocket on your thigh.

Jake frowned, looking at Sam in confusion. He hadn’t seen the body. Corey looked just as confused but more terrified than anything.

“Why did you do it?” You asked.

“Why?” He echoed. “She was a bitch.”

You scoffed. “If people murdered everyone that was a bitch, more than half the population would be wiped out.”

“That would be beautiful.”

“Is this guy Thanos?” Corey whispered, harshly.

The man stepped forward and Jake pushed you back. Using his body as a distraction, your hand quickly reached into the pocket on your pants, fingers wrapping around the handle of the blade. Placing your free hand on Jake’s back, you pushed him aside and threw the blade. It flew through the air, slicing the man’s wrist before embedding into the wood behind him. The sudden wound made him drop the knife and you rushed forward, using the momentum to slam your fist into his face. He grunted in pain, stumbling back.

“Go!” You ordered, tugging the knife free from the wood before rushing after the boys. They didn’t hesitate, aside from Jake, rushing towards the back door. Colby unlocked the car and the group scrambled to get inside. Corey was screaming for him to hurry as the man rushed out of the house, clutching the knife again. Colby threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the driveway.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

The drive home was completely silent, no one knowing what to say. No one said a word even after returning home. Aaron asked how it went, not expecting you to return so quickly, but Colby just shook his head. Everyone went to their rooms.

You watched as Jake pulled his shirt off, throwing it onto the hamper. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You remained silent, eyes watching him as he left the room. The headache was worse now, your temple throbbing. The events of the past few hours were swirling in your brain. Should you call the police? You doubted that he or the evidence would still be there, but… if you didn’t, it would haunt you. You pulled out your phone and called up an old acquaintance of your family. He worked as a detective for the L.A.P.D and he thanked you for reporting it, promising to reach out if anything came from it.

After the call, you grabbed the bottle of meds from the dresser, hoping to relieve the pressure against your skull.

Jake re-entered the room, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His lips tugged into a smirk when he caught you staring. “Like what you see?”

“That’s a stupid question.” You ran your hand through his damp purple hair. “If I could get away with it, I’d spend my life just staring at you.”

He chuckled, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, forehead resting against yours. “Do you realize your sexiness went up like crazy tonight?”

You raised a brow, running your thumb under his bottom lip as you hummed. “Do tell,”

His lips found yours, body pushing you until you fell onto the bed. He hovered over you, his lips moving slow and sensual. Your hand gently traced patterns in his stomach, making him groan in approval. The need for air won and he pulled away, both of you breathing heavy.

“I love you, babe.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“I love you, too, even if you are a reckless idiot.”

He pouted, “That’s not called for.”

You laughed and he dropped his weight on you, cutting off your laughter. You didn’t complain, allowing him to snuggle into you as you ran your hand through his hair. It wasn’t long before you both fell asleep.

That night, you dreamed of the woman from the painting. She didn’t look nearly as angry as it had depicted her. She thanked you for solving her murder and allowing her to move on.

The next morning, George’s face was all over the news. The police had arrived just as he was fleeing the house. He tried to cover up his crime by setting fire to the home, but the police arrived in time to stop the fire and preserve the evidence. He was locked away for life, and the roommates soon forgot about the events that took place thanks to an old friend who knew how to manipulate memories.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[etherealwaifgoddess]

A Good Night’s Sleep, Pt.1

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky has been plagued with nightmares since he left HYDRA and the Avengers all have been trying to help him overcome them. Bucky meets you by chance on a coffee run and finds that the solution he was avoiding might be exactly what he needs.

Warnings/ Content: brief mention of PTSD

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this little 3 part series came from an idea that @marinaaniseed had a few weeks ago. I absolutely couldn’t get the idea out of my head and so, while I should have been working on my many WIPs, this little fic was born. Parts two and three are going up immediately after this, it’s all done and I don’t feel like dragging it out. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I have. Especially you @marinaaniseed, thank you so much for the idea!!! XOXO- Ash

A Good Night’s Sleep, Part One

“Come on, Buck.” Steve calls out while banging on Bucky’s door, “You gotta wake up, pal.”

Bucky wakes with a jolt, his body rigid and his throat sore from screaming. He’s panting hard, trying to adjust to the world around him. He pulls himself out of bed on shaky legs, wobbling down the hall to open the door right as Steve goes to knock again. “Sorry. Again.” he rasps. 

“Want to come get a cup of tea with me?” Steve offers with sympathetic eyes.

“Nah, I’m gonna grab a shower. Go back to sleep, Stevie.” 

“You know you can talk to me about it if you want to.” 

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Bucky insists, closing the door to end the discussion. 

Under the burning hot spray of the shower Bucky lets himself breakdown. 

After Wakanda Steve had convinced Tony to let him live at the tower with the rest of the team and everyone had been leery of the former assassin joining their ranks. As they slowly came to know him though, he became a welcome addition to their little family of Avengers. The only issue was the nightmares that woke not only Bucky, but everyone else on their floor. Bucky hadn’t slept through the night since he escaped HYDRA, plagued with visions of the destruction he’d wrought as the Winter Soldier. It was an endless stream of death and terror every night when he closed his eyes. When he was on his own in Romania he’d accepted it as his penance for what he’d done. After Shuri and her team pulled him out of Cryo in Wakanda he hadn’t been hopeful the nightmares were gone along with the trigger words. And he had been right - they persisted. 

Bucky warned Steve when he invited him to live at the tower with the team. He told him he had nightmares and was prone to have low days where he just needed solitude to work through his own mind. Steve had promised he’d have his own living quarters and the team would understand. They all had their demons, afterall. The team was very understanding the first days but after that the concerned glances turned to long, worried looks and the team started speaking up.

Bruce had been the first to speak up, suggesting therapy to help him work through what was causing his nightmares. Bucky went and as much as he liked his therapist, nothing they tried stopped the nightmares. Even the meds blew through his system too fast to be of any use. She did give him some good tips for managing his PTSD and depression during the day though, so Bucky considered it a win and still went to see her once a week. 

Nat gave him a spicy Russian tea she swore would knock him out enough that no dreams would come. Nat was wrong, all Bucky got out of the tea was heartburn. She grumbled something under her breath in Russian that sounded a lot like “cursed’ the next morning over breakfast. 

Steve took him for a long run before bed one night, thinking the endorphin high and exhaustion would help Bucky sleep soundly. It helped Steve sometimes with his own dreams of war. It didn’t help with the nightmares, it only made him more exhausted the next day after getting little sleep. 

Tony offered to get him drunk but it would take entirely too much alcohol to overcome the serum in his veins so he declined the offer. 

Wanda suggested she try popping in his mind while he was having a nightmare to see if she could reshape it and try to correct whatever in his mind was causing him to have the dreams. Bucky threw up at the idea of someone meddling in his mind again.

The care and suggestions from the team were sweet, and Bucky knows they have the best intentions at heart, but it’s all still a little overwhelming. Bucky wants to stop having nightmares, he would do anything to sleep for more than three or four hours a night. A small part of him still thinks it’s punishment from some higher power for everything he’s done, but rationally he understands it’s just his PTSD. 

After his shower, Bucky trudges out to the team kitchen for coffee. If he isn’t going to sleep he might as well start on his caffeine routine. Sam is already in the kitchen whipping up a smoothie for himself while Natasha stares at him over a cup of tea, the human embodiment of heart eyes on her face. 

“Mornin’.” he rumbles as he crosses the kitchen, rummaging for his favorite cup in the dishwasher. 

“Another bad one, huh.” Nat asks, but it really isn’t a question.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

“You’ve got to figure these out, James.” 

“I know it.” 

“I know what you need.” Sam interjects causing both Bucky and Nat to whip around to stare at him. Sam just shrugs, “You need to get laid, man.” 

Bucky chokes on his coffee. “What?” 

“You. Need. To. Get. Laid.” Sam repeats slowly. “Seriously, man. Find yourself a nice girl, or a guy, and get some. You’ll be all happy and cosy and you’ll nod right off. No nightmares if you’re wrapped up in the arms of a good woman, or man.” 

Bucky shakes his head, the last thing he needs is to terrorize some poor person trying to spend the night.

“It’s not a bad idea.” Nat agrees.

“Not happening.” Bucky says with a warning tone. He fills his cup and retreats to his bedroom, unwilling to continue the conversation. Adding another person to his mess of a life is not the solution. 

Sam’s suggestion spreads through the team like wildfire. Everyone seems to have a friend they could set him up with. Tony even hacks into his smartphone and adds apps for Tinder, Grindr, and Match.com. Bucky deletes them quickly before chewing Tony out about privacy rights. It becomes a bit of a running joke within the group and Bucky is less than thrilled about it. Bucky hasn’t had a date since 1941 and he isn’t sure how to navigate dating in the 21st century. He knows the times have changed, people are more free with their sexualities and casual relationships are normal instead of taboo. Eventually, he thinks, eventually he’ll get back out there. But certainly not just for the sake of random sex. 

Bucky has another particularly rough night. One where he doesn’t dare sleep because the second his eyes close the images start up like a motion picture. He’d spends the night alternating between pacing and reading, trying to not be disruptive while everyone else sleeps. Sam and Steve get up for their run just before dawn and find him pacing in the common room. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asks him.

“I will later. Probably.” Bucky grumbles. 

Sam shakes his head, “Let’s go get coffee. You look like hell.”

Bucky can’t argue with that and instead goes to grab his shoes with a nod.

The city is bustling despite the early hour and the line at their favorite coffee shop is almost to the door. It’s worth the wait though and Bucky likes the thrumming energy of the shop, the blur of muted sounds around him oddly comforting. The woman in front of them is fidgeting with her leather bag, it must have something heavy in it the way she keeps adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Bucky tries not to let his gaze linger too long but the way her long hair falls in soft waves all the way down to the small of her back is distracting. The even softer looking rounded curves of her body are even more distracting, he admits to himself. She reminds him of the women in Renaissance paintings, when lush curves were still revered, before these modern stick thin bodies became the ideal. Bucky wishes the Winter Soldier could go back and pay a visit to whoever started the “thigh gap” craze. 

The woman adjusts the leather strap again and a small white card flutters out onto the floor behind her. Bucky reaches down to pick it up, noticing the card has business information on it. Sam and Steve are chatting and distracted when Bucky taps the woman on the shoulder, “I think you dropped your business card.” he says hesitantly. 

You’re cursing yourself for lugging everything along with you in your enormous bag when you feel a tap on your shoulder followed by a warm masculine voice. You absolutely do not have business cards, you’re a freelance writer and market yourself entirely online. It has to be another pick up line, probably from some smarmy Wall Street asshole who wants to slum it with an artsy girl for a change. You’ve been burned by that type enough times and won’t let yourself do it again, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a date. “Does that line work a lot for you?” you reply, turning around with an unamused expression. 

Bucky’s face falls, upset he’s offended you when all he was trying to do was return what you’d dropped. “I wasn’t. I don’t. You. Um, you dropped this. It fell out of your bag.” Bucky fumbles for words, blushing brightly and drawing the attention of Sam and Steve who wear twin smirks of amusement watching him flounder. 

Your irritation dissipates when you see the gorgeous, stuttering man in front of you. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as his companions, his dark hair falls around his shoulders in a way that is either true bedhead or carefully crafted styling to mimic it. His grey blue eyes are wide and honest, clearly not some smarmy pick up artist like you’d assumed. He’s wearing a black hoodie and dark grey sweatpants so it’s unlikely he was the business card type either. You force yourself to stop ogling the poor man and look at the tiny card in his outstretched hand. Recognizing it immediately, you realize you’re the asshole in this scenario. “Shit, that is mine.” you curse, “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually have business cards but my friend gave me this one yesterday for a new bakery that went in over on 2nd Avenue.” 

Bucky looks at the card for a second before you take it from him. “So you’re not Beth Yardley?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if that’s now a ploy to get your name. You really need to be less suspicious but after living in the city for five years you’ve become jaded. He’s cute though. “Nope, Y/N. Nice to meet you…?”

“Bucky.” he offers quickly.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but he looks familiar for some reason. ���Nice you meet you, Bucky. Thanks for saving that card for me. I’m dying to try these cinnamon buns my friend keeps raving about.”

Bucky is smiling again, hoping his face doesn’t betray how eager he is to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t trying to hit on you a few minutes ago but now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, he sure as hell is. “I love cinnamon buns.” 

You stifle your laugh at the way his cheeks burn bright pink after his admission. He has to be flirting at this point. And he really is cute. Damnit. “We should go try them, then.” you decide, giving him a chance to make a move. 

Bucky feels like he’s swallowed his tongue, “As in, together?” 

“Yeah, sorry if I wasn’t clear. This is me hitting on you now.” you smirk at him as his blush spreads.

Sam is leaning on Steve as they fight for composure, trying not to erupt in laughter and ruin their friends moment. Bucky glares at their backs for a moment before realizing he still hasn’t answered, “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.” 

Getting a better look at his companions you realize why he looks so familiar. Of all the people to meet in a coffee shop, you muse. You’re still interested though. “Are you free after this? I was going to get my coffee to go and then head straight there for breakfast.” 

“I’m free. These idiots can find their own way home.” 

“Great. Now, the deciding factor is: icing or no icing? Think hard Bucky, there are two camps of people and if you fall into the wrong one I’ll be forced to shame you for all eternity.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, worried he’s going to mess up two seconds into what could potentially be a date. “Icing?” he tries.

“Right answer!” you announce him happily. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, you whisper, “It wasn’t really a deal breaker but it’s good to know you’re not some sugar hating monster.” 

Bucky’s grin widens, “No, I have a serious sweet tooth.”

“We’re gonna get along just fine.” you assure him. 

After you order your coffee, quad shot latte with whole milk don’t judge me, and Bucky orders his, the biggest white mocha frapp you have please, you swipe your card before he has a chance to get his wallet out. Bucky balks at you paying but you tell him he can get it next time with a flirty smile that has his brain shutting off, unable to continue complaining. 

Steve and Sam give Bucky small waves and thumbs up, not interfering when Bucky leaves with you. “Your friends seem nice.” you say kindly as you step out onto the busy city sidewalk.

“They’re the best.” Bucky agrees with a nod. 

You make idle chit chat on your way to the bakery, keeping the topics light and superficial. Bucky tells you he grew up in Brooklyn, moved away for a bit, and recently moved to Manhattan with his friends. He seems hesitant as he explains it and you realize he’s trying to not be obvious about who he is. Like you couldn’t have already guessed.

You snort a laugh into your latte. “So what was Brooklyn like in the 30s?” you ask bluntly.

Bucky’s eyes practically bug out of his head, “How did you...?” 

You give him a half smile and shrug, “The hand is a good clue, plus your face was everywhere for a while. It doesn’t help that your best friends are Captain America and the Falcon.” 

Cringing, Bucky figures this will be the end of his almost date. “We don’t have to go get breakfast. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be seen with me.” 

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shocked by his response. “Whoa, hold on. I knew who you were before I asked you to join me. I don’t care what other people think about you or your past. You seem like a nice guy and I want to get to know you. The real you.” 

Bucky takes a moment to process your words, finding it hard to believe someone is willing to look beyond his past. He can't find a shred of deceit in your expression though, so he answers your question. “Well, there were less cars and it smelled worse if you can believe it.” 

You huff out a laugh, resuming your walk to the bakery. “I can’t. Tell me more.” 

Bucky tells you stories of the Brooklyn of his youth as you make your way across town. You aren’t in a hurry and Bucky is happy to spend extra time out in the warm sun with a beautiful woman. 

The bakery is a little glass fronted shop sandwiched between two larger brick buildings. You would have walked right past it if you hadn’t been looking for it. Bucky opens the door for you and you smirk, amused by the old fashioned gesture. The scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar hit you the second you’re inside. “Oh my god.” you groan the amazing smell. 

Bucky’s steps falter at the sound you made, trying desperately not to let his mind go where it was headed. “This place smells amazing.” he says, inhaling deeply.

“It had better taste as good as it smells or I’ll riot.” you joke. 

The line is short and before you know it, Bucky is ordering two iced cinnamon buns plus an assortment of other pastries he picks at random out of the display case. 

“Are we feeding an army?” you question as the tray piles higher and higher with plates of baked goods.

“Sorry,” he blushes, handing over his card to the waiting cashier, “Um, my metabolism is pretty high and I have to keep up with it or I get cranky.” 

“Ah, okay. No hangry super soldiers on my watch.” 

Bucky chuckles and nods. 

There’s a sunny spot in the window of the bakery with an unoccupied cafe table, Bucky motions towards it and it’s your turn to nod, following him over to it. The tray takes up most of the table and you perch your coffees on your respective sides, eager to dig into the spread in front of you. You go for the cinnamon bun first, knowing one of them is yours and not wanting to presume you’ll be trying any of the other treats. 

The taste of caramelized sugar and cinnamon explode on your tongue, eliciting yet another moan that makes Bucky fidget in his seat. “Okay, that’s it. I can die happy now.” you announce dramatically. 

Bucky takes a swipe of the icing off the top of his cinnamon bun and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh wow.” he lifts the entire bun up to take a large bite and closes his eyes happily as he chews. “This is incredible.” he says once he’s swallowed, quickly taking another large bite. His cheeks puff out adorably and you grin around your own bite of cinnamon bun. 

“I can’t believe you just bite it like that.” you tease. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with it?” 

You demonstrate the way you’ve been peeling yours apart from the outside in, “You uncoil it, like a normal human being.” 

“Takes too long.” Bucky scoffs, “My way is faster.” 

“But then it’s gone. My way you can enjoy it more.” 

“Pfft. I enjoy it plenty, and I would have time for two of them while you eat just one.” 

“Not all of us have super soldier metabolisms, one bun is enough.” 

Bucky looks at the four other plates on the tray and shakes his head, “Then I guess it’s good to be me.” 

You laugh at his antics as he takes another big bite, smiling while his cheeks chipmunk out again. The look you’re giving him almost makes him swallow wrong. He knows this look, he remembers it from the dance hall girls in the 30s. Attraction. Desire. You’re flirting with him in your own, unique, modern way. And Bucky is shocked to realize he’s been flirting back. He didn’t intend to get back out there so soon but here he is, enjoying breakfast with a beautiful woman. He wonders if you’re the type who would appreciate being asked out on a date, or if you’d rather exchange numbers and call him up when the mood strikes. A booty call, Sam had called it. Bucky still doesn’t get how there’s such a big difference between a booty call and a butt dial but thankfully Sam had corrected him when he got the reference wrong. 

Bucky finishes his cinnamon bun and starts in on a vanilla bean scone, enjoying the way the light glaze crackles as it gives way to the soft, buttery dough. You’re still enjoying your bun, about half way through, so Bucky tears the other pointed corner of the scone off and deposits it on your plate. “It’s really good.” he insists, not wanting you to miss out.

You glance from the bite of scone up to Bucky who’s looking at you hesitantly like he’s waiting to see if he’s done something right or wrong. You pop the bite of scone into your mouth, chewing slowly before nodding, “Yeah it is. Thanks.” 

Bucky practically beams. Maybe he can figure out 21st century flirting. He’s not sure if flirting via baked goods is a thing or not, but it absolutely should be. Bucky methodically works through all of the plates on the tray, offering you bits of each different item. You snag two bites of the cream puff but decline when he offers to buy you your own. The conversation shifts to the best meals you’ve had in the city. Food is an easy common ground for you both. You explain to Bucky that the small town you grew up in was pretty limited restaurant-wise and you’ve tried a lot of different places since moving to the city. You’re great in the kitchen but some days, after spending hours alone working at home, you like to get out and around other people for a while. 

“There’s an Italian place, Sapori, near the tower you would love.” Bucky tells you, “I don’t know what the big deal about the place is but Stark always gets reservations when we’re celebrating something. They make everything from scratch and it’s damn good. There’s these little pillowy pasta things. Starts with a g but you don’t pronounce it. I don’t know, but they’re amazing.”

“Gnocchi,” you say, stifling a laugh. 

“Yeah! Those. Best meal I’ve had in the city by far.” 

“That’s only because you haven’t had the food at Xián Tián.” 

“Well, you should let me take you to Sapori and then you’ll understand.” 

“Did you just ask me out?” you raise your eyebrows at him in surprise.

Bucky blushes and nods, suddenly feeling more shy. “Yeah. I did. This is me hitting on you now.” he says, paroting your words from earlier. 

“Well done, Barnes. When are we going?” 

Read part two HERE!

[cuziloveyou7]

15 questions

I was tagged by the always wonderful: @randombtsprincessa ofcourse!

Tagging: @everyone who wants to do it, @taevolucion, @an-annyeoing-writer, @kittylefayy, @oheyura, @http-je0n, @swthhhie

1. It’s your birthday! What did you ask for and did you receive it?

Okay so I'm the most basic person because I never know what to ask for. I usually ask for money or gift cards so I can buy my skincare or make up (which I don't use tbh but I just love make up so much!!!). Love to get flowers! Got them once from mom! My mom does have a whole list of ce moi... so far she promised to get me but still haven't received....

2. What was the last song or album you listened to?

Okay so imma do both! Last song was Badass women by Meghan Trainor (I needed happy and confidence) and last album was Eric Nam's The other side!

3. What is your go-to snack when you’re hungry or bored?

Ehmmm... so I rarely eat unless I'm actually hungry (blame the eating disorder, I'm good now tho but old habits die hard) so skyflex maybe? Because the only time I do do this is when it's period time and it's just a mess with what I want to eat!

4. What is your morning routine?

On a work day I wake up at 5 am, take a shower, wash my face, dress half way, skincare, eat, brush my teeth, dress fully, go to work. On days off I set my alarm at a comfortable time, slowly wake up, either shower after getting out or just lazy around the living before taking a shower, eat and play games, make some moodboards, day dream or go out if I have anything planned. I'm having a gap year so yeah imma take it slow! Can't do much with Rona anyways!

5. What mythical/cryptic creature would you be?

I was highly convinced I was the embodiment of a unicorn but I don't think I deserve that title. I wish I could be a Valkyrie because they badass. But I also kinda wanna be a mermaid/siren or fairy/fae/pixie! Idk man lemme be all!

6. How do you interact with someone that you don’t like?

Kinda nonchalant... idk I be nice and be normal but I don't put much effort in that person.

7. How do you define a toxic person?

Yooo! Das hard tho! Because I've met different types of toxic ppl. The ones I usually interact with are usually takers and I've always been a giver! I'm working on getting the right proportion of both because either one is very unhealthy on it's own. It's like ying and yang, you gotta find balance peeps! Ohh and toxic ppl usually make it so you think you're always in the wrong and at fault..

8. Have you ever been to a concert or fan meet type of event? If not, would you want to?   

This is a sad story... I've only been to 1 concerts in my whole 20 years of life... would've been 2 in july but no BTS for me thanks to Rona.... I would love to go to more concerts in the future when it's possible again! But for now stay safe loves!

9. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?

Eehhh.. yes and no? Like there are certain aspects I do. Also I'm more into the spiritual side of it? If that's what you can call it tho? Like the random posts you see on sm I don't take to heart. Also those magazine astrology is junk. Idk man it's hard because I also think you define you! You are your own person and that's the tea! Bc if I was to completely believe it I would be a pessimistic, workaholic who is most likely obsessed with money and success...

10. If you had only one sense (hearing, touch, sight, etc.) what would you want?

Sight! I have so much respect for people who can't see or have really bad vision. I can't imagine not being able to see all the wonderful things life offers❤

11. Who is your favorite celebrity or idol?

BTS! Tbh I used to have a lot of ppl on this list but everyone so problematic, so far BTS aren't problematic and just overal sweethearts and baby! It's some of our toxic amry fam I wanna bash sometimes..

12. If you could talk to your favorite celebrity(ies) for a limited time, what would you tell them?

Like, thank you! For real! These guys are like a remedy for whenever I'm down or when my severe mental health issues start acting up again.

Also you guys are awesome, be healthy, be happy, be safe, never ever doubt yourself cause you're all doing a great job. Nobody knows what they're actually doing, life is weird but from what I can see you're doing a great job at it. One day I want to be able to help and impact others lives as much as you guys 💜

13. I’m taking you out on a date and it’s your choice. Where are we going?

YOOO!!! I have been thinking about this a lot as of recent years! Since romance seems to be non existent until now (someone was flirting with me for the first time and it was awful but a fun experience hahaha) I never thought about it. I knew dinner is off the table, because I just don't enjoy eating out. At first I was like going to the film is great, I don't have to talk and it won't be awkward. But that's just awful because how we get to know more things about eachother? So what I would really enjoy is going to an amusement park/carnival or fair (whatever it's called) or like fun game things like lasergaming/paintball/karting/arcade/ those wood climbing things? Idk what it's called. It's so much fun, it's active and you're getting to know each other! It doesn't feel formal and stuck up. After sometime I would also enjoy going to art galleries or museums, picknicks are cute too! But I feel like those are more intimate so I want the fun and crazy stuff first hahaha.

14. Do you like sweet or savory foods?

Savory kinda gall but I do love myself some sweets. So depends on the food.

15. Do you have any band merchandise or merchandise from any of your favorite artists? If so, what?

YES MA'AM!!!! so most is bts! Got key chains, BT21 YALL!!! album! Rubber bracelet, posters, pins and a gorgeous bag designed by my gurliepren! Also got an exo chain from a friend and that's it so far! I want more, A LOT MORE!!! because I stan enough peeps!

[muwi-translates]

why u should love sanada fucking yukimura

man, this character... is one of the most lovable otome bois i have encountered in a long time,,, because he’s such a loser.

i wouldn’t even call this a character analysis anymore i just spilled all my feels and love for this stupid wholesome boy. thank you to my two biggest sandman supporters, this is all yuu’s fault. @sea-reiusly @snow--blanket

LET’S START. so,,, aside from the fact that he’s cute-dumb; you should love him because he loves you a lot and he deserves love too.

he is the literal embodiment of boyish selfless love.

if iI had to describe him I would describe him as a big red blanket you can wrap around yourself and make you feel safe and warm. or a big spoon of honey; slightly bitter but also sweet.

1) he is mega Friend for Life

first things first; he would be, and is, a good friend - if not to you then to the people he cares about. his whole concept is ‘boy next door’. he is soft, he won’t disappoint you because he cares about you as a person and he worries sometimes even if he doesn’t show it. for example in Shingen’s route he plays messenger for you - he thinks you’re ‘cool’, you’re his pal. he seems like the type who could develop feelings for you but is content just being close to you as your friend and see you happy. despite being told that he’s ‘tactless’, Yukimura actually, not surprisingly, has the ability to read other people, but just sucks at expressing it to you. so occasionally, he ends up proper advice to other suitors if you’re not on his route:

like the time Kenshin was excited to bring you home with him to Kasugayama and you were torn about leaving the home you’ve come to love and your warlord family. to Yukimura, family and friends are important, that is what one of his 'wants' are, after all. he does it for shingen, he does it for his men and the men in the Takeda army.

in a way he’s a bit like your brother too. except Hideyoshi is the clearly caring, wise older brother and Yukimura is your bratty younger brother who would throw a banana at your face, and pretends he doesn’t give a shit about you but that one time he sees you carrying heavy stuff down the hall he takes it from you and calls you ‘weak’ but he just doesn’t want to see you hurt.

if he's not established to be quite as close to you in other routes (Ieyasu/Masamune), he continues to help you on behalf of sasuke. even though you’re a complete stranger to him and he barely knows anything about you background - especially considering sasuke gave him a coverup story and not what or who you actually are. it's moments like these where he is willing and able to separate 'his job' and 'enemy' and do things that would otherwise produce results the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing (which is actually a point of conflict in his OWN route, which will I will talk about later uwu)

2) ultimate Fam man

Yukimura is inherently a selfless character. he doesn’t care about himself, he only cares about the people around him and what he can do for them. he overworks himself and shoulders all the stress by himself, to take weight off shingen (it's always 'leave it to me, lord shingen!!' from him). 

I believe he has a mild form of ptsd as well; he mentally and emotionally cuts himself away from feeling anything in battle to perform his best, he has trouble sleeping at night, and he ends up holding things he’s sleeping with very tightly (eg. you). we also learn from Shingen that:

he was raised to be strong and upstanding, but has problems with adapting, so he puts all he has into what he does, meaning he gets hurt more (EN)

when he has his heart set on things, his conviction lasts for a long, long time (CN)

so, he likes it a lot when he gets to surround himself with people he cares about. he comes off as an ambivert leaning on extrovert, based off how he seems to like hanging out with his men not just as their field commander but as their friend, he enjoys parties and even entertains Kenshin. it’s been noted that he is visibly more relaxed and laughs often around his soldiers - so it’s safe to assume he gets energy by being around the people he cares about, because at least he knows that they’re alive.

in fact, the idea of people around him dying makes him angry. he’s willing to put aside his hatred of Nobunaga to ensure that no unnecessary lives are lost, even if he’s sacrificing himself in the process. they all share the simple dream of one day being able to return to their homeland, and Yukimura expects almost all of them to be able to fulfill that dream together.

so when Shingen insinuates that he won’t be able to be there for that, Yukimura gets understandably worried and angry.

okay, so now we know that he's a selfless iron woobie. what else? as stated above we know that he is actually a closet Sensitive Guy(TM). Yukimura is sensitive to his own feelings, at least. he's a Thinker, he thinks a lot and even overthinks. he is a tsundere to himself - because he's hardwired himself to sacrifice other needs and wants aside from the goals he's set for himself. if it’s not something for the benefit of his dream or Shingen or Sasuke - does he really need it?

he clings onto all the light he can hold onto no matter how small for the sake of his dream - it’s literally defined his life, he’s somewhat dependant on using his body to fight for something or someone and that’s why he’s always moving around doing something. Yukimura also respects other people who have a similar mindset (also his highest criteria when it comes to women; he gotta have something to respecc). 

if he didn’t have anything to fight for what do you think would happen? :thinking:,,,, check out chapter 13 of his dramatic route for the answer,,,, it is not pretty :( 

3. 95% giver 5% taker (and only after some self-deprecation)

of course his selflessness also applies to his love interest?? 

even as a lover he's such an adorable loser that makes me want to cry. he is selfless love in the form of a man. he is basically a dog boi. he only wants to take care of you, your happiness is his happiness. he always offers to make YOU happy and not himself first- it's like as long as you're smiling he can keep going, even if he's tired or if he worked all day, he always has time to spoil and coddle you-- if you want all his attention he'll give it to you, no matter how tired or busy he is. in fact, he thinks that its part of the job description, that its his duty to indulge in your desires. even on his birthday, you know the day where HE'S supposed to get something, he goes out of his way to get YOU a present.

the conflict in his route is literally him coming to terms that he wants something for himself, denying himself from his own goddamn happiness. he finds out that you are on the side of his enemies, yet he still wants you because he’s fallen for you - but he tells/forces himself to think that he doesn’t need you after all, because “it wasn’t meant to be” and that he doesn’t deserve you because he brought you to the battlefield. even though he can do exactly what he needs to if you were simply just ‘friends’ or ‘acquaintances’ - the idea of giving himself true happiness by being with the person he loves? nah, fam.

literally the only time he wanted to be selfish for once he slapped himself and said ‘no’. if you didn’t chase after him, the regret would eat at him for a long time, regret that he’ll eventually learn to squash down inside himself and only add to fuel of performing only for others - and not himself.

👏 👏  related analysis: why does he come off as insensitive when it comes to his route? why has he demonstrated that he is actually not Stupid but is also a butthead to you?

answer: defence mechanism - he thinks women are bothersome because they cry. and when women cry he lacks the confidence(?) to use words to comfort them. they embarrass him, he’s a tsundere, he only says things truly from his heart under Very Specific Circumstances where he is completely vulnearable and open (like pre-spice or... some angst situation).

so instead he just falls back to being selfless like he normally is. all he knows is how to care about other people, carry their burdens and wanting them to rely on him. that's why when you're upset at the festival, he just keeps shoving food at you instead of asking 'what's wrong' and going off on that. because his mind is literally just thinking food = good = makes people happy = ok, let's do that then. that's also why he'd rather you be angry than sad. sad is bad because he doesn’t know how to deal with bad except being physically intimate - pretty sure Yukimura would rather die if he had to hug every crying woman he ever encountered.

conclusion: he’s just a lost, lost boi who doesn’t know how to comfort people so he sacrifices himself and puts others ahead of him using actions - he pampers, he lets people vent out on him, the works. what a fucking wholesome loser who needs to love himself for once.

👏 👏 end of insensitive boi in love analysis

there’s a part of Yukimura that is actually a bit insecure. it's odd because he’s usually so confident in himself, and so proud, but he’s also so self-deprecating? under that tough boy exterior is just a boi who wants to be loved. he wants someone who will be there for him and support his stupid ass. he uses himself to hold up everyone else's burdens, but sometimes there's nobody that might be able to do the same to him. he wants someone to come home to, when he's stressed and wants some loving because otherwise he'd hole up his emotions and explode-- if he didn't have Shingen and Sasuke there with him.

his route sort of expresses the fact that Yukimura has never experienced a ‘mature love’ before, or a love where he imagines a life together with them. crushes, probably at some point in his life. sexual experience? how can he not have any??? but mature love? questionable.

these moments are few and far between because its not explored quite as much, but when they do...

he says things like "don't leave me, i'll prove that i'm the man for you." (bitch doesn't have to prove jack shit, he literally radiates with Care and Love) and “I need you”. he just doesn't want you to disappear on him. 

why’d you think you decided to leave without telling him? bitch would fucking fight the sky to keep you with him.

he's scared to lose you because he's finally found someone who is willing to accept him and taught him that its ok for him to be selfish for once and do things for his own sake and his own happiness. what he wants most is to just come home and eat food with you together. every encounter with you is precious to him because you rarely see each other. he wants to spend time with you. he doesn't like it when things cut into plans that seperate the two of you- but he doesn't mind it if plans didn't run as expected as long as he still got to spend the day with you. even if he's busy, he lies to go out with you to do things that YOU want. 

he’s finally come to find some happiness outside of work and outside of how he already copes - that alone is special to him, whether you end up as his friend or as his lover.

so basically:

you should love this guy bc he is mega Lovable and radiates warm Energy,,, he will always care about ur dumb ass one way or another.

[griffins-fanfic]

Finding Midnight-Chapter 3

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing: Moxiety, background Logince

Warnings: none that I know of

Summary: Roman begins his lifelong rivalry with Midnight ft some cute platonic Royality

AO3

[[MORE]]

Roman was exhausted. If he never had to deal with another lady who thought she knew everything, or another table of frat boys who made not so subtle homophobic comments at his retreating back, it would be too soon. He had never been so relieved that it was movie night in his life. He arrived home, changed into clothes bordering on pajamas, ran a makeup wipe over his face, and nearly sprinted the four blocks he had to walk to get to Patton and Virgil's apartment.

Once there, he let himself into the apartment with his key. Patton was in the kitchen making popcorn, so he waved a greeting and walked into the living room. There, Virgil was sitting cross legged, on his phone, oblivious to Roman's arrival.

Roman took the opportunity to collapse onto the couch, his head landing on Virgil's lap, startling the man. He landed facedown, and started groaning immediately.

"Rough day at work?" Virgil asked, combing his hand through Roman's hair.

"Understatement of the century." He muttered. He stayed there, enjoying the affection, until he felt a prick of pain on his leg. He yelped and shot up, jumping onto the back of the couch.

"Midnight!" Patton yelled from the doorway. Virgil started laughter, small giggles quickly turning into hearty guffaws as he curled in on himself. Roman only squinted in confusion at the blur of black scattering across the floor, the obvious culprit of the pain. Patton scooped it up and started toward the couch.

"Sorry about that," he said, "I'm not sure why she attacked you."

"The demon has a name?" Roman gasped.

Virgil wiped the tears from his eyes and calmed down. 

"the demon is edging you out of your best friend spot, so I'd be careful what you say about her. She's a dumpster cat we adopted a couple days ago."

"And who's idea was it not to warn me?" Virgil raised a hand and Roman narrowed his eyes at him. He knew it.

"I'm sure you just startled her. She's still skittish." Patton said. "Here." He stepped closer. "Give her your hand."

Roman slowly reached his hand out and held it a foot from the ball of fluff in Patton's arms. He got hissing in return.

Virgil giggled again. "I guess she just doesn't like you."

Roman gasped, affronted. "How dare you! How could any creature on this Earth dislike me?"

Virgil gave him what Roman considered the side eye of the century. "I wonder."

Roman threw a pillow at him, immediately regretting it when Midnight launched out of Patton's arms and started attacking him again. After thirty seconds of pain and screaming, Patton managed to get ahold of her and shut her in Virgil's room.

"What the hell!" Roman gasped.

"She's usually really sweet, I don't know what's up with her." Patton said. "Are you bleeding anywhere?" He knelt down to check over Roman.

"I have an idea." Virgil said.

"Care to share with the class Emo Nightmare?" Roman sucked in a breath when Patton's fingers brushed over a wound on his wrist.

"You come in here, slam the door shut, act like your usual loud self as you make your way to the living room. These actions paint you as a threat in her eyes. Then, you jump on me. She must have interpreted that as you attacking me, and she wasn't about to let a stranger attack her dad without defending him."

"That, actually makes sense."

"I'm gonna go get Band-Aids." Patton got up to find them.

"Shock and awe, I was smart about something for once, I know. I grew up with cats. I'm pretty decent at reading them."

Patton came in with a box of Disney Band-Aids and Roman reached out to grab them. "Where's Specks?"

"Logan couldn't make it due to 'unforeseen circumstances." Virgil said.

"Oh." Roman tried to ignore the disappointment that settled in his stomach. It made no sense, anyway. He had known Patton for years, and met Virgil a couple days after they become roommates. He only met Logan a few weeks ago, when he came to movie night for the first time. So there was so reason he should be so disappointed that he wasn't there.

"Now quit moping," Virgil said, Roman hadn't realized he had been wearing his emotions so clear on his face. "We're watching Heathers."

Roman's mood was brightened instantly. One thing that Roman and Virgil had bonded over was their love for what Roman called "The Holy Trinity" of teen girl cult classics. Heathers, Clueless, and Mean Girls. Virgil had been working backwards in introducing the other two to those movies, working backwards chronologically whenever it was his turn to pick the movie. Heathers was Virgil's favorite and Clueless was Roman's.

Virgil turned the movie on and they settled into their spots. Through trial and error they had organized a way for four people to comfortably fit on the couch a few weeks ago. Patton sat on the left end of the couch, next to the side table. He had access to all their drinks. Roman sat in the middle of the couch, feet on the single foot rest, sometimes he leaned against Logan, sometimes Logan sat in the chair. Virgil curled up with his head in Patton's lap and his feet in Roman's.

They went through the movie, Roman quoting nearly all of Chandler's lines, Virgil quoting nearly all of Veronica's, Patton gasping at all the deaths. As the credits rolled and they realized Virgil had fallen asleep, and Roman realized that all the tension in his chest had eased. He loved his friends a lot, and they always knew how to cheer him up.

~~~

Roman returned the next day with a bucket of cat treats, he was determined to make amends with the cat. Patton opened the door, obviously surprised to see him.

"Roman!" He said.

"I've come to apologize to the cat."

Patton ushered him in. "well come in then. Virgil's at work, but maybe that will help. I think Midnight's in the living room."

She was sitting right next to her scratching post, looking out the window. There was a tree right outside their window that had a bunch of squirrels around it. It was September, so they were scurrying around gathering their nuts.

Roman walked over, taking a couple of treats out of the bucket. He crouched down when he got a few feet away from her and held out the treats. She only give him attention when he started clicking his tongue.

She turned her head, gave him a slow once-over, and turned back to the window. Roman moved so he was sitting cross-legged instead of crouching uncomfortably. Fine. If she was wanting to play the waiting game, he would win.

That lasted a total of 90 seconds until he got bored. He threw the treats in her general direction and got up, going to sit on the couch next to Patton.

"You just need to be patient." Patton said. "She'll warm up to you eventually."

Roman huffed and leaned back into the couch cushions. "Patience isn't exactly my strongest trait."

Patton sighed. "oh dear. I do hope she likes you eventually. I wouldn't enjoy it if mine and Virgil's child and one of my very best friends disliked each other."

Roman felt his eyebrow quirk involuntarily. Ever since Patton accidentally confessed, Roman never missed an opportunity to tease him about his crush on a certain embodiment of a dark and stormy night. He turned toward Patton and put his chin on his folded hands. "So you now have a child with him?" He asked.

"I mean yeah. He found her and brought her home, and we're taking care of her together. It's basically like we have a kid." Patton said, a slight blush already creeping up his face.

"Practicing for something?" Roman teased, earning a light smack on his wrist.

"Oh hush." Patton giggled.

"Perhaps practicing for when you have actual human children with a certain someone?" He kept pushing.

Patton burned red now, nervous laughter continue to spill from his lips. "Oh now really, I'm telling you to zip it."

"C'mon Padre, why haven't you told him?" The mood changed very quickly. Maybe he shouldn't have asked that.

Patton wrapped an arm around himself and averted his gaze so he no longer was making eye contact with him. He took a deep breath. "because I'm, I don't know, scared?"

Roman sat back up. "Scared of what?"

"His reaction? I know logically that he wouldn't react badly, but there's always that fear, you know? I don't want to lose him."

"But what if you not confessing is the reason that you lose him?" Teasing aside, they didn't really have that many serious moments where he could talk about stuff like that with Patton.

"There's too much of a risk. I can't, Roman."

"But what if-"

"Roman! Please." Patton finally looked him in the eye for the first time since the conversation turned serious. His eyes were filled with desperation, sad enough that Roman knew immediately he had gone too far.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. You're right. I went too far. Sorry." They sat in silence for a while, both watching the cat, who was watching the squirrels. Roman was desperate to salvage the situation, he didn't like leaving his friends on a bad or awkward note.

"Are you doing anything today?" He asked finally.

Patton shook his head. "No. I was planning on getting some writing done, but I've already reached my word count goal for today."

"Do you want to go to the art museum? I'm off today."

Patton hummed in thought for a second. "Sure! I've just gotta feed Midnight first."

Roman jumped up at that. "That's it!" He shouted, startling both Patton and the cat. "That's how I'll get her to like me! I'll feed her."

"That's a good idea." Patton got up and walked into the kitchen, Roman following. He grabbed a can of wet cat food, a pale pink food bowl, and a can opener. "Just put the food in the bowl, break it up a little, and set it next to the water bowl."

Roman held the can opener in his hand and stared at the closed can of food. He continued to stare for a while, too embarrassed to admit why he hadn't started you.

Luckily, Patton was good at reading people. "You don't know how to use a can opener." He said simply. Roman nodded. "Well, here, I'll teach you."

Patton quickly explained how to use the opener, Roman watching intently. He knew he was way too old to not know this, but he just didn't use a lot of canned food.

As soon as Patton cracked the can open, Midnight appeared in the kitchen, circling Patton's feet, yelling at him. Patton passed the can to Roman, who dropped the food in the bowl and set it down. Midnight approached cautiously. She gave Roman a dirty look before finally crouching down to eat her food.

Roman sat down next to the bowl and watched for a few seconds. Then he slowly reached a finger out and scritched Midnight's head. In a flash, Roman had another cut on his hand and Midnight was hiding behind Patton's legs.

Roman sighed and stood up. "Well, let's try again later."

Patton smiled at him. "Let's go."

They had lots of fun at the museum. The two of them were never people for staring at art and looking for meaning in them, Logan refused to go with them to museums for that reason. Instead, they wandered the halls, chatting casually, occasionally making jokes about the art on the walls, their attempts at hushed giggles getting dirty looks from a bunch of other people.

Roman did find one painting that spoke to him for reasons it couldn't explain. It was a portrait of a woman and two young girls, and something in one of the girl's expression stirred something in him. He stared at that single painting for way too long, until Patton pulled him away to make a dumb joke about a sculpture.

They returned home, spirits high, and Roman was so glad he had that impromptu day with his best friend. They were the first people to befriend each other of the four, and Roman loved Logan and Virgil to death, he truly did, but he sometimes missed when it was just the two of them.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @kosmicsides @ananonsplace @thatgaydemigodnerd @serenitythepanther

[doomedandstoned]

How To Book Your Own Tour

~Bacon's Blog~

Photographs by Randy J Byrd

Jason Kindred of Void King

DIY tour booking is a big topic that I won’t be able to get too deep into, given the inherent constraints of the format, but one that I know you all want to know about, regardless. I’ve booked countless DIY tours since I was eighteen years old. I booked my first international tour when I was still a teenager. While I’ve definitely had struggles with this, so has literally everyone who has booked tours. I’ve booked everything from small debut runs to tours for groups like Exhorder and Wo Fat.

There Is Nothing by Void King

This stuff isn’t always easy, but it’s part of the game, and vital to master if you want to reach the ever-present "next level" in the world of being a DIY band. Knowing how to book shows -- and meaningful ones at that -- is essential. Before we get into this, don’t use this as a blueprint to immediately begin booking national tours. While you can indeed use it for this purpose, it’s going to be useless to tour nationally if you’re a new band. None of the fifteen people you play to in Reno will remember your band from Philly when you come back two years later. Use this to start regional, then spread your wings and go national.

Nika McKagen and Danny Shyti of Horse Culture

The first step for any sort of tour booking is finding the right contacts. A good starting point is finding the right local promoters, who will actually work to ensure shows go well. "But Matt," you may ask, "how do I get in contact with people who are almost always drowning under a constant flow of people trying to get in contact with them?" This is a great question, and underpins many of the reasons behind why I’ve always emphasized that you need to be constantly immersed in your scene. At the core, this is kind of what it boils down to.

Follow by Horse Culture

If you don’t talk to a ton of folks doing DIY music around you, then you won’t get to know the right people to talk to about getting a show in the next city over. If you don’t go to DIY shows, then you won’t meet the bands from other cities who might be able to connect you with their favorite local promoters, or even play with you in order to improve the amount of people at the show. Start off by engaging deeply with your scene, and you’ll create the foundation you need to be perceived as a valued part of your local community, a quality embodied by every successful DIY band.

Jake Swanson of The Astral Void

From there it’s easy. All you need to do is reach out to friends you have in relevant small cities and ask them who books cool shows where they live, six to eight months before when you want to tour. I know that sounds like a lot, but it’s what you gotta do. Odds are, friends will know who the local promoter is and might even facilitate an intro via Facebook. For the record, I’m a huge fan of the intro message or email. It’s a great way for promoters to see that you’re legit. If they note that someone they respect took time out of their day to hook this up, it’s often all the proof you need to get your foot in the door. Otherwise, the promoter might just feel like you were dumped on them.

Mandragora by the Astral Void

When talking to a promoter for the first time, definitely be very clear about what you want, but also be sure to ask them about themselves. If they don’t want to open up and just want to talk business, it’s fine, but some are going to want that deeper relationship. Feel ‘em out -- sometimes small talk is key. However, small talk or no, always remember to be direct with regards to what you are asking for. So often, people will get in touch with me and beat around the bush about their requests, and it just feels weird.

Ryan Evans of Cruthu

So, you’ve gotten in touch with a local promoter who seems reasonable and wants to actually give you a slot! Congratulations, but this is just the first step though. Chances are, the promoter will want help constructing the bill, setting up a flyer, or with other admin or promotional tasks. I’d recommend you start with a few hours spent delving into Encyclopaedia Metallum to find other bands in the scene who could be on the show.

The Angle of Eternity by Cruthu

Furthermore, there’s a lot to be said about the integrity of the promoter if they proactively set up a Facebook event page for your show. This means that THEY took the time to officially acknowledge the show is happening. A lot of people will try to squirm out of shows if they feel overwhelmed. I’ll admit, I’ve done this myself. Though, in my experience, usually when the promoter sets up the event page themselves, they have a bit more of an emotional connection with the show, and are more likely to ensure that it will actually happen. Otherwise, just stay in regular contact and see what you can do to help with the show. Remember what I said that other time about being a good guy? Understand that on the DIY level, the promoter is doing you a favor!

Zak Suleri of Seasick Gladiator

The final step now is just advancing the tour. About a month out from the tour, send an email to every promoter asking about all the key details of the show. Make sure you find out all the details about the opening bands, your time slot, where to park, if there will be any food offered, and all of that other stuff. This is another way to make sure that the shows are actually happening and that people aren’t trying to dip out last minute.

House of Aristippus by SEASICK GLADIATOR

Inevitably, not all of your advance emails will be answered right away (or at all), yet persistence is key. If nobody responds, just follow up a week later, and make sure that you get the info you need. The advance email is a great way to collate essential data about your tour. When you have information on your side, people are going to be a lot more comfortable about what’s going down on the night itself, making for a less stressful experience for both the band and the promoter. The more you can grease the wheels, the easier it will be.

So that’s the less-than-a-thousand-word-Matt-Bacon-guide-to-tour-booking. I know it sounds like a lot of information, but that’s because it is. Tour booking is really hard to figure out. It’s the sort of thing that you’re constantly going to need to be building on and investing time in. To actually build up the network you need to meet the right people is a massive task in and of itself. However, take heart. After you’ve done this a handful of times, it’s going to get easier and you’ll even be able to help your buddies’ bands with their own booking. It’s a long term investment, but you need to be a freak to do this after all. Embrace your inner madman, be careful in your booking strategy, and invest deeply in your scene — it will pay off.

☀

Matt Bacon (IG: mattbacon666) with Dropout Media is a consultant, A&R man, and journalist specializing in the world of heavy metal. Matt also co-hosts the Dumb & Dumbest podcast with Curtis Dewar of Dewar PR.

[dyingunknown-blog]

BEGINNINGS + GENDER

As said in the introduction: this is a selfish blog where I rant about myself and my feelings. Here goes my first ramble. Within this ramble contains bits of: gender, femininity,  sexuality and eating disorders. Y’know, the usual mix of edgy Tumblr content. I am posting this in celebration of Pride Month (!!! YAY!!! I HONESTLY LOVE PRIDE MONTH) but also because I’ve had this build up in my heart for too long. 

A NOTE BEFORE I BEGIN...

I know you (reader) cannot hear me doing this, so imagine me (author) taking a deep breath, filling my semi spacious lungs, and releasing all that pent up air with a heavy sigh. 

Here we fucking go. Here’s to tip of the iceberg, from 4 years of pent up gay shit to recent moments of gentle gender dysmorphia. Do not expect my writing to be fully coherent, nor written in the best grammar. I am writing for my own therapeutic needs, because I gotta get some of this energy released and I have nowhere else to dump this. This piece is a full on rant, as in I literally wrote this angrily tapping away at 2-4 am. However, I’d like to mention that I mean no offence to any parties, and simply want to vent out some of the deep thoughts I’ve been pacing around for the past few years. Feel free to send me a message regarding your personal feelings, or to just chat. I’m always here as a friend and listener <3 

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN...

I think I owe myself and you (reader) an explanation on where things began to really start. The main “spark” that got me going and prompted me to start this blog was when I found myself unable to stop playing songs by Dorian Electra. Actually-- to be honest-- it was the music videos that really got me going. The glorious explosion of just “QUEER” screaming and banging its head at my 13 inch Mac Book Pro got me extremely inspired to actually do something about the gross reactions of confusion that were occurring in my brain and body. As Dorian Electra put it, “You know I’m not straight, but I’m gonna give it straight to you.” So here’s my best shot at “giving it straight.” 

By the way... I’m from a fairly traditional family with high hopes for me, so the most freedom I can really grasp onto is starting an anonymous Tumblr blog at 2 am laying naked with just my underwear on. 

PERSONAL TOPIC 1: GENDER...

So here’s the thing, I stick to my biological birth gender like it’s my lifeline-- my comfort zone-- I guess, if anything. I personally feel like gender and sexuality have their own little symbiotic (or perhaps parasitic???) relationship, where one’s gender impacts their sexuality-- but I can also accept that my understanding is probably not politically correct. I can say, however, with a heavy heart: 

I am utterly fucked when I think about my gender and sexuality. 

I’ll take it easy first and rope down my feelings towards my gender and its definition. I jokingly scream in the halls that gender is a social construct, but let’s be honest-- is it not?  Other than our dongle-longs and hoochie-has, what makes a woman different from a man? I mean maybe it is just the sausage and the grapefruit, but I’d like to argue that... Just kidding, the more I think about it the more I fall into a rabbit hole where I can’t figure out what a male is and what a female is. I mean what are they? Is it based off of the definition I provide for myself, or what society conveniently slams into my face? Is the LGBTQ+ community the people who get to decide or is it the Westboro Baptist Church??? 

Note: these are not a rhetorical question, please answer this to your opinion because I’m in desperate need of some kind of direction beyond biology. I accept all ideologies and concepts. I’m just hella confused. 

Ehem.

Anyways, my own battle with gender goes beyond not knowing where the “line” is, or if it even exists (again, I’m still not sure if this is a personal question or something based on society...) It also goes into where I stand on this polarised scale. See-- I have a bean, a hole, and melons. Alas, in slightly more proper terms, I have a clitoris, vagina and breasts. So what does that mean for me? Am I automatically a woman? For the first 17 years of my life, I would respond to that question with a VERY confident nod. Pink was once my favourite colour, I like boys, dresses, cute animals and romcoms. My physical body only went to assure what I already knew. Now? I’m not so sure. As it is more acceptable nowadays to be “queer,” I’ve slid into the an identity crisis where I realise I’ve never revelled in the fact that I had tiddies, nor felt comfortable about having a coochie. I used to blame my confusion regarding my comfort in my biological gender on the growing queer influences in my life-- after all, everyone wants to be special and sometimes being apart of the LGBTQ+ community is the best way to stand out, especially when it’s being shoved in your face with media. Everyone who comes out of the closet is faced with incredible amounts of love and attention, and my younger self thought “maybe I should get on the boat” hence, labelling myself as bisexual for the longest time without truly feeling like I am (until in recent years.)  I blamed my confusion in identity and sexuality on the attention whore who lived inside of my heart. My feelings were only justified as true this year, when I found myself staring at myself in the mirror and couldn’t help but to feel unhappy with what I presented myself with. Undies clad with a slightly cropped black muscle tank, I could see the linings of a “V” line on my lower abdomen and felt kinda hot about it. I did the annoying fuckboy pose (you know, the one where the guy is biting his shirt to reveal his oh-so-humble six pack) and found it... kinda fun? I did have a 36D underboob flail around, but my focus was more on my bottom half, with my Victoria Secret blue lace underwear and masculine illusion.  It wasn’t like a grand glorious moment, nor was it like I was the tomboy of the house and everyone just “knew” and I only had to convince myself. Instead, it was an anti-climatic moment where I realised “fuck, I have another problem on my hands that I can’t ignore anymore.” 

I don’t know if I truly identify as female or male. Honestly, I don’t really think I need to identify myself, but that’s the 30% of my consciousness who is super queer, chill and cool. See, the other 70% of my mind is going in a frenzy screaming, because I just lost one of my key defining attributes. Think that episode of Spongebob, where Spongebob’s brain cells are screaming and throwing papers around the office setting of his brain.

Another question has also become increasingly relevant in my journey of finding my “true inner zen self.” 

Who am I choosing my gender for?

In 2018, and most of the years before, I adored being loved by boys and having guys waggle their dicks like dog tails for my tits and ass, but in 2019, I randomly figured out that I never liked my boobs for anything but that. I mean having an hourglass figure was always (and still is) a goal of mine, but I question for what reason. I’d like to say it’s for personal aesthetic appeal, but it wouldn’t be surprising to me if I just do it so people will like me more. In fact, I battled with bulimia for the very reason of: I don’t know what the fuck I want or like, but  the crowd likes “skinny thick” girls so lets do that by purging. Am I currently wearing a waist trainer and corset on top of each other because I like the outcome, or because the people around me like me more for it? I’m trying really hard not to segue into the alluring topic of toxic femininity, because I can rant for HOURS AND PAGES about that, so I’ll just say: I don’t know if I’m being a girl for myself or because I’ll be more liked for it. 

In all honesty, the truth regarding my gender became clearer the more I self conscious I became. In 2018, I fell into the trap of sending boys nudes (apologies for the TMI and sorry family if you somehow came across my blog and are currently reading this.)  I liked it for a millisecond. Why? Because it felt good to have someone desperate for me. That millisecond died off real fast. My own thoughts pooped my nude Alpha Female party with insecurity and fear of how my body compares to other girls my age. Three days after the first nude I sent I realised I hate my body. I felt empowered in the moment (honestly I do love the feeling of tease. I still do send ohohoho raunchy pics for the pure euphoria of just having someone crave me) but overall just left the experience with lingering guilt and self hatred. I wasn’t sure if I was doing this to please myself or others. I also abhor taking nudes, because I do not think I embody femininity and dislike my body for that very reason. Identifying as male makes me far more comfortable than as identifying as a female. I might have tits, I might have soft facial features, but I just don’t like how I mentally feel like I can’t compare to the unrealistic standard of femininity that women uphold. I spent my whole life trying to  tick the boxes under “female,” but always felt like I was just doing the bare minimum... Hence my past is full of desperation, the need to show skin for the sake of proving I’m “sexy” and being perfectly fine with getting mislabeled as a slut at school. Nowadays, I show skin because I’m comfortable and am learning to love my body. I am not okay with slut shaming in general, but I am most definitely not okay with being called a slut either because I’m still a fucking virgin. So hun, I really do wish I could call myself a slut and have that much game, but I’m very far from that.

Anyways, uh more on my gender crisis:  I’ve also always adored mens fashion and absolutely revel the aura of being the “alpha.” Ever since my middle school days, I’d secretly snoop around and envy the men’s section of Barney’s and Saks, because it just looks so damn cool. Excuse my lack of “high quality language,” I can hear my English teacher sighing about my lack of “professional” or “appropriate” language, but I really can’t express my feelings regarding mens fashion other than it’s fucking cool. I must say though, my style of clothing and expression of self doesn’t stop itself at mens fashion. In fact, I enjoy dressing to exhort a more dominant presence, whether it’s with a short denim skirt and tight crop top or a loose fitting silk blouse and skinny jeans with a belt. So I guess in a way, my fashion and what I feel comfortable in explains my gender for me. A little bit of both and a little bit of neither. Although the next step would definitely be playing around with my hair and piercing, but I think my traditional family would whoop my ass to the moon if I do it now, and I can’t say I’m not scared of regrets. I just want to discover myself a little more this year...

Regardless, I just wanna further clarify that I don’t feel comfortable being put as female, male or hell-- even androgynous.

And I gotta say, after holding this in and denying it for 4 years, it feels damn good to type it out and admit it.

 In deciding to be a “gender”, there are standards. Deciding to be anything comes with the price of standards. I just can’t personally handle not being able to fit into the standards there are for them... Especially now since people are so bothered on being politically correct, so if I’m “not being properly androgynous” or “not properly female,” I’ll get shit on, and if I’m not accepted by the mass majority, I’ll feel societal hate mixed with self hatred. 

I also want to say that sometimes I don’t feel like I have the right to be confused or declare a gender because I’ve been on the judgemental side before. 

In middle school one of my close friends moved away, and soon later began to label themselves as gender fluid. It was such a new concept that I initially thought that they were doing it as a publicity stunt, but slowly realised that it is indeed who they are. I wasn’t hateful, but I can’t say I’m innocent, even if it was when I was far younger and less understanding. I remember when they first started using their current pronouns, I was confused on how to utilise them and initially disregarded them. Today, I regret my ignorance. Misgendering can always be a mistake, but it can also be extremely spoiled, belittling and condescending. So even though I know someone that probably went through a similar journey as I am today, I feel guilty asking them about it because of the shit I gave them when I was 14.

 Additionally, I’m scared of being wrong about myself. I can’t describe it too well, but I’m just scared that I’ll slip up a wrong opinion and then be automatically thrown into the can of “special snowflake wannabe LGBTQ+” when in reality: I truly feel like I’m not of “cisgender” or anything normal. I don’t want to dip too deep into my history with crippling anxiety and experiences with depression, but I will say that I can’t help but to hate myself for being queer too.. Alas, I’ll have to learn how to get over that and continue loving myself, but what the hell am I going to do now? 2k words later and things aren’t exactly clearer, but I can (somewhat) confidently say that I know what I’ll do (for now.) 

As of today, June 17, 2019, I have decided to not give a fuck and to simply just identify with the LGBTQ+ community. I don’t feel comfortable identifying as male, female, neither, both, gender fluid, or anything else. I will simply put off gender and let people call me by whatever pronoun they want.

I just wanna be me. 

Until I find out something else, or become more comfortable with myself, or gather the confidence to “come out of the closet” and stop being so selfish and finally decide what the hell I am, it’ll probably just be like this for awhile.

And honestly? I think I’m okay with that.

[huphilpuffs]

losing a piece of me

Summary: Sometimes Dan likes boys more than he likes girls, and gets upset with himself for it.

Word count: 3292

Warnings: food, mentions of homophobia

A/N: This isn’t meant to be a reflection of Dan or Phil’s actual sexuality, but rather an exploration of the complexities of sexuality and people’s relationships with the labels used to identify them. (Also, having a gender preference doesn’t make you not-bisexual, if that’s how you feel comfortable identifying.)

(Ao3 link)

Sometimes Dan likes boys more than he likes girls.

There’s an appeal to broad chests and shoulders and narrow hips and how they feel pressed against his that has warmth spreading in his chest. A mental image of large hands rough and gripping at him that haunts the recesses of his mind. A phantom brush of stubble over the taunt lines of his neck and short hair threaded between his fingertips and a muscled torso rippling under his greedy hands and he loves it.

Sharp features and square jaws and prominent brows.

Something distinctly male that makes his insides twist and his pulse stutter and eyes snap open on a gasped breathe of guilt.

Phil sits only a few feet away across the sofa and Dan swallows around the knowledge that he’s spent years with a man, living the fantasies that leach into his thoughts in all their destructive glory. And he blames them on that, on Phil, on the fact that such a significant portion of his life has been occupied by a relationship where he presses kisses to a broad chest and lets his hands grasp at narrow hips.

He loves a man. That’s why it’s men who infiltrate his mind, he tells himself.

(Because sometimes Dan likes boys more than he likes girls, and gets upset with himself for it.)

---

When the questions had first swept their disastrous path through his chest it had been in the booming voices of bullies and the nagging reminders of stereotypes.

His hair had been too long over his ears and his interests were too girly for a straight boy. His arms and legs were too lanky and his clothing not quite masculine enough and the eyes that stared back at him in the mirror widened with fear and gleamed with tears.

It was in voices he hated that he heard the maybes and what ifs that lingered at the edges of his consciousness.

It was their leers that forced him aware of the way his gaze lingered too long on the boys in his classes and not quite long enough on the actresses in films.

There was a girl in his life who felt secure. Her presence was warm in his arms and her smile made him happy and it was easy to care for her, safe to be with her. Her long hair and soft eyes made his heart rate rise and it was enough. It was good.

There was a boy on his computer screen with hair that flopped over his eyes and a lopsided grin and a voice that rumbled and cracked in Dan’s earbuds. He would watch late into the night, a smile on his face and eyelids drooping, and a quieter voice in his  head asking so what if your gaze lingers too long?

And there was a word in all his searches that had made sense: bisexual.

---

Some days it feels like he blinked and in an instant his childhood bedroom of questions faded into a grown up’s home of answers that seem too uncertain.

He cracks open his eyes to a collection of furniture they’ve accumulated over the years, to evidence of a life shared and lived with such effort, such brilliance. There’s dirty laundry swept under the bed and family photos littering a chest of drawers and suits from award shows hanging in a closet.

A curl flops over his forehead and he doesn’t resolve to fix it as soon as he crawls out of bed. There’s a bottle of pills on his nightstand meant to help the apathetic and obsessive and broken and sad parts of his brain. And a photograph of him and Phil in Japan sitting on the nightstand opposite him.

In a little while he’ll slip downstairs and share a morning with the man he loves, press a kiss to a stubbled jaw and listen to the low rumble of a voice he once thought he’d only hear coming from a computer screen.

Some days it’s easy to exist that way, in his grown up self’s home built on possibilities and love and a foundation of everything they’ve been through.

Everything they still want to share.

---

There was a night when Dan’s computer screen lit up his bedroom with the brightness of a Skype call that he’d asked: “Do you like boys?”

His breath had been caught and hope simmered beneath his ribs and something warm settled in his stomach when Phil’s head had dipped, fingers finding his fringe as it hid most of his smile.

Phil had said: “Uh, yeah,” and then “I don’t really label it, but I guess I’m bisexual?”

Dan had still had a girlfriend, and his computer was lit up with the face of a boy who took his breath away more than she ever had.

“Me too,” he’d said. “I’m, uh, bisexual too, I think.”

(Phil had known Dan had a girlfriend, but Dan still thinks the way he smiled that night was with the same hope for something more between them that Dan had tried to pretend didn’t linger long after they’d hung up the call.)

---

Phil still doesn’t really label it.

He goes about his day loving Dan, loving a man, and halfway through a film they’re watching together, will point out that the female protagonist is attractive. It’s easy and casual and when it comes up with trusted friends he still says he’s bisexual.

He’s still the embodiment of how Dan defines bisexuality.

(Not that his definition is accurate. He knows it’s not. But it still claws its way through his mind with a grating discomfort he can never silence entirely.)

Phil is the type that, playing a game, will comment on the attractiveness of a female character and a male one in the span of minutes. The type whose gaze lingers on girls and guys. Who watches one film because the main actress is beautiful and another because he has a not-at-all-subtle crush on the male protagonist.

They’re walking out the of the cinema after having seen Wonder Woman when Dan realizes it again.

It takes a few moments, after they’ve gushed over the film to the same tune as everyone else. They’ve tossed their rubbish into the bin and slipped their jackets back on and stepped into the chilled night air. Phil’s head is dipped, eyes wide, fringe a bit wayward over his forehead.

“Gal Gadot and Chris Pine, in one film? Amazing.”

It’s far from obvious. Dan knows that anyone else would probably think he was talking about the acting. But it’s been eight years of seeing films with Phil, eight years of seeing the little grin he gets when he’s talking about someone he finds attractive.

The same grin that’s spread across his face now.

Dan smiles back, nods, stares at his feet. “Yeah.”

The thing is, it’s been eight years of seeing films with Phil.

And it doesn’t take eight years to realize that, more often than not, he relates to Phil’s appreciation of men far more than his appreciation of women.

---

Phil is also the type of person who has only really dated people of one gender and yet is still comfortable calling himself bisexual.

Dan is the type who goes home that night, curls up on his side in bed, and thinks about how it’s his boyfriend’s arm wrapped around his waist, how he thinks too much about boys for the term to feel right where it settles over his shoulders.

It’s been too long since his head hit the pillow, and he rolls over for the upteenth time since they laid down.

Phil rolls over with him, re-secures the arm that’s lingered around Dan’s middle, presses a kiss to his shoulder and says: “Stop thinking so loud. Gotta sleep.”

Dan closes his eyes, and dreams fitfully of the boys in high school who used to tease him for being too gay.

---

By the time he wakes up, it feels silly.

Phil’s propped up in bed, pillows adjusted against the headboard, phone in hand. He always stays late after nights when Dan can’t sleep, concern gleaming in his eyes and heavy in the quiet good morning he offers. He drops his phone and runs his fingers through Dan’s hair, leans down for a quick kiss before slipping away with promises to have coffee ready for them both.

Dan’s still wrapped in the duvet when the door closes behind him, head squished in a pillow, the ghost of a kiss tingling on his lips.

It feels silly, he thinks, to have a sexuality crisis when you’re a boy who’s been dating a boy for so many years. But that doesn’t stop the feeling that settled heavy between his ribs.

---

There was a time around when he dropped out of uni that Dan realized he hated labels.

They were restricting, tight around his bones until his actions operated per something self-imposed and unwanted. He was a boy so his feet dragged him to the men’s section of every store. He was a student so he poured over textbooks until his eyes burned from the tears that had welled. He was a YouTuber so he spent too many nights wallowing in the uncertainty of the only career that had ever felt right.

He’d been drowning in them, the expectations. They’d gripped at his arms and legs and pinned him into a mould of himself that didn’t feel wrong, but never felt quite right. So he shed them, one by one, ignoring the voices in his head that echoed them back at him in favour of the relief freedom breathed into his lungs.

The first time he stepped into the women’s section, he bought nothing, but left smiling.

He picked himself up off the ground and shoved textbooks into his closet as he decided that being a student hurt too much to be right.

And when Phil asked him to come along to host a radio show in London, he said yes despite the apprehension that prickled at his spine.

He’d left that year feeling better.

(He’d left that year still wearing the label bisexual on his shoulders.)

---

It’s been years since Dan had found himself staring at a webpage with questions about his sexuality spilling into the search engine.

(That isn’t entirely true. There were a handful of times, mid-existential crisis where he’d been in a frenzy to reevaluate every facet of his identity, reading every definition of bisexual he could find with teary eyes and shaking hands.)

But he’s not in the midst of a crisis now, not crying his way to the Google homepage, not gasping as he types in his query. He doesn’t spill over a trail of definitions of a single sexuality. There’s no itch in his bones making him desperate to make sense of who he is in the endless expanse of the universe.

He’s sitting on their sofa, feet propped up in front of him, drifting away from tumblr for a moment to seek answers to the questions that won’t go away.

Sexualities, is what he types.

He feels like his teenage self again, biting his lip and using vague searches to find specific definitions for facets of himself he can’t quite make sense of. Like the young boy whose hair was still curly after a shower who first typed am I gay into Google and skimmed advice he wasn’t yet ready to take when the results showed.

The screen of his laptop is alight with a too-long page of too many labels and it feels just as overwhelming now as it did back then.

He’s been bisexual for years, he tells himself. Why can’t he just stay that way?

But his gaze trips over that definition, skims it once before he actually reads it, internalizes it, breathes with it weighing too heavy on his chest.

(He knows why he can’t stay that way. This feeling, this ache, is why.)

And with a single click, he closes the page, and goes back to the safer, infinite scroll of social media.

---

“Would you still love me if I was gay?”

He asks it in the darkness of their bedroom, staring at the ceiling where shades of black swirl into patterns that disappear when he blinks. Phil’s head has just hit the pillow, his contented sigh still ringing in the air. Dan feels his shoulders go tense, closes his eyes and reminds himself it’s a reaction a sudden question, not an indication of Phil’s impending response.

Because Dan knows what he’ll say.

It’s been years of this back and forth, of sharing space and confessions and thoughts they hate as much as the ones that fall from their tongues as they giggle. He knows Phil, but sometimes the voices in his head give him unwarranted worries that won’t go away without reassurance only words can offer.

Phil knows Dan enough to know that, too.

He reaches back with one hand, fumbles over the mattress until their fingers are tangled.

“Of course I would,” he says.

(The you know I would goes unspoken.)

---

They don’t talk about it in daylight.

Phil eats his cereal for breakfast, and Dan sticks out his tongue in feigned annoyance because it makes Phil’s eyes crinkle around silent laughter. Dan pours them both their morning coffee, and Phil sets up the TV to watch a morning episode of their most recent show, and neither of them asks questions.

On another day, in another moment, Dan knows he’ll fret over the details of his sexuality again.

But in the morning, when curtains are drawn so the outside world paints nothing but thin stripes across their lounge, and the sounds of shared space play, familiar, in his ears, the thoughts fade away.

---

When he was younger, it took him countless dives into the web to finally accept that he wasn’t entirely straight. There was a day when he’d been watching YouTube and had been away from the toxic masculinity of his secondary school for a while, that he returned to Google with knowledge burning in his stomach and a need to confirm it driving the patterns of his typing.

He’d been biting his lip and smiling and pouring over people’s descriptions of their not-straightness when he’d whispered into the silence of his bedroom.

“I like boys,” he said.

Then again, “I like boys,” but louder that time.

And with tears in his eyes he’d turned off his computer, figuring that was enough of a step for one day. His heart had been racing, and he’d wanted a moment to just enjoy the sense of security in himself that had been at te very edges of his grasp for so long.

(The next day, he had worried about what to tell his girlfriend, about if he had an actual crush on the various boys that had caught his attention over the years, about what, specifically, he was. But that day, he was comfortable being label-less and decidedly not straight.)

---

It’s with that same excitement that he opens his laptop today.

His hands are shaking again and he’s trying not to bite his lip and the warm in the pit of his stomach feels impossibly similar to that from years ago. He opens his web browser and goes through his history to find the list of definitions he’d shut down a little while ago.

He reads them all, even the ones he knows won’t apply. One by one until he reaches the bottom of the page, and then goes back to re-read the ones that felt like they could maybe, possibly, feel right.

By the end of it, he’s staring at a single word, drags his cursor over it and pastes that into Google.

Phil’s sitting at the other end of the sofa on his own computer, probably going through video ideas for the gaming channel like he said he would. And when Dan glances up from his screen, Phil does too, a knowing smile in his eyes.

Dan smiles back, and turns back to his research with the same curious gaze that brought him there.

---

He tests the word on his tongue when Phil’s filming an AmazingPhil video and Dan is meant to be tidying their bedroom.

His weight settles onto the bed, and he stares at himself in the white mirror that used to stand in Phil’s room. There’s a pile of shoes on the floor, knick knacks they’ve gathered littered across shelves, a crooked duvet beneath his hands. Sunlight flits through the curtains and gleams in the moon mirror that hangs over the bed and shines in Dan’s eyes as he grins.

“Queer,” he says into the silence.

His voice cracks like when he was a teen, but the worries that had been weighing on his shoulders dissipate. There’s a warmth to the term, a history that makes it feel powerful on his tongue. It’s abstract, frees him of the expectations he’d set for himself, of strict definitions that haunt the back of his mind.

Perfect for a boy who likes girls sometimes, but likes boys a fair bit more.

“I’m queer,” he says this time, and the smile spreads across his face.

He sinks back onto their unmade bed and stares at the ceiling. Basks in the fact that, while it might be silly to have a sexuality crisis when you’re twenty-five and have long-since accepted that you’re not straight, the security that falls over him is just the same as it was when he was seventeen and speaking the words for the first time.

---

That day, Phil knew something was up, because he’d drawn Dan into his arms, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and held him there for a long moment. There wasn’t a word, just comfort and quiet and smiles and an air of having known each other for so long that nothing else felt necessary.

By the next week, the high has faded a bit, but the discomfort Dan had been fleeing doesn’t come back, and he figures maybe he found the right word this time.

Or maybe it will be right for a while, too, and one day he’ll have to search for the right label for a Dan with older bones and new experiences.

Either way, he settles into bed with the man he loves and falls asleep without a worry to keep him awake.

---

“Can you do me a favour?”

Phil looks up at him. Their breakfast is spread out over the counter, their feet pressed to the rungs of barstools, coffee spinning with swirls of milk. “Of course,” comes his response.

“Come out to me again,” says Dan. “Please?”

There’s just a second’s hesitation before Phil says: “I don’t really like to label it, but I guess I’m bisexual.” There’s a smile on his face, and his spoon has fallen back into his cereal bowl.

The expectation is there, but it’s not what has Dan smiling back, ignoring the quiver of his voice as he speak.

“Cool,” he says. “I’m, uh, queer.”

Later, he knows Phil will ask what exactly that means to him. And Dan will explain that he likes the formless blob feeling it gives him. That he appreciates having a name for this abstract liking girls and boys a little more feeling that has followed him for years and shifted into something he couldn’t define the same way he did when he was young.

But for now, Phil just leans over and presses a kiss to Dan’s cheek.

“Okay,” he says. “I love you.”

(The smile that stays spread across Dan’s face that day is a mixture of I love you too and thank you and the easy realization that, for the moment, he’s quite happy with himself.)

[this-book-has-been-loved]

The Fear Of Falling Apart

For @platonicvldweek Day 5: Change / Growth

(what do you mean this is late? I don’t know what you’re talking about)

Insp

Read it on Ao3 | Read it on FFN

As much as he wanted to, Matt couldn’t stay with team Voltron.

He was an officer with the rebel alliance that he had joined after they’d rescued him. And even though he wanted nothing more than to stay in the castle on Olkarion with his sister, he knew that he had a responsibility to fulfill.

“I’ll contact the rest of our alliance,” he promised, as the team met by his podship to see him off. “Let them know about the coalition.”

“Thanks, Matt,” Shiro told him. “It’s good to have you on the team.”

“Happy to help,” Matt replied. “I’m really glad we found each other.” He pointed at Pidge, his voice taking on a mock stern tone. “Alright. You know how to get in contact with me?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Got your new transponder code. And you know how to find us?”

“Olkarion’s coordinates are saved to my podship’s navigational system,” he confirmed. He paused for a moment, then scooped his little sister up into a bear hug, making her shriek in alarm. “I’m gonna miss you!”

Pidge laughed. “You gotta come back and visit, okay? As often as you can.”

“Oh, you bet!” he exclaimed, setting her back down. “There’s no way I’m just leaving you out here in the care of this guy,” he said, jerking a thumb at Shiro.

Shiro rolled his eyes, and Pidge laughed again.

“Oh!” Matt added “And I wanna get a closer look at the dynotherms next time,” he added. “I’ve gotta figure out how those things work.”

“I know!” Hunk enthused. “If we could find a way to reverse engineer those—”

“—it could revolutionize modern Earth technology,” Pidge finished.

Lance crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. “The dino-whats?”

Pidge frowned. “They’re like….” She waved her hands vaguely. “God, I don’t even know how to describe them.”

“Heat/power transfer things?” Hunk suggested.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Coran started. “You see, when the castle generates excess heat—”

Coran launched into another one of his long rambling explanations, Hunk and Pidge and Matt listening in rapt fascination. Lance’s smile tightened, and he scuffed his toe against the ground.

Matt shook his head, smiling. “Amazing. I’m gonna need you to send me the piece-by-piece breakdown of that.”

“The technology on this castle is truly a work of art,” Hunk agreed. “The dynatherms, the teludav, the quintessential power….”

“Not to mention,” Pidge added—

“—the quantum entanglement!” all three of them shouted in unison.

“Yep,” Lance muttered. “I’m lost.”

Allura laughed lightly behind her hand. “I’m glad you enjoyed your time at the castle with us,” she said. “You’re more than welcome to come back whenever you please.”

Matt grinned. “I’ll be sure to do so.”

He wrapped Pidge in a tight embrace, pulled Shiro into a quick one-armed hug, high-fived Hunk, then presented Allura and Coran with an exaggerated bow, before finally outstretching his hand to Lance. After a second, Lance accepted the handshake.

“Well,” Matt said, climbing inside his podship, “you guys have fun with your, like, tour or whatever.”

“Later, dork,” Pidge called.

“See you, nerd.”

And the podship took off.

“Man, Pidge,” Hunk said. “Your brother’s so cool.”

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed with a smile. “He really is.”

It was a few weeks before they saw him again.

And though those weeks were a bit…odd, to say the least, they fell back into their natural routine. It was strange without Keith there, and Pidge seemed to be in a happier mood than they’d seen in a while. But for a bit, Lance started to feel like things were going back to normal.

Then Shiro had told them the plan for Naxzela.

Suddenly, everything around the castle got hectic. Matt had kept his word in alerting the rest of the rebel alliance; batches of block-shaped podships were landing by the castle on Olkarion, ready to join them in their upcoming battle.

And among them was Matt’s.

Lance was with Pidge when it entered the atmosphere. They were out of uniform for once, taking a walk around the Olkari’s city, weaving easily amongst the planet’s citizens. And Lance was reveling in how relaxing it was to be in the middle of a bustling crowd, how nice it was to spend time with his sister friend, how much he enjoyed just talking with her, reminded of their first trip to the Space Mall.

Pidge recognized Matt’s ship the moment it arrived. Or maybe it had been the Green Lion, and she’d only picked up on it over the mental relay. But whichever the case, her eyes lit up and she gasped in delight, grabbing Lance by the wrist and pulling him after her as she went racing towards the rows of ships lined up in front of the castle.

When they were in sight of Matt’s pod, she dropped Lance’s hand, and picked up her speed. Lance slowed to a calmer pace, sauntering along after her, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

Matt waved at them from his ship, a huge smile on his face. “Pidge!” he called, holding open his arms.

She ran towards him, jumping into his hug. “Matt! I’ve missed you!”

“Pidge, it’s so good to see y—wait, are you wearing my clothes?”

“Um.” She smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh. “Jeez, you little gremlin.” He set her down, ruffling her hair. He glanced over at Lance and held out his hand for a handshake. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Lance replied. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks. How have you guys been?”

Lance and Pidge shared a look. “It’s uh,” Pidge started, “it’s been…a bit weird?”

Matt smirked. “Yeah, I caught part of one your live shows.” And both the paladins flushed bright red. “Broadcasted strongly enough that I could get it at my listening outpost,” he continued. “I really liked the ice skating. And the cardboard Voltron? Amazing.”

Pidge elbowed him. “That,” she muttered, “was not my idea.”

Matt laughed. “Hey, I liked it! Think I could get a recording of the full show?”

“No,” Pidge said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Her brother put a hand to his chest dramatically. “You wound me,” he said. “I just wanted record of my baby sister’s acting debut, so I could keep these treasured memories—”

She shoved him, laughing. “Shut up, loser.”

“Well,” Lance interjected with a awkward smile. “I’m sure you guys want to, like, catch up or whatever, so I’m just gonna….” He gestured off to the side, pointing vaguely towards the castle. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll catch you later.”

He was gone before either of them could say anything, and Pidge sighed.

Matt furrowed his brow, staring after him. “Is he okay?”

“Not really. But he won’t tell us what’s wrong.”

“You’ve tried asking him about it?”

“He just brushes it off,” Pidge replied. “Tells us that he’s fine. When we can definitely tell that he’s not.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he realizes just how loud he is.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Loud?”

“Yeah. In the mind thing.” She waved her hands vaguely around her head. “He’s just so loud, it’s impossible not to pick up on it.” She frowned, crossing her arms. “Hunk’s tried asking him about it a couple times, but he wouldn’t say anything. And I don’t know if he’d really want to tell anyone else; cuz, like, if he doesn’t want to talk to Hunk, then who else would he talk to? I mean, Hunk’s the living embodiment of a hug. Not to mention he’s, like, Lance’s best friend?”

Matt frowned. “Maybe you should try talking to him.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna wanna talk to me,” she murmured. “I’m not exactly the best with people. Plus, I was…kind of a jerk to him back at the Garrison.”

Matt paused, thinking. “You want me to talk to him?” he offered.

Pidge glanced at him in confusion. “He barely knows you.”

“Well, sometimes it’s easier to talk about stuff with someone you don’t really know,” Matt replied with a shrug. “Can talk about things without there being any pre-conceived notions in the way.”

Pidge sighed. “I’ll see what I can get from him,” she decided. “And if that doesn’t work, then you can try. Later, though.” Her face broke into a tentative smile, and she took her brother by the hand. “Come on. let’s go find Shiro and let him know you’re here.”

It took longer than she’d wanted to finally find a free moment to talk to him.

After the fight for Naxzela had ended, there was Lotor to deal with. And with those meetings going, between Lotor and Voltron and the Blade and the rebel groups, none of them had gotten much—if any—free time.

So it wasn’t until a day or two later that she finally went out looking for Lance. When she found him, he was playing video games, sequestered away in that little back room, the only light coming from the display screen.

“Hey,” she greeted, slipping through the door. “Is it okay if I join you?”

“Uh, sure,” he replied hesitantly, and she sat down next to him. “Where’s Matt?”

“With Shiro,” she answered, picking up the second controller.

“Oh.”

She gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing,” he assured her. “I just. Kinda assumed you’d want to be spending time with him.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I like spending time with you too,” she reminded him. “You’re my friend, Lance.”

He rolled his eyes. At the push of a button on his controller, the game reverted to the menu, and the jingle for Killbot Phantasm One played on the screen. “Tagteam or PVP?”

“Tagteam,” she replied, and the game started.

They played a few rounds in comfortable silence. It wasn’t until they had their first Game Over that she finally brought up what it was that she had wanted to talk to him about. She pressed the mute button, and the menu screen played silently before them. “Hey, Lance?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember that time back at the Garrison? On my dad’s birthday. When you and Hunk saw that I was feeling down, and came over to talk to me, and then you wouldn’t stop pestering me until I told you what was wrong?”

Lance winced, already able to tell where this was going. “Yeah?”

“This is me returning the favor.”

He sighed. “Pidge, you really don’t need to—”

“Lance, I’m gonna be honest with you here. There is clearly something bothering you.”

“I’m fine—”

“We can feel it, Lance. We can all feel it. It’s really obvious that you just haven’t been feeling like yourself recently. There’s definitely something wrong.” When he was quiet, she pressed on. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” she told him. “Talk to Hunk. Or Coran, or Shiro. Hell, even Keith. Just promise me you’ll talk to someone.”

He was silent for a long time. “It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“If it’s how you’re feeling, then it’s not stupid.”

He sighed. “It feels weird to say this to you.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“But of all people, you deserve to know.”

He fell quiet again, and Pidge waited.

After a long moment, he took a deep breath. “Pidge, you’re one of my best friends. Honestly, you and Hunk are the best friends I’ve ever had,” he told her. “And I know that things back at the Garrison were always kinda awkward and stuff, and we never really talked or hung out that much. But, like, I really enjoyed spending time with you, ya know?” He was waving his hands wildly, his voice periodically raising in pitch and in speed. He stared straight ahead, at the muted game screen, refusing to meet her eyes. “So like. We get out here. And it’s crazy! Everything’s just been turned on its head and nothing really makes sense. And I miss my home. I miss my brother and my sisters and my cousins. And even though our situations are a bit different, you missed your family just as much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And it kinda felt like we were filling in for each other, right? I mean. I definitely think of you like a sister. But then Matt showed up,” he mumbled. “And now your real brother was here. And he and Hunk just clicked instantly. So suddenly you guys were off hanging out with Matt. And I just felt sorta. I dunno. Left out? Alone?” He let out a dry laugh. “Jealous?”

Pidge was quiet for a moment, processing. “You’re jealous of Matt.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, sighing. “It feels stupid to say it out loud. But yeah. I’m jealous of Matt.” He paused for a second, before he turned towards her, his eyes wide. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy for you!” he hastened to assure her. “I’m so glad that you found him, and that he’s okay, and that he’s back. I’m glad he’s here, honestly.”

“It’s okay, Lance.”

“Or maybe it’s more like….” He paused, grasping for words. “It feels like you don’t need me anymore? I mean. He’s your brother. And he’s Shiro’s friend. And he and Hunk got along instantly. And apparently he even knew Keith back at the Garrison. And maybe you all like him better than me and there’s not really a point to me staying—”

“Stop,” Pidge interrupted, and Lance was startled to see tear marks tracing down her cheeks. “Just shut up. Don’t you dare say something like that.” She took a shaky breath, then reached out to take his hand. “You mean the world to me, Lance,” she whispered.

Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her, and she clung to his shirt. They sat that way for a while, tangled in each other’s embrace, relishing in each other’s presence.

Pidge wasn’t sure how much time it had been before she pulled away. “Okay,” she said, breathing in deeply. “Lance? I was kind of a horrible person to you back at the Garrison. I was a jerk. And I never really appreciated you or Hunk like I should have—”

“Pidge—”

“And I owe you an apology,” she insisted. “You guys were always so nice to me; and yeah, it was kind of annoying and overbearing. But god, did it make me feel a bit closer to home.” She took his hand again, squeezing. “You’re my best friend, Lance,” she told him. “And finding Matt hasn’t changed my feelings about you at all.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Talk to him?” she requested. “I’ve told you how much you remind me of him. I swear, you guys are gonna get along great, if you just talk to each other.” She poked his side playfully. “The ultimate older brother duo.”

His face broke into a smile, and he chuckled. “Yeah, okay. But. Later?”

“Later,” she agreed. “Right now I need to kick your ass in Killbot Phantasm One. Get ready, McClain, we’re PVP-ing this shit.”

And he laughed, picking his controlled back up from off the floor. “Time for some friendships to be ruined.”

“We share custody of a cow, Lance. I don’t think anything can get between us at this point.”

He snorted. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Alright.” He smirked, cracking his knuckles. “You’re going down.”

“Talk to Lance.”

Matt glanced over to the bridge’s door, watching as his sister walked inside. He winced sympathetically. “I take it your team bonding didn’t go so well?”

“No, it went great,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And now it’s your turn.”

Shiro, the only other one in the room, looked at her in relieved shock. “You got him to talk to you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, nonchalant. “Last night. It was good, I think he got a lot out of his system.”

“And…,” Matt said slowly, making sure he was understanding her properly, “…you want me to talk to him?”

She nodded. “He has something he needs to say to you.”

Matt frowned. “Okay,” he said warily. “Right now?”

“No,” Pidge replied. “Just. Give him some time. I don’t think he’s ready just yet.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, exchanging a confused look with Shiro. “Okay. Sure thing, Pidge.”

It wasn’t until a day or two later that Matt finally found himself knocking on Lance’s door. At Lance’s call of assent, the door slid open. “Hey, man,” Matt greeted. “Got a minute?”

“Matt,” Lance said in surprise. “Hey. Hi. Uh, hi. Come in?”

He was sitting on his bed, and Matt sat down a few feet away from him. “Pidge said you wanted to talk to me…?”

Lance blinked, his eyes wide, before his expression melted into one of resigned annoyance. “Of course she did.”

Matt let out a long exhale. “Do you want me to go?”

Lance leaned back against the wall, covering his face with his hands. “No,” he mumbled. “She’s right.” He took a deep breath, paused, then let out a breathless laugh. “But now that we’re here, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Okay,” Matt said after a moment. “How ‘bout I start?” At Lance’s wordless shrug, he continued. “It’s clear that you and Pidge are really close. And I’d like to thank you for that.”

Lance lowered his hands. “Thank me?”

“Pidge has never really had the best time making friends,” Matt told him. “She’s always had trouble with that. And I have never seen her as close with anyone as she is with you guys. So, yes. Thank you.”

The tension that had been building up in Lance’s body started to dissipate, and Lance began to relax. “I have four sisters,” he said, “back home. And a whole lot of cousins. I’m used to being part of a big family.” He paused. “Mari is about the same age as her,” he mused. “Fifteen?”

“Mm.”

“Point is,” Lance continued, “she’s like a sister to me. Which is kinda weird to say since you’re, like, her actual brother. But yeah.”

“I really appreciate that,” Matt said. “You, like, looking out for her and stuff. I’m glad she has someone like you in her life.”

Lance smiled softly. “She really means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad that someone is here to fill the role of overprotective older brother when I’m not around.”

Lance snorted. “Don’t worry, man; Pidge seems to have hit the jackpot in overprotective older brothers. I think the count’s up to five now.”

Matt laughed. “Knowing her, though, that still won’t be enough to keep her out of trouble.”

“Probably not,” Lance agreed.

They fell into comfortable silence, and Lance felt a wave of relief pass through him.

“So,” Matt said after a minute. “What crazy shit have you guys been getting into out here?” he asked with a grin. “I mean, besides the obvious stuff.”

Lance exhaled. “God, where do I even start?” he said with a laugh. “I mean, we, like, share custody of a cow, or whatever—”

“Yeah, okay, where the hell did the cow come from?”

Lance chuckled dryly. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

He paused, then relaxed, a smile creeping across his face. “Okay, see, it all started when we needed to get new teludav lenses….”

[what-even-is-thiss]

I don’t have a favorite sanders side. Therefore, I have a lot of things to say about all of them. I gushed over Patton in a reblog to a post that was talking about how he’s under appreciated. @darude-sanderstorm asked if I could talk about the others too. My Patton bit was just copied and pasted from that post.

Patton/Morality

-He’s the reason Thomas is so gosh darn nice. Do you know just how accepting that man is? Patton makes him see the best in people, be excited over dogs, love everyone, and be the best person he can possibly be.

-He’s so proud of everyone. He is a proud dad. He’s proud of himself (the other sides and Thomas) he’s proud of Thomas’ friends. He’s proud of us. He’s just a great dad.

-The inner child and the dad. Who doesn’t love the innocent character? Endless source of misunderstandings.

-Way smarter than he appears on the surface. Able to compromise and notice things that the others don’t. He knows big words and also doesn’t know some simple ones. He knows what they need at times and just generally seems to embody most of Thomas’ emotional intelligence.

-His memory problems are so relatable. Like, seriously. Forgetting what your own apartment looks like? Yeah.

-Being the sense of morals can’t be easy. You have to find a balance. You have to make some tough decisions. You have to realize what questions are best left unanswered. There are no set rights or wrongs and Patton is the one that walks that line.

-Dad jokes are amazing and he is a walking cartoon character. Even more so than the others and all of them are cartoony.

-He knows how important all of them are. He knows he’s important and is really sad when he’s pushed aside and irritated when Anxiety is pushed aside. He seems to view the importance of each of them the most accurately.

-Off topic slightly, but have you seen the dad character in Thomas’ vines/shorts? Those are some of the best ones. They always make me smile.

-He knows how to distract and redirect a conversation. Absolute pro at distracting.

-He’s so genuine. You know when he’s sad, scared, or happy. Even when he’s distressed when he’s smiling he says so. You know what’s happening. There’s a lot to be said for a character that’s an open book like that. It’s not a sign of weakness.

-He has the ability to be serious when the situation demands it and he’s genuine with that too.

-If Anxiety and Roman cover Thomas’ self esteem issues and what self hate he has, Patton personifies his self love and that is so important. It’s really clear how much he loves the other sides and it’s shown through him just how much Thomas wants to accept all of himself. And he’s trying really hard to do that. I’m proud of him.

-He’s just really great and just as wonderful as the others. Being happy and relatively simple doesn’t make a character bad or uninteresting. He’s still just as important and wonderful as the others and deserves just as much appreciation.

Roman/Creativity

-Oh my gosh is he extra. Half the stuff he says is so dramatic I love it.

-Who doesn’t love an egotistical character? It’s funny and makes him flawed and interesting and causes some useful conflict.

-All the Disney, mythology, and pop culture references. I live for that kind of thing.

-He has such amazing phrases. Bitterly jittery and not very glittery. Gosh darn song dang. Great Odin’s eyepatch. He says a huge chunk of the things we all quote regularly from the videos.

-The best at insults. I cannot come up with insults that good.

-He’s probably what gets Thomas to do impressions, sing, perform, and come up with interesting and/or hilarious things for videos. Patton may be why Thomas started making vines but Princey probably comes up with most of the ideas.

-Thomas has so many cool hopes and dreams. Becoming a cartoon. Performing. Being in a Disney program. It’s amazing.

-I really like his name. I didn’t name myself after him, I’d like to make that clear, but he did influence my decision somewhat. Roman. I just love that name, even if it does cause confusion sometimes since I decided to call myself that.

-The way he moves and talks grabs your attention immediately. The way Thomas plays him, he’s really fascinating and entertaining to watch.

-Creativity is necessary for many basic everyday things. Getting to stuff you can’t reach, talking, etc.

-He’s representing Thomas’ struggle to love all of himself and get past some of the things society has engrained in him. I’m very proud of how far he’s come.

-Thomas says he represents his femininity, or what society would normally classify as that. Yes. Cis guys expressing their feminine side is a great thing and should be done more.

-He may be the ego and be a jerk sometimes but he means the best and he’s improving. And if he had less influence we wouldn’t have the Thomas we have. I love theatre people. Roman is great.

Virgil/Anxiety

-He’s a good guy sometimes yes, but he can also be the bad guy. Everybody loves a villain.

-He’s just trying to protect even though he doesn’t always go about it the right way.

-He’s really closed off even when he wants to be open. He’s uncomfortable feeling positive and can’t accept compliments. I’m like that too. He’s really relatable in that way. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing that he’s like that.

-He’s slowly accepted as a part of the group. He works his way in and is brought back when he ultimately decides to leave. The accepting of the character is slow and feels very believable.

-So done with everything. So edgy. I love that. Seriously.

-He has such a classical name. As a mythology/history nerd I seriously love it a lot.

-Seems to cover Thomas’ apathy, which is great. Slouching and barely trying. Making “your mom” jokes. Hissing. Endlessly entertaining.

-Notices the weird things Logan does. Probably because he’s filmed last and a lot of Logan’s lines are improved. “Is anybody going to acknowledge that he just dabbed?”

-He has an interesting character arc. He goes from being comfortable in his role to doubting to feeling a bit useful to feeling completely useless and eventually leaving to beginning the process of accepting his existence.

-He’s not trying hard sometimes but in his case that can be a good thing. He’s trying to protect Thomas and that is great. Even if he makes a lot of mistakes along the way.

-He just has a really entertaining personality. He’s so dark and determined to feel left out even when the others acknowledge that he added something good to the. Conversation.

-Actual proof that there’s a part of Thomas, however small, that is edgy and emo. He’s Thomas’ inner emo. Gotta love that.

-The emo villain character has only been in two shorts but I really liked them. He was so confused when the prince character wanted to be put to sleep and was so reluctant to give up the rabbit. It’s amazing, honestly.

-He’s just super relatable, entertaining, interesting, and occasionally evil. Really great and interesting.

Logan/Logic

-He info dumps like crazy. I also do that. Exposition dump characters are really important.

-He’s got some malapropisms and those never get old, honestly.

-Random facts galore.

-Does not understand emotions fully and often times is held back by them. Is practical and objective to a fault and doesn’t always take feelings into account. Going so far as accidentally calling the others unimportant when he was trying to say he loved them.

-I like the way he talks. He talks fast and even stutters sometimes and yet is really interesting to understand. Like any good teacher he is very good at simplifying difficult concepts and making them easier to digest.

-I’d like to have him as a science professor, tbh. He likes dogs and makes things easy to understand. Plus his temper could get interesting.

-He gets into conflicts with all of the others but doesn’t seem to hate any of them. His frustration is usually directed at the situation.

-He’s on his way to realizing that he’s not necessarily the most important. I feel like sometime soon he’s going to gain a bit of humility and that is an awesome thing to look forward to.

-He’s really learning more lately how important Patton is. He’s learning to accept being wrong and he’s doing so much better. Character development, people. Love it.

-He’s serious all the time and sometimes he’s really not serious and he flat-out denies it. Just admit you make teacher jokes. Admit it!

-He studies so hard and still doesn’t understand slang words. Characters that don’t understand slang words. Endless source of comedy.

-Some great lines. Teacher jokes. Unintentional dad jokes. E=MC scared. Tomato. He is such a nerd and I love that.

-He’s such a huge nerd and is the friendly local exposition dump character. A great teacher and he’s so proud of himself when he learns new things. Did you see his face when Thomas learned things at the end of negative thinking? He’s a great proud teacher. He’s got a character arc going on even if it’s not obvious or it’s slow.

Okay I think I’ve talked enough. I could say more about all these guys. They all have really great things about them and I truly don’t have a favorite. I’m so fond of all of them in such different ways. Thomas made such amazing characters. I love them so much, you guys. Seriously.