#there is no custody arrangement rn

[bepatientandpersistent]

My New Years goal/hopes and dreams: have a baby or a baby on the way by the end of the year ❤️

[smileymaste]

i dont even know what to tag this post to get the answers im looking for but my dad asked me if id like for his fiancee to adopt me (i am an adult, and my biological mother is alive but i dont speak to her as of a year and a half ago) and i was just wondering if anyone else has been in a situation like this and if yall have advice??? ik im just a rando on the internet but id like to hear other peoples experiences

[mxssingmemories]

your instagram, but you're friends with the bau

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yourusername

liked by boygenius, chocolatethunder and 134 others

yourusername he found a goat. everyone run and hide, we're all fucked

boygenius his name is is edgar

yourusername for the last time, HE DOESN'T HAVE A NAME

keepitpg please tell me you kept him

yourusername we did not and now spencer is mad at me

boygenius @/yourusername we could have kept him!!!

chocolatethunder reid in his natural habitat

boygenius that was uncalled for

doublej henry saw this and wants to meet the goat, you're screwed @/yourusername

yourusername

liked by doublej, prentiss and 145 others

yourusername i did what i had to do.

ahotchner I'm pretty sure this qualifies as workplace harassment.

yourusername sorry dad

doublej y/n terrifies me

chocolatethunder same

prentiss same

boygenius same

italiandad same

yourusername i'm flattered

keepitpg it had to be done

yourusername EXACTLY

yourusername

liked by keepitpg, boygenius and 156 others

yourusername welcome to the family of weird ass profilers, roo :)

keepitpg I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

chocolatethunder i want to meet this animal now.

boygenius did you know that world war one made german shepherds famous ? in other words, i can't wait to meet this guy

ahotchner Are you able to bring Roo to the office tommorow?

yourusername that can be arranged, boss

doublej me and @/prentiss are requesting custody of this angel

yourusername permission granted

prentiss SHIT YEAH smd @/chocolatethunder

italiandad I might have made some dog treats for Roo

yourusername you know my address, just knock and roo will love you forever

yourusername

liked by ahotchner, italiandad and 198 others

yourusername i love our dysfunctional little family

boygenius i forgot my socks were purple

chocolatethunder wtf is with reid's socks

ahotchner I appreciate all the work you do for this team, Y/N. We all love you.

yourusername dude you can't just say that i'm crying in the club rn

keepitpg i love you guys :)

doublej <3

prentiss stop i'm feeling things

italiandad Love you guys.

[chaifootsteps]

Okay, if

IF (big if, huge if, it's lifting so much rn)

If Viv was kicked from her own show, then the trademark to copyright discrepancy could look like parents with split custody of their kid.

In other ways, A24 is not a typical studio known necessarily for merchandising, but then I may be wrong.

I do know that they've got some weird arrangement where Viv can advertise merch using her pilot designs, but not the show's designs.

[gece-misin-nesin]

OKAY this video, but its a Tododeku canon divergent au!!

Basically, after Izuku starts getting the prev user's quirks bc ofa hit singularity, (specifically after the first war) we learn that ofa's slowly killing izuku, and that using it only shortens his lifespan. Izuku does his vigilante thing, except he is actually alone, no pros or all might helping him. Shoto is devastated, and alongside 1a, tries his damn hardest to find a cure somehow. Everyone else is focused on getting izuku back first, but Shoto goes to Ujiko, learns that he was working on preventing quirk singularity shit, and that he can save Izuku's life if he continues his research. Obvs the heroes aren't gonna let him out of custody, nor let him conduct human experiments. The lov/afo, on the other hand, will. So Shoto either seeks out afo or dabi idk, and says he will join the league if Ujiko does his research thingy to save Izuku, and if that doesn't work, AFO will steal ofa from Izuku. Afo agrees in exchange of Shoto breaking out Ujiko from custody (and some lov members maybe?) to prove himself. Shoto arranges a prison break, and during the chaos finds Izuku (who came to stop it, obvs) and then Shoto explains what he's doing to Izuku. Izuku has Kiana's 'I won't let you leave!' routine as shown in the video, and Shoto is just trying to get Izuku to stand down, dammit! Anyway Shoto does Mei's monologue of 'you've saved us all at the expense of ur own life' etc. they fight.

Izuku here has been doing his vigilante arc ALONE, so he is exhausted and not even fully healed from his previous fights and doesn't want to hurt Shoto, so Shoto manages to knock him out as Mei does Kiana in the video, (maybe u can have him use blue fire or smth? Idrk what phosphor is tbh), and says the iconic "If rescuing you is a sin, I'll gladly become a sinner"

Idk how the rest of the series would go on from here, maybe you can even have league redemption by Shoto initially being closed off towards them but coming to sympathize w them over time? League saves Tomura from afo w the power of friendship? Also, todoroki drama.

Anyway, this au has me by the throat rn :D

[weedstoner]

ugh I know someone whose baby daddy just left her with 2 kids on her own and she's "trying to keep the peace by not taking him to court for child support" like you have 2 kids who need to eat and seeing as though you are not even speaking to him rn someone is going to have to negotiate a custody arrangement. like don't be fucking stupid. garnish his fucking wages cmon

[goldenbloodytears]

My lurker ass is a big fan of your work, would love to hear about Danny angst hours if you feel like it.

Sending you good vibes from down south

Oooh thank you so much anon! What a wonderful birthday gift.

Feel free to send me follow up asks if there’s any sort of specific angst scenario you’re curious about how Danny would react to, specifics can be very useful in helping me fine-tweak details.

My brain is a mega sleepy rn from finishing most of my finals + birthday, but I will try to elaborate on some of my thoughts of Danny angst events below the cut.

Mentions of divorce and doomed gay romance if anyone is sensitive to those.

I think the biggest one I’ve made a bit of mention so far is my headcanon about him being the child of divorce. I think he carries a lot of unprocessed abandonment issues and complex emotions related to that—I’ve been toying with the idea lately that he chose to stay with his dad, since he would have been old enough to have a say in the custody arrangement. However, I don’t think this protected him from mommy abandonment issues because I think his mom still felt lowkey rejected by him… and then basically proceeded to have minimum contact with him? She rebuilt her life, got remarried and had his three half-siblings.

And that’s going to still be devastating to a kid. Because as much as you have a vague idea of what your choice means, almost nobody really explains to kids the consequences of what their choices are before hand, even for incredibly benign choices sometimes.

I’m still trying to decide what the outcome of Danny committing patricide is—did he get caught in Utah? Is this the event which put him on the run? Has he been running ever since?

I kinda wish BHVR would give us another tome just so I don’t have to make the decision.

I’m drawn to the idea that he got caught but his mom managed to literally and metaphorically bail him out, it just… gets caught against my sense of disbelief. The amount of Law and Order I ingest doesn’t give me much to go off of—maybe a hung jury? That could be interesting. Like his killing of his dad sounds like it could be pled down to manslaughter, but I have a hard time picturing him not getting convicted if that makes sense…. But at the same time, a prior conviction feels like it complicates his background. It’s really a lot. It’s something I need more feedback on because… well, it’s so much to think about.

Another angst related idea I’ve been toying with as background for my fic includes whether Danny has had a doomed infatuation with someone before—Sam is a particularly butchy bi woman at times and the idea that her character might remind Danny of somebody he’s known in the past was… intriguing. I’ve been visualizing a sort of doomed ho-yay unresolved sexual tension relationship with a guy in his background… maybe even the original “owner” of one of Danny’s aliases?

It’s Jed lol

It’s at least partly inspired by how some fan-artists make Danny and Jed look like completely different people. I don’t know if it will stay Jed, the idea is very… half-baked, and I worry it will make Danny and Sam too similar if they both have a doomed gay romance lol

[stellawolfe30]

In consequences au, does Nezha ever see Li Jing when he goes to the celestial realm? How did Wukong get custody of this child??

(id appreciate any asks about lmk au's to go to my lmk blog :) )

hmmm that's a but tricky, isn't it? hmmm

okay so I took a minute to think about this and here's what I got. the celestial realm isn't exactly aware of how close nezha and wukong have become. whenever they see the two together they see political allies, not father and son. I like to think the celestial realm is pretty oblivious as a whole to things that happen on the mortal realm unless it directly affects them and not to mention ffm is pretty secure. so li jing doesn't exactly know nezha has hehe replaced him.

he knows nezha has been distant, they haven't spoken in a long time and while idk a ton about him i don't think he minds all that much. like as far as he thinks nezha lives in his lotus temple and attends to his godly duties/ protecting the map. he was never fond of nezha from the moment he was born.

so yeah Sun Nezha isn't legally Sun Nezha. He's Li Nezha to everyone other than them. it's more of a hushed thing and there's a reason for that

so this is another hc of mine (its kinda shown in the first cons comic) nezha isn't completely respected by the celestial realm. they know of the "mischievous, trickster, troublemaker, dragon killing" child. and the fact that he's basically a single child on stools in a petticoat doesn't help one bit. respect for him has grown since he first started working in the celestial realm but people still side-eye and talk shit.

if the celestial realm knew, nezha's reputation would falter, while the celestial realm gives sun wukong due respect bc of his raw strength and he hasn't caused them trouble since before the journey. yet they still talk shit (they're petty as all hell) nezha, while strong, is easier to tease/pick on/ bully. minor gods whispering and giggling amongst each other as they glance at the lotus prince, other people near his rank and above giving him looks, obviously condescending to him when they talk stuff like that.

but if they knew he was so close to swk that would triple. instead of trying to be subtle it would turn into one clear and loud message "we don't respect you"

so rn nezha is still technically Li Nezha, wukong only has custody of him in the mortal realm bc Nezha says so. In the mortal realm its.

"my son" "lotus" "sweetheart" "little one" "mah baby boi :P"

in the celestial realm its

"Li nezha" "old friend" "ally"

wukong understands the arrangement and respects it. as long as they can go back home after whatever meetings they attended and swk can hold his kid he's fine with whatever.

Nezha is his son.

he doesn't need to scream to the whole world that he loves his son. as long as Nezha knows he is loved he is content.

[hermits-that-craft]

Why is the empires smp shared custody arrangement one of my favourite arcs rn? i could be focussing on whatever shelby’s got going on but no, hermes goes brrrr

[leiascully]

What is the story of the lost friendship? Can you talk about it? I am going through a hard time with a friend rn too

I have, unfortunately, a lot of stories about lost friendships, which is why I think the one you’re referring hit so hard.  People have been befriending me for what I could do for them (usually homework help or similar, sometimes internet clout, sometimes other things) since I was about 8.  I grew up in a weird shared custody arrangement that meant I usually couldn’t do anything with friends, so I rarely had friends I saw outside of school.  I didn’t drive in high school, so I didn’t get invited to many of the things my other friends went to.  Even as an adult, I’m not super social: I love(d) going to the gym, and I’ll go out to bars and such from time to time, but not as much as some of my friends, which means I still get left out of things sometimes, or at least I feel left out even if it’s not intentional.  I’m sure part of it is that I’m so used to just chilling on my own that I’m not good at remembering to text anyone or arrange events, but part of it is that I just seem to slip people’s minds.  The friends I’ve got mean a lot to me.  It hurts very much to lose any one of them, or to feel like they were the latest in a long string of people who weren’t really interested in me, but only what I could do for them.  I’m sure they perceived the situation differently.  I’m sure I never meant that much to them.  That imbalance stings.  But today, for the first time, I thought about it and it hurt a little less, so maybe one day it will be all right.  Probably by then I’ll have a new friendsbreakup to take it off my mind, because somehow I do keep falling for these things.  But I also have a handful of very good friends who do love me, genuinely, and that means the world to me.  

I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time.  I wish I could help.  I’m here to chat if you feel like coming off anon, or if a ficlet would soothe you.

[thetomorrowshow]

The Poignancy Of Silence, Pt. 2

A/N: This is the second half of my entry for @stop-it-anxiety‘s fall fic contest! Here is the first part! This is now completed, but I have ideas for one-shots/an epilogue that takes place in this universe. So those may happen at some point.

Word count: 4735ish

Tw: I don’t even know where to start, depression, discussion/mentions of suicide, brief mentions of self-harm, light kissing, Dee’s a gay disaster

Pairing: Roceit

-

“Oh, Mr. Boiga. You've never done a restraining order, have you?”

“No, sir.”

Professor Reynolds handed him a folder. “There you are. Name's Roman Gutierrez. He's asked for a restraining order against his brother. I'll need you write three pages about each meeting. More details are in the folder.”

Dee rubbed the scruff that grew on one side of his face. “How many meetings will it take?”

“As many as necessary.”

-

Professor Reynolds, wanting the students in his Masters program to get real-world experience, requested local firms to send real cases for his classes. He assigned them to students based on grades, priority, and type. For example, a failing student might be assigned an everyday, low-level case, while the top of the class would get intriguing, high-level cases. Dee was somewhere in the middle, receiving low-priority cases that were still decently interesting, and he was learning a lot.

Those the case concerned were asked to sign a slip, acknowledging that it would be handled by a student, and in turn, that they wouldn't sue the firm. As Dee was handling this case, Roman Gutierrez had obviously given permission.

The public library had a private conference room. Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, it was reserved from 3pm—8pm for students, who signed up for hour-long slots. This service was generally utilized by the law students and tutors. After some communication, Dee reserved a slot on Friday for 5pm—6pm.

-

Roman Gutierrez hardly spoke. At points during their meeting, Dee looked up and thought that Roman Gutierrez could have been handsome, were his hair combed, his eyes not unbearably sad, the dark shadows from his light grey hood not quite hiding the smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose.

“So I looked up your brother, Remus Gutierrez. Apparently he's currently on parole after trying to steal the car in the mall?”

Roman Gutierrez shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was unbelievably soft, making Dee wonder if he'd ever raised it. “Hadn't heard about that one. It does sound like Remus, though.”

They'd been in the conference room for forty minutes. Dee kept trying to get a reason out, why he wanted this restraining order, but Roman Gutierrez didn't seem to want to talk about it—or anything, really. He'd even asked outright. The man had just shrugged again and looked away.

“Well, Mr. Gutierrez, unless you feel comfortable telling me why, I'm afraid we'll have to end this meeting here.”

“I'm sorry,” Roman Gutierrez apologized immediately. “I'll—I'll drop it, it's not that important. I'm sorry for wasting your time.” He stood, awkwardly pulling on his over-sized hoodie.

“No, no,” Dee said, standing as well. “It's fine. We can meet every week until we figure this out.” He glanced at the file. “I might be able to get the order based on what he's done alone,” he added dubiously.

Roman Gutierrez sighed. “You're busy. I don't want to bother you.”

“You aren't bothering me.” A lie. He was already annoyed that he'd wasted a good hour of his time trying to work with an uncooperative client who wasn't even paying him. Still, he very much wanted to become a lawyer. He had to be dedicated to this man's case.

“Really, I'll be fine. I don't need it.”

“Roman Gutierrez.”

The man winced, then looked at him. His eyes were an odd mix of grey and brown, a stormy sea, swallowing any positive emotions that tried to brave the thrashing waters. All frustration Dee felt for the man momentarily dissipated, replaced with fathomless pity.

“I will not give up until we resolve the issue. Trust me.” It hurt dully to say that, remembering all the times his lies had eaten away at his trustworthiness. It was okay, though, he realized, as the other man gave him a doubtful look. Roman Gutierrez didn't trust him anyway.

-

Three meetings in and Roman Gutierrez still hadn't explained his reason for wanting the restraining order. Outside of meetings, Dee was digging through reports of Remus Gutierrez, printing everything that could be of any help to his case. His folder grew steadily thicker, but he never opened it in the conference room of the public library.

They talked about memes, movies, politics. Dee expressed the pains of a law major and Roman Gutierrez confessed that he'd dropped out of community college to pursue a failing acting career. Dee found that odd. He didn't really seem the acting type, but maybe he was different onstage. Happy.

Sometimes, a spark of something almost happy flashed in Roman Gutierrez's eyes, pleasing Dee immensely for some unknown reason. The man was warming to him, cautious smiles and eye contact.

Knock. Taptaptap. Knock knock.

Dee's head swiveled toward the door. A couple of classmates were tapping on the window in the door, their personal songs that only Dee could hear emanating from the other side of the glass. They beckoned to Dee, who smiled briefly and shook his head.

“What do they want?” Roman Gutierrez asked uncomfortably.

“Oh, game night. Hitting the slots or whatever.”

Roman Gutierrez stood hurriedly. “Oh, I can go. Sorry for holding you up. Go have fun.”

Dee laughed a little and waved him back into his seat. Two meetings ago, he would've been begging for an escape from the fruitless conversation. Now, for some reason, he found that he was sort of enjoying their awkward chats. “No. Gambling was a habit I kicked about a year ago.” And a year too late, he added to himself.

“Are you sure you don't want to go?” Roman Gutierrez looked awkward as he looked at the door. “That guy seems to really want you to.”

Dee turned back to the door to see a blond man throwing flirty eyes at him. “Oh, that's just Remy. He flirts with literally everyone, but won't commit.” He knew. He'd been down that road.

Silence for a second. Then Roman Gutierrez said quietly, “He's kinda hot.”

Somehow, the words made Dee a little . . . jealous? No. There was nothing to be jealous about. He was just a little mad at being ignored. He'd just said that Remy was a player, hadn't he? Roman Gutierrez needed someone dependable.

-

They were meeting twice a week now. They could only meet once in the library conference room, so where the second meeting was varied. One week it might be in a cafe, the next in the campus library. For confidentiality purposes, Dee didn't bring his folder on Remus Gutierrez to these meetings.

He told Roman Gutierrez that these meetings were for trust, and so he could get a better idea of why he needed a restraining order. There was another reason, though. One that he would never say aloud.

Roman Gutierrez didn't have music.

The man had smiled, laughed (neither of which quite reached his eyes), but never a single note. Dee wondered if he actually had none, or if he just never truly experienced a positive emotion strong enough to trigger a tune. Before he'd met Roman Gutierrez, the only person without music had been Dee himself, a fact that often brought him down. Now, though, he wasn't the only one. Who could blame him for wanting to get to know the man better?

They grew looser, more friendly. Dee found himself reminded of Roman in the most unexpected places and tasks. Their text thread, which had once been strictly formal, was now flooded with memes sent by both, captioned with little “saw this and thought of you”s and “me rn”s.

Dee saw their two meetings as the bright points of his week, his face lighting up when he saw those grey-brown eyes under that mop of dark hair, the fourteen freckles spotting his caramel-toned skin. His heart jumped at every smile, cheeks grew warm at every joke.

Dee couldn't deny it now, couldn't say that the reason he arranged the meetings was to study the man who had no music.

Dee had a crush on Roman Gutierrez.

-

Roman Gutierrez didn't own a car, so Dee often picked him up or dropped him off at his town house. Roman had three roommates who were never home, architecture students who stayed out late and left home early every day.

Roman always seemed down—well, more down—at their parting. Dee always made him swear to send a text the next morning, and though Roman rolled his eyes, he always promised. Dee was growing increasingly worried that . . . that Roman Gutierrez might harm himself. Light research told him that the man displayed a good amount of the symptoms of depression. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe he just cared too much. Better safe than sorry, though. He really liked this man—far more than he'd liked anyone in years. He couldn't lose him.

-

“I stayed with my dad on weekends.”

They were in the conference room again, but instead of sitting across from each other at the sleek table, they were relaxed on the floor. Dee had brought some pillows and Roman had ordered a pizza. The heavy folder sat untouched on the table.

“He wanted custody of me and Remus, but my mom wanted us too. They ended up splitting us. I kept dad's name and visited every weekend,” Roman frowned. “Remus never visited us, though.” He smiled brightly; no music sounded. “But, all's well that ends well.”

“It's not the end yet.”

“No. The hero always has more challenges to overcome. But the ending of the story is magnificent.”

Dee hoped that was true. He wanted Roman Gutierrez to have the best ending possible.

He couldn't help but remember everything he'd read in his high school literature class. Happy endings were nice. No one ever said they were guaranteed, or even common.

-

Dee filed the request for the restraining order. The document was packed with Remus Gutierrez's wrong-doings and warnings from the law, as well as a short testimony from Roman.

He tried to tell himself that he hadn't put it off, that he'd needed all his spare time to do homework, that it was okay that this project had extended a month past its tentative deadline.

It was hard to finally click 'send' on the very professional-looking email requesting the order. The meetings would end. He and Roman would drift apart. He'd never get the chance to hear the music that might not exist.

He decided then, that as soon as the request was approved, he would ask Roman Gutierrez out on a date.

-

Hello?

It wasn't necessarily the message that immediately bothered him, nor the tone of it. What first stuck out was the fact that it was a voicemail, not a text.

It's Roman . . . Gutierrez. In case you know any other Romans.

Dee flew out the door, not bothering to put on a coat or shoes, despite the brisk autumn air of the night. He fairly threw himself into his old brown car.

I, uh, I dunno. This is hard to say.

“C'mon, c'mon,” he muttered. The car was slow in the cold, he knew that. But this was important. He didn't have time to wait for it to warm up, he needed to get to Roman.

I've decided to drop everything against Remus.

He'd left an email open on his laptop before going to bed. A message from the firm, saying that they were certain it would be approved, there were just a few more hoops they needed to jump through. It was so close.

So, I won't be bothering you anymore.

The car finally started; Dee threw down his phone and swung it into reverse. His searches were still pulled up: how to talk someone out of suicide—what to do when you find a suicide note—when a loved one takes their own life—

I'm sorry. For taking up your time. You didn't need to patronize me. Sorry—sorry for making you put up with me.

That intersection, the one that was so busy during the day, the one that still brought painful flashbacks of waking up on asphalt and blood and that shining freckled face with the music he hadn't heard in almost three years.

So, um, please. Don't—er, you don't need to contact me again. I—I won't be bothering anyone again. Click.

He drove recklessly. The radio showed a green 1:41 AM. The roads were the quietest Dee had ever seen them, no one waiting at intersections, no one honking at slow-moving pedestrians. He ran three red lights with no consequences, considering this a matter beyond traffic laws.

Roman? Roman, please. When you get this message, call me back. We'll talk about this. Please.

Here it was. The street with too many cars parked on the road. The town house with one car in the drive, the car with two flat tires and no air conditioning that none of Roman's roommates ever bothered to fix.

I'm coming over, okay? I'm coming over right now and we'll talk about this. I'll help you through this. Where are my keys—Click.

He tore the keys from the ignition and leaped out, slamming the door shut and running for the porch, the grass damp and poking under his bare feet. The window glowed through the curtains, so someone was up—and the other tenants weren't home, judging by the singular (broken) car in the driveway.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.

“Roman, let me in,” Dee pleaded. “Come on! Please!”

Knock-knock-knock-kn—

Then the door was open, and Roman was there, and he was alive and here and Dee couldn't hold himself back and wrapped him in a hug, needing to confirm his solidity. Roman froze, then gently detached himself.

“You haven't taken anything, have you?” Dee asked frantically. “No drugs or poisons or anything?”

“What?” Roman sounded confused. Dee looked him up and down for signs of harm—sweatpants, t-shirt (for the first time, he noticed light, uneven scars on his forearms), messy hair. Tear tracks down his cheeks from red-rimmed eyes. “Why are you here?”

“You wouldn't answer when I called!”

Roman shrugged, his feigned nonchalance entirely transparent. “Sorry, my phone died. That doesn't mean you had to drive here at—” he checked an unseen clock— “almost two in the morning.”

All of the emotions that Dee had been keeping inside by sheer will burst out. The mind-numbing fear when he'd received the voicemail, the deep pits of dread in his stomach when Roman wouldn't pick up, the panic as the car wouldn't start and he was certain that Roman Gutierrez would be dead by the time he arrived—and he couldn't stop seeing his lifeless body, blood pooling around his wrists or foam leaking from his mouth or—or—

“I thought you were going to kill yourself!” he yelled, tears spilling out onto his own hideous face. Roman's face grew stony, but a tear rolled down his perfect face as well.

“Why would it matter to you if I did?” he said bitterly.

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The shout echoed through the neighborhood, and Dee clamped his mouth shut. Never yell at or insult someone you believe is suicidal, one webpage had said. Oops.

Roman let out a jarring bark of laughter. “No, you don't,” he corrected. “You think you do. But you don't. No one ever does.”

“Okay, maybe I don't. But I want to!” The truth was was spilling out uncomfortably, but Dee couldn't stop. “I was planning to ask you out as soon as the case was closed! I—I feel good around you. Like I could mess up and not be embarrassed. Like I could say anything and know you would still care about me! I feel . . . happy.” And he knew it was true, even without music of his own to prove it.

Silence. Too long of a silence. Dee looked away, pretending to be enthralled with the tinkling wind chimes hanging on the neighbor's porch.

“I know,” Roman choked out eventually. Dee turned his eyes back on him, saw the deluge of tears brimming in the man's eyes. “I know. But—I was. . . .”

Dee nodded. He didn't know what Roman was trying to say, but understood somehow.

Roman cleared his throat. “I called you because I just found out I'm getting evicted. Remus was the only person who offered me a place to stay.”

“That would be awkward,” Dee tried. He got a small, sad smile in return.

“Yes. Probably shouldn't get a restraining order against the one person who's giving me a home.”

“Wait—you're actually accepting?”

“It's my only option.”

“Um, no, it isn't.” Dee shuffled his feet on the rough pavement. Now he really wished he'd taken time for shoes, or a jacket, or something. “Heck, I've got an apartment. I'd love to split rent with someone.”

A spark of hope glinted in Roman's eyes, then disappeared, as if he was too scared to let it stay. Dee continued, his teeth chattering.

“Besides, I'm not dropping this case, hon. We're in the final stages. It's going to be approved. And,” he said, quieter, softer, “I don't know—and I never have to know—what Remus did to you. But it's okay to get away from him. Forgiveness doesn't mean you have to put yourself back into a toxic situation.”

A moment of bated breath. Dee counted the fourteen freckles (to make sure that they were all there) and stared into Roman's eyes, the grey-brown irises disbelieving, and brimming with tears, and so so tired.

Finally, suddenly, Roman's face crumpled. “I—I can't say th-that I wasn't—that I didn't think—that I wasn't planning—” he sobbed.

Dee didn't know what he'd said that had broken the dam, or even if it had been something he'd said, but it didn't matter. Roman fell into his arms as soon as they were open, burying his face into Dee's shoulders.

“I—I'm sorry,” Roman gasped, his voice muffled. “I'm sorry I'm so b-broken.”

Dee didn't know how to respond. He let his fingers comb through Roman's hair, mumbling something about how it was going to be okay. He wanted to say that he himself had thought the same thing many times. Wanted to tell Roman that he wasn't broken, he was just hurt, and healing took time. Wanted to say that he would hunt down and threaten whoever had hurt Roman so if they even so much as thought about him.

But he didn't say any of those things. Instead, Dee just held Roman Gutierrez as he shook, and knew that this was just the beginning of a long challenge. But by Jove, would he do anything for the man crying in his arms.

-

“Come on, Dee. We'll miss the opening of the gates!”

Dee straightened the bowler hat and smiled at his reflection. Roman had assured him that Steampunk was perfectly acceptable at a Renaissance Festival, so he'd thrown some gears on a dapper suit and bought a patched leather half-mask, matching the leather of his gloves. He flashed a tentative smile at himself, adjusted his frilly collar, then left the bedroom.

The stowaway bed was pulled out of the couch, blankets curled up on it, as well as a stuffed lion. They'd been 'officially' together for months, but Roman wasn't comfortable sharing a bed (something that made Dee curse Roman's abusive boyfriend from the past).

Dee caught sight of his boyfriend by the front door and felt the oxygen leave his lungs. “Wow, Moondrop. Now I know why you wouldn't let me see it.”

Roman reddened slightly. His princely uniform was a silky white, ornamented with golden accents and a red sash stretching from his right shoulder to his left hip. A sheath at the other hip held a sword Dee knew to be wooden. White pants tucked into tall black boots; shimmering gold make-up applied around his eyes brought out specks of gold in his irises that Dee had never noticed before. The stormy sea that he had always found himself comparing those eyes to now had rays of sun peeking out through the clouds.

A small smile played at Romans lips while he waited for Dee to say something, which made him realize that he had been staring for a little too long.

“Wow,” Dee said again. He leaned closer, swept Roman's dark hair from his forehead. “You look simply breathtaking. Are you sure you don't need a crown?” he added.

Roman laughed. “A prince never wears his crown while on an adventure.”

Dee placed a hand on the back of Roman's head, then leaned in for a kiss. It was quick and light and full of love, and for a moment , he thought he heard some barely-audible violin strains. It had been happening on occasion as of late. He hoped it meant that Roman was happy.

“Let's go, my prince.”

-

The April morning was crisp as they roamed the festival. Roman bounded ahead, his excitement akin to a small child's, his smile threatening to split his cheeks. Sometimes, kids pulled on his sleeve and he suddenly became Prince Roman, holding his head higher and telling stories about faraway lands with dragons and slumbering forests and doves made of pure sunlight. Not for the first time, Dee marveled at his imagination. He caught whispers of maybe-Roman's-music through the dozens of overwhelming tunes that floated in the air. For perhaps the first time, Dee was glad he didn't have a song of his own. If he did, it would only be adding to the cacophony.

They purchased turkey legs and relaxed to watch some shows—a fire-eater named Dr. Dumpe, an act called Bob The Incredible Juggler, a high-school choir. Under the acts was that music.

Under everything there was music, of course. He was good at ignoring it, but this certain music felt important. And it was always in his ear. Always near Roman.

The song was floating and brash, sad and enthusiastic, pondering and rushed. Strains of strings were echoed by brass instruments, an ensemble of discordants coming together to create beauty. Sometimes, when Roman was entertaining a particularly awestruck bystander, an electric guitar or drumbeat would join the mass, somehow accenting the best parts of the tune. It really was the most wonderful sound Dee had ever heard.

Roman Gutierrez was truly happy. Dee couldn't help the joy that rose in his chest.

-

“Dee? Are you all right?”

Dee opened the door to his bedroom. He'd shut it as soon as he'd gotten home, needing to be by himself and knowing that Roman liked to be alone right after a rehearsal. Roman stood outside, his hair mussed with sleep.

“How'd rehearsal go?” Dee asked instead. Roman shrugged.

“Fine. I had to call for my line three times.”

“And what good things happened?”

“Um. . . .” Roman chewed his lip. “I made someone laugh. But what's up with you?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Dee lied. “I'm fine.”

Roman sighed. “You never shut your door. What's wrong?”

He really didn't want to tell his boyfriend the problem. He was afraid Roman would laugh, or brush him off like Patton always did, comforting him in the moment but making him feel worse in the future. “I, uh. I just get fed up with my face sometimes.”

Roman nodded slowly. “That's a start. What happened to make you feel bad now?”

“Nothing,” Dee said. “I just—” and it was all going to come out, he could feel it— “Sometimes I think maybe I would be happy if I looked normal! Maybe—maybe I could have a—” He cut himself off. There was no way that was going to get out of his head.

“A what?”

“Nothing,” Dee muttered. “You can go back to bed.” He hated that he did this, he always did this, pushing people away when he needed them the most, not wanting to bother them with his problems. Roman, however, didn't move. His face was shadowed with stubbornness.

“Dee, you're here for me on my bad days,” Roman said softly. “Let me be here for you on yours.”

“Maybe I could have a . . . a family.” Dee cringed, waiting for Roman to say that he did have one, and it was him. That wasn't what he meant, though. He wanted parents and banter between siblings and a loving home to come to whenever he needed it.

Then Roman's arms were around him, and Dee was crying into his shoulder, the tears that he'd dried before opening the door coming back tenfold; his face pressed into the Lion King themed t-shirt. Roman's hands rubbed small circles on his back.

“I love you,” Roman whispered. “I love you. And I'm going to help you.”

“I love you.”

-

“I hear music.”

There were no nerves, like there had been with Patton Esperanza. He smiled wide across the table at Roman, who had frozen, a forkful of syrupy pancakes halfway to his mouth. Roman had made breakfast—Dee had woken to the smell, padded into the kitchen, smiled when he heard that gorgeous music he could now associate with his boyfriend.

“Like, right now?”

“Well, not right now,” Dee replied. Roman's music had dwindled into silence over breakfast. It was okay. Roman was different from anyone else Dee had known. His music was rare, took much more to play. “But each person has a tune that plays when they have strong feelings of joy or pleasure, or the like.”

“And you . . . hear this—this music?”

“Yes.” He didn't understand why Roman seemed so concerned. Now he had doubts—would his boyfriend truly accept him? Or was his confession just the beginning of another painful break-up?

No. He loved Roman. It wouldn't end like this. Dee pushed back his chair and walked purposefully into the living room. The keyboard wasn't nearly as dusty as he'd expected, he noticed as he sat before it. The scrapes of a chair pushing back and soft footfalls on carpet alerted him to Roman's presence behind him.

He hadn't heard Patton Esperanza's song in years, but it was still the first thing that came to mind. He let it flow out, a cheery, plunking tune that sounded flat, somehow. It didn't hurt to play, as he had suspected it would. It felt . . . boring, like a movie he'd seen one too many times. He cut it off early, looked up at Roman, saw his jaw still hanging open. Probably shocked at just how crazy he was. He cringed inwardly, but looked away.

Silence.

Then Roman spoke, his voice subdued.

“I don't have one.” It wasn't a question. It was a sad statement.

Dee hadn't heard much of his boyfriend's song, but what he knew he'd been learning, recording pieces of it on a piano app and humming along.

He didn't close his eyes. He didn't try to relax. He fumbled through the complex tune, some patches rougher than others, but he heard it come through, and in his head he knew where the trumpets fell, where the flute came in. He stopped as he ran out of material, not sure where the notes were to continue.

“Everyone has a song—except me,” he confessed, feeling a pang of sadness. Every time he thought he was over not having music, it hit him afresh. “Yours is so interwoven and beautiful and loud and you. I tried, but I can't do it justice.”

Again, silence. Dee hadn't turned around, and he was afraid Roman had left during the rough song. Then, soft hands on his shoulders gently urged him to a standing position, then pulled him around the chair. Fourteen freckles met his gaze, then grey-brown eyes flecked with gold and filling with tears. For a moment that wasn't near long enough, their lips touched. Dee blinked, not expecting the display of affection, and before he could comprehend what was happening, music was coming from the keyboard.

Roman had sat. The tune his fingers picked out was mysterious, light, curious. Then the tone suddenly changed—still mysterious, still curious, but any light-heartedness had disappeared, replaced with a dark, intricate, compelling quality. Dee found himself lost in the music, the song he'd never heard before, yet was inexplicably familiar. Then it stopped; Dee found himself blinking back tears as he was forcibly jerked to the present.

Roman's eyes sparkled as he looked up at Dee. “I hear music, too,” he whispered. “And that was yours.”

-

[devilsofficialfanfic]

The Offical To Be Written List

-all the fics I’ve started but haven’t finished (DTRI, VC, TEH)

Multichaptered fics

-Lodaxus arranged marriage AU, in which no one is happy about Sendak’s marriage to Prince Lotor. Not Sendak, not Lotor, and not Sendak’s lover, Haxus

-TNOTG Sequel 2: Alternative Canon-Verse. In which Lotor’s deal with the witch finally catches up to him, Voltron is found once again, and Shiro is in over his head. (Completely healthy/consensual Lotor/Sendak/Shiro)

-Altean Ambassador Shiro visits the Galra Empire for the wedding of Prince Lotor to General Keith, and falls for Commander Sendak while he’s at it. (Feat. Good Dad! Zarkon, Keitor, Shendak, childhood friends Lotor and Sendak, polyamorous Lotor/Keith/Sendak/Shiro)

-NGCS Sequel. Mostly fluff and kinky stuff, or, Lotor and Sendak have lots of children

-The fucking war crimes fic I keep saying im gonna write. And I will, if it kills me

-Sendance au: Lance was raised to be the lovely trophy husband of a powerful person. Sendak buys his contract (adapted from an idea by @bbb35)

-Unhealthy Lotura abusive marriage fic, feat Good Dad!Lotor, Child abuse, Good Guy!Sendak, the custody battle of the millennia and much more (endgame Lodak)

-AU inspired by that one episode in S8. In which Lotor returns from his studies on Altea, and Sendak can’t deal with that Glo Up™

-Kendak, in which Sendak has to deal with this undisciplined Cadet (with possible eventual Lotor/Sendak/Keith?)

One Shots

-The Strip Poker Fic, Lodak

-Pre-relationship Lodak. Good Dad! Zarkon brings Lotor and Sendak along on a diplomatic mission. They don’t always see eye-to-eye, but then people start hitting on Lotor and Sendak gets jealous (requested fic)

-Lodak Sparring Session, in which Sendak realizes he’s in love (req fic)

-The Keith/Shiro battle from S6, but Lodak (req fic)

-Lotor gets given as a “gift” the new Emperor Sendak, and is forcibly stripped in front of an audience (Established Lodak, but no one knows that)

Special stuff

-My No4Lotor fic, which y’all will get to see on the 4th

-300 Follower’s Celebration Fic, which ya’ll will get to see when we hit 300 followers (for context, we’re at 273 rn)

[piquira]

to be in your thirties, having lost a relationship in which you probably hoped to have a long lasting love with and then all of a sudden you meet a guy who is in his early to mid twenties and is seeming capable of confidently giving you all you wanted with someone older than both of you, it takes you on a ride and makes you feel so uplifted and full of hope. there's now doubt why she fell for him I just hope they can come out of this amicably and not hate each other

Yeah I can definitely see that being the case. She was on such a high when meeting PK that she either missed, or ignored the red flags😔. As far as getting along, i’m thinking it’s going to take some time and space. Tensions still seem to be evident rn since they’re still trying to figure out a custody arrangement 😬.

[stargazer-balladeer]

THIS THIS FLOYD CARD OMG OGMGIGJFF

got me giggling, grining, twirling my hair, kicking my feet, writing in my diary and shi...gah damn...😭😭

Pulling my hair out rn how am i supposed to save for the Halloween cards?@? This game is gonna be the death of me 💀

if i die you can take custody of my genshin acc cuz...

LMAO CALM YOUR SIMPING JAY 🤣🤣

Looking on the bright side,, at least we will arrange your funeral 👀👀

And bet.

[lidopimientart]

My First Year at #TCAF

Best TCAF - The Toronto Comic Arts Festival moment (after that surprise Junot Diaz visit of course) was getting approached by Cartoon Network to discuss my ideas/pitch for a new show on their platform.

Worst TCAF moment (after being cursed out by the custodial for using the bathroom at the library at 5:05pm) was 'my location'.

*clears throat*

The third floor was great! I was grateful to be seated in the least crowded level, considering that it was my first year there, it made sense to be up there not surrounded by hundreds of people in a hot room for 8 hours straight. But it was the being seated in between a British publication(?) and a yt cartoon guy that made me feel a bit unsafe:uneasy:anxious.

Even though these individuals were quite nice and kept to themselves working hard like we all did, I could not help but feel the pressure of having to 'keep my voice down' and having to 'keep conversation short' with people who would visit to share a good time and talk about the themes in my work which (obvi) mainly revolve around decentering whiteness.

It was awkward every-time people left my table, after talking about intersectional feminism, sex, war, shaving all the hair from your vagina with the only purpose of taking and epic p***y pic, and of course, the recurrent 'yeah no....I dont know if there are any Indigenous artists here'...Was tough...You know it was 'awkward silence mode' whenever my people would leave the table, because the person sitting right next to me(on my left), again, quite nice and lovely, who makes work about "what would happen if baby jesus had super powers?" probably was thinking the same thing as me "who is this person? which planet did they come from?!! and why they sit us together?" 

 Like I don't even know who to feel bad for - me - for feeling the need to silence myself and tone myself down to make my white neighbors feel OK or rather non threatened by my presence/laughter/speaking in another language/subjects of my artwork...OR feel bad for the super baby Jesus guy who probably knew that apart from the weather and well...the weather, there was nothing else that we had in common that we could talk about in at least a meaningful way. 

Whenever things got less busy at our spot, it got super awkward and tense - and to add the cherry on top to that sour cake...to my right side, it was quite obvious that the constant "HI LIDO I LOVE YOU LET ME GIVE YOU A HUG" made my British neighbors irk because the hugs would happen much too close to their carefully arranged pile of super nice hardcover science fiction novels, like EVERYTIME A BUTT WOULD TOUCH THE CORNER OF THEIR TABLE WAS SO UNCONFORTABLE!! 

Again...how can you break the ice with your tabling neighbor when you were just speaking about 'holy shit white journalists are doing the most rn with that appropriation prize scam".........And dont get me wrong...I know I can only do my thing and worry about myself and all of that, but this really was a question about being confortable in my lane and in my own skin.

I have been tabling since I was 13 years old, so this is something I take seriously, so seriously that I waited 4 years to actually submit my work to this version of TCAF, because I know how every single cartoonist, publication, writer etc LIVES FOR THIS and I have learned (better late than never) to not take space from others far more ready and involved than me. I knew for this version of tcaf, I was ready, finally.

And I am not saying that I do not want to sit next to white folks, I am just saying that perhaps knowing before hand who you will be sitting next to (for a total of two full 8 hour days), would be super helpful. Like i was never really into blind dates you know?

The reason why Indigenous/trans/poc are significantly under represented at an event like TCAF is of course the (non)access to money. I live in TO, so spending 150-200 whatever on half a table is not so out of reach, but to many emerging/up and coming and future Indigenous cartoonists, thats a bit much! I wonder if there is a sliding scale artist fee designed specifically to cater to black trans womxn for example, also, I can think of at least 3 poc/two spirit/trans fols who are very talented but who simply wont make the trip to TCAF for the same reasons I was feeling a bit uneasy at my spot, only that like..multiply that experience times 1000! 

Shit! If womxn and women in general make less money than men, shouldnt we be paying a bit less than the men for a table at these art fair convention events? I mean, they get published significantly more than us gxrls so.........

Is there a grant available to Indigenous/trans/artists of colour that could help alleviate some of this financial stress? I mean, it was my first time at TCAF, and I probably missed so much of the behind the scenes that these issues might already be taking place or at least had started a thinking session or acting upon the issues that come with it, but from the surface and from what I experienced this weekend, the doing or the trying to do better was not quite evident - and 

please (of course) correct me if I am wrong in any of this. I am not friends with the the patricks and the deforges or the koyamas or D&QS or the gemmacorrels, you know I just do my own thing and feel blessed!

But I do know that zine culture, cartoons, posters, prints and such come from a his/herstory of punk and DIY culture, all products and work of black and indigenous resistance, of poor folks! So when I go to these conventions and I don't see me everywhere, I feel as though maybe it is not for me, and that is b u l l s h i t .....

PHEEWWWPPHH!! SO MANY FEELS!!!! Kudos for reading this far if you did! 

In the end, I still had a terrific time, and was able to make amazing connections. I feel inspired, motivated and above all, loved. Thank you for saying hi and for supporting my work, wether if you did in person or online! See you at the next hot mess! <3 

EDIT: Shoutout to Andrew at TCAF for helping me so much when I was super lost and confused, and also shoutout to the many volunteers who were super quick at hooking me up with info and anything else we needed. Shoutout to all the different people commenting on my hair, like cartoonists KNOW how to acknowledge the effort that takes to get two perfect buns together. 

With love and criticism,Yours Truly - Lido Pimienta