#this could be written way better but whatever

[acosmicbee]

Little Dancer

(Heads up! This is the fic based on my poll from a bit ago. If you didn't see it, this fic is going to be darker than the other stuff I've written! Please don't read it if you aren't comfortable! TW: References to underage prostitution, underage alcohol consumption NOTHING WILL BE GRAPHIC BUT IT WILL BE THERE)

You'd always admired the pretty dresses and costumes the grown up ballet dancers got to wear. They were sparkly and shiny and eye catching. Of course, now that you were older, you understood the duel purpose. One was to look beautiful on stage, to play their parts as they twirled and leapt and danced. The other was to attract customers.

You'd lived at the opera house for as long as you could remember, just another orphan taken in who had some semblance of movement. They taught you ballet, but not in the way you longed for. Not like the fancy dance schools nobles could afford to send their children to.

One of the ballerinas who had first taught you, as well as a mix of twenty other boys and girls, had told you one very important lesson. When you were old enough to take clients after shows, if they offered to buy your way out of the opera house and send you to a real ballet school, you should take it. No matter the cost of what they wanted in return.

You could still remember the hurt and pain in her voice, as she had to tell a group of children that 'almost anywhere is better than here'. She had been bought out by a noble a few months later, and just as quickly replaced by another ballerina who continued the dance lessons. You never saw her again.

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

You both counted down the days and dreaded the coming of your fifteenth birthday. That was the cutoff where the opera directors would 'allow' you to take your first clients after shows. Allow was a bit loose considering they practically forced the ballet dancers into it, taking a cut of whatever the nobles paid to get up close and personal with their favorite dancer.

Soon enough you'd be one of those people, forced to entertain men four times your age with a smile. Forced to sit pretty as they treated you like an object, some pretty little thing to just be ignored. Then, when they needed you, their hands would-!

No. No, you couldn't afford to think like that. You had to tune out the thoughts, the same way you tuned out the sniffles and cries of some of the other people in your bunk room. Thinking too hard was dangerous. It was painful and it was forbidden as far as you were concerned.

Instead, you focused on your makeup in one of the cracked dressing room mirrors, touching up any kind of fault. Today was another performance, each one marking a day closer. From now, and for another week and a half, the opera was doing Swan Lake.

You had a small role, but one still coveted by other dancers. After all, you didn't get paid if you couldn't pass the audition and get a part. You were one of the swans, just another faceless person wearing white, dancing in unison.

You didn't mind though, dancing your best and taking your bows at the end. The second it was over, you dashed off through the wings back towards the bunk room. The dressing rooms would soon be overrun with noblemen who had too much money and too little care for who was over 15 or not.

You had almost made it when a hand grasped your arm. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned, your eyes wide. The man holding you was definitely a nobleman, he was wearing a nice suit and crisp white gloves. He scanned your face before finally releasing your arm. "You did well, little dancer."

All you could do was stutter out a weak 'thank you' as you turned, making your way towards your shared bedroom. The area he'd touched felt like it was on fire and you rubbed it as you finally shut the door behind you. The way he'd looked at you... didn't feel normal. But he was probably just looking for whatever dancer he was sponsoring.

Thinking was dangerous, especially when it came to strange noblemen. Just be happy nothing happened Y/N. Get changed, wash your face and sleep. Nothing happened.

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

He was there again the next night. Your legs were sore and aching after your bows but you'd still tried your best to be fast as you made your way through the dressing room. He'd caught you yet again, a gloved hand on your wrist as he studied your face.

Whatever he saw had a dark flash of emotion go through his eyes before he finally released you, a dark smile painting his face. "Great work, little dancer."

You could feel how his eyes never left you as you darted off towards your room. Could feel them burning into your back before you ducked around a corner out of view.

It became a pattern. Every night he was there, waiting for you. He easily picked you out from the other white dancers, easily caught your wrist as you tried to make your escape. Every night he'd whisper some kind of praise to you, always calling you 'little dancer'. Every night he'd release you, watching as you ran off before the dressing room filled with more noblemen who would be less willing to let you go.

Eventually Swan Lake came to an end and the next ballet, Giselle, started up. You didn't have a part in it, which was a great misfortune when you started to run out of money rather quickly. You couldn't even afford new ballet slippers, dancing as best as you could in your old ones.

It was sheer luck that when auditions were held for the next ballet after the current one, Cinderella, you managed to get a part. You were cast as one of the fairies the fairy godmother summons, a quick part with only one scene. But, it was your very first solo dance. Your very first performance where you weren't just another face in the crowd.

It would also be your first performance at 15, your first performance where you weren't allowed to hide away from the leering gazes of noblemen. Needless to say the closer you got to opening night, the more and more nauseous you felt.

You spent the daytime during your birthday in rehearsals. The pretty costume you wore as the fairy of spring feeling less and less special by the minute. One of the older dancers, the one playing the prince, offered you a few sips of brandy backstage before the curtain opened.

It dulled your nerves enough that you were able to make it through your solo without puking, twirling around the stage as you counted in your head to the music. Spin then leap then twirl then jump. You focused only on your body and the music, feeling a mix of relieved and terrified once you finished.

You sat in the wings for the rest of the show, nervously rocking back and forth as you waited for bows. The older dancers, ones who'd been taking clients for a long time, shot you pitied looks backstage. They offered you whispered pieces of advice when they had the time.

'They like it when you smile.' 'Stay in your costume, don't wash off your makeup.' 'If they offer you alcohol you drink it. It'll numb the pain.' 'Take any tip they offer you and hide it.' 'If they offer to sponsor you, never turn it down.'

Finally, just as bows finished, the ballerina who had played Cinderella took you aside. She hugged you close for a second before whispering a familiar piece of advice, one you'd never forgotten. "If someone offers to buy your contract with the opera, to take you away from here to a real ballet school or just to be a pretty face in their manor, take it."

You had barely made it into the dressing room, this time unable to escape the crowd of nobles and smog of cigar smoke and the other dancers flirting when a familiar hand caught your wrist. It was the same strange nobleman and he grinned down at you, a hand coming up to cup your face.

"Well done tonight, my little dancer. You were truly a sight to behold." He murmured, stroking your face. His words made your stomach drop. Never before had he referred to you as his, like you were an object to be owned. He gently took your arm, leading you away from the the crowded room of leering gazes to an empty room.

You held your breath, your heart racing. You felt naked in your costume, the pink and green fabric feeling not nearly thick enough to protect you. That was until your eyes widened in shock when instead of trying to undress you or touch you, like the other dancers had warned of, he draped his suit jacket over your trembling shoulders.

"Isn't that better, my little dancer? You're trembling like a dandelion in the wind." He said, settling down onto a plush chair. You just stood there, staring at him as you pulled the jacket closer around yourself. The fabric smelled of fancy cologne, the type you'd heard some of the male dancers lamenting over being nearly three shows worth of pay.

"Come closer, little dancer. It's hard to see your face from so far away when you perform. Every time I've gotten close you dash away like a little bunny." He chuckled. You reluctantly got closer, shivering with how intense his gaze was as it scanned over you. Whatever he saw in your defensive posture and trembling figure he must've liked because his smile widened.

"I have a... proposition for you little dancer. I have already talked to the opera directors about buying your contract." The words made you freeze. He wanted to take you away? You felt sick, even more than before but you had to remember the advice that had been drilled into you. If someone was giving you an out, you were to take it.

"What do you want in return...?" You asked, cursing the way your voice wavered with uncertainty and fear. After all, there was always a price, especially when it came to nobles.

"Smart bunny." He grinned, leaning a little closer to you. "Here's the deal. I'll give you the life you deserve. If you want to continue with dance I'll make sure you have the best lessons, that you can perform at a theatre where no one will ever make you feel unsafe. You'll be a sparkling jewel. In return, you will play the part of my child."

His... child?! That was... unexpected. Most of the deals you'd heard of involved romantic relations, not something like this. You were conflicted between a feeling in your gut telling you it was more complex than that and the lesson that had been drilled into you since you were a child.

In the end, all you could do was nod. This was probably the best deal you were ever going to get, your only escape from a miserable life of entertaining men for money. This was your way out.

It didn't stop your heart from stuttering at the wolfish grin that spread across his face as his eyes gleamed with something darker than happiness. What had you just agreed to...?

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

You only felt free during your lessons. The man Your father had designed an entire room for you to practice your dancing in. He had costumes custom crafted for you, you outshone all the other dancers when it came to performances.

The second the lessons were over though, you could see the envy in the other dancers's eyes as they watched you enter the carriage he sent to get you. They didn't know what you had to give up for this, what you were still giving up.

He was a strict man, but more than that he was possessive. He liked owning things, owning people. Every maid and butler that worked under him was indebted to him in some way and he held it over their heads like a cruel god. His rules were harsh and his punishments for disobedience were harsher.

He owned a gramophone, something even few nobles could attest to with how new they were. He'd play music and have you dance for him, twirling around your practice room in a private performance.

He could be so harsh, but at the same time he could be so nice. He'd dress you up in the most recent trends, taking you to all the fancy parties he attended. He'd show you off, his precious child, and watch as the other nobles's faces contorted in jealousy when they realized he was the father of such a famous dancer.

You were never allowed to dance with others at these kinds of parties. Never allowed to go to any tea parties you were invited to by other noble children. Never allowed to go anywhere at all without an escort or your father accompanying you.

All you could do was push everything down and smile. After all, thinking was painful, too painful. Thinking about the future hurt just as much as thinking about the past. But sometimes, when you were all alone in your room at night, lying on silk sheets and a soft mattress, you wondered if this place was actually better than the opera house.

[sloanout]

The bad rap Taash and veilguard as a whole get remains equal parts confusing and frustrating to me. It's one thing to see culture war chuds seething over woke or whatever, but really I expected better from Tumblr of all places. Whether or not you enjoyed DA:tV, it is objectively an incredibly inclusive game that did a lot more for representation across the board than most titles, and trying to debate that fact or tear it down because it didn't do its representation exactly to the letter of how you wanted it is, straightforwardly, poisonous to the fight for diversity in gaming as a whole. Call me dramatic, but every time you act like a spoiled child and pitch a bitch fit over a nonbinary or trans character not being exactly what you wanted, you are actively hurting your own cause. You don't have to like Taash, but if you care about the community it's the least you can do to restrain yourself from posting freezing cold, Steven Universe discourse level takes about how they are actually "harmful" or would have "put you back in the closet".

Here's the tough truth about portraying nonbinary and trans perspectives in media: these identities are not a monolith. Nonbinary, as a whole, is not a secret third gender with its own set of trappings, it's a wide, wide label that means many different things to many different people. That you can look at an nb character written by a nb person and say "they did it wrong" with your whole chest speaks more to your own limited viewpoint and disconnection from the greater queer community than it does to the actual quality of the character.

The impossible challenge that creators face when their writing hits fandom spaces is that people want many different things from art. I've seen people adamant that the correct and most helpful way to do rep is to have a character turn directly to the camera and say "I am transgender" and then have that part of their identity explored for the next 300 pages. I have also seen people, just as adamant and righteous as the first, claim that representation is best and most correctly done when queerness is an incidental background detail in the same vein as hair color or favorite food. The truth is that neither of these perspectives, nor any in-between is inherently more or less correct than the other. Different people will want different things, because at the end of the day different people have different experiences with their queerness and would like to see that reflected in the things they love.

The only real way to be incorrect here is to malign and defame a story for daring to depict something outside of your particular experience - as I see many people do with Taash. I had to read with my own eyes a post about how their romance with Harding is predatory or some shit and that it reflects poorly on the nb community. Quick question: could you please go do your moral crusade about 50 Shades of Grey or some other piece of work so I don't have to see it? You help no one with this hyperbolic bullshit. The only thing you're doing is handing the worst people in this world further unsubstantiated ammo for casting genderqueer people as inherently sexually abusive. Think for a second about who and what you sound like for the love of God. Taash and Harding are both into what happens on screen, your weird moral panic is your own problem. Once again, you don't have to like it, but please do not try to frame something as ontologically evil and harmful to the community because it doesn't suit your tastes.

Taash is fine nonbinary rep. As a nonbinary person, especially one who is afab and spent most of my life feeling a bit out of place and uncomfortable with what the world expected of me, I think it's just right. They managed to represent me. Sorry that it didn't get to be your experience that got put in the game, but it's impossible to tell every single queer story at once. If you really give a shit about the community, celebrate the wins of your fellows, not just your own.

And the sad thing is, I see two big 'critiques' about Taash's questline - either that it's all about their gender identity, or that it doesn't explore their gender identity enough. Sometimes I see these takes in the same post and I can only imagine what sort of doublethink Koolaid the culture war nonsense has gotten you to drink. Taash's gender is front and center, and that's great! But it's a part of a larger story - a story about a difficult family relationship. Taash's story is about the ebb and flow of their relationship with their mother more than anything else, and to be honest? It's one of the best in the series.

Family drama has been a mainstay of Dragon Age - you have Hawke's personal tragedy in DA2, Dorian's alienation over his identity and beliefs in Inquisition, and hell, Morrigan throughout the series tends to be more tied up with family dynamics than anything else. Taash is the continuation of that tradition, and I love what they have. The binary choice at the end is pretty weak and downright misunderstands the experience of being mixed race, but the dynamic between Taash and Shathann is fantastic. It's pained and restrained in such a realistic way, two people struggling with the old and new who dearly care about each other but can never seem to see eye to eye, and end up falling back on their worst vices - anger for Taash, and discipline for Shathann.

Veilguard has a tendency to pull its punches and make everyone a bit too chipper and chill, that's a legitimate criticism given the series' history, but I was deeply struck by how unforgiving Shathann's death was. It was really, unrelentingly realistic - life happened, and Taash never got the chance to sort out their relationship with her. They didn't get to reconcile or ever see eye to eye. Despite spending most of their screen time together bitter and simmering, Taash is so devastated by their mother's death that you have to pull them out of certain death. It was cathartic and brutal for me, a nb person who has had a really really poor relationship with my mother in the past, it made me go plan a lunch with her because I was so grateful that things didn't end like that for us, that I did get the time to work through it.

And sure, you can accuse me of going easy on Taash because their story resonated with me - but isn't that what a story is supposed to do? Reflect the real and sincere, evoke emotion in the audience and crystalize experience and feeling on the stage? Isn't that proof of its value?

At the end of the day, representation has no single golden standard. The only real end goal is to be represented at all - not only by shining heroes and perfectly squeaky clean moralists, but also by characters who are just as human and fallible as the real life people they draw from. Taash succeeds there, and I think they deserve a lot more love and grace than many in the fandom want to show them. If you still want to slander Taash as harmful or bad, why don't you call me that too? Why not call every non binary person who fails to meet your rigid standards evil and degenerate while you're at it? See how much of a community you're left with, and who the ghouls cheering for you actually are.

[hotchsprncess]

the road to recovery ⊹ spencer reid

.ᐟ MDNI .ᐟ

ᝰ summary : since getting shot on the job 2 weeks ago, anything physical was difficult for spencer and was strongly discouraged by his doctor. you were tending to his every need like the wonderful girlfriend you are, but there were some new things he needed now that he was recovering.

ᝰ warnings : mentions of injuries, domestic vibes, l-bombs, fem reader, sorta sub!spencer (he's just needy af), softdom!reader, oral f receiving, handjob, munch!spencer (nobody can tell me he doesn't wanna be suffocated by thighs okay), dirty talk, praise, multiple orgasms

munch!spencer is a necessity and i will never shut up about it. i didn't have a specific season reid in mind for this (though i did take inspiration from him getting shot in s5 & s9). maybe pre-prison reid though? i feel like he'd become less subby post-prison arc BUT imagine whatever season reid your heart desires! hope you all enjoy my first reid fic & feel free to send me any requests ⋆.˚

it was hard watching your boyfriend struggle and be basically bed/couch ridden since he was shot on a case a couple weeks ago. spencer was shot in the leg, a bullet grazed his neck, and a couple rounds got stopped by his vest which left his torso severely bruised. to say you were panicked when you first got the news was an understatement, but luckily spencer was okay and just had to take it easy at home during his recovery. you took this time off work to stay by his side and get him whatever he needed since his doctor strongly discouraged him from doing any strenuous movement, or moving too much at all for that matter. now that it had been a couple weeks, spencer was starting to feel better and he was recovering well, his torso slowly becoming less sore and the stiffness of his neck subsiding.

you press a kiss to spencer's forehead as you grab the empty coffee mug from the nightstand, him reading a book on quantum physics at lightning speed as he sat upright in bed. "oh- thanks honey, i could've brought that back to the kitchen you know?" he pulls his gaze away from the text on the page, locking eyes with you and getting lost in them. "oh stop, just because you have crutches and the doctor said you could move around a bit more doesn't mean you have to do all the little things" you smile softly at him, watching as he licks his lips gently. "what's on that genius mind of yours?" you ask, reading into him from the distracted look in his eyes. he may be the profiler but spencer was a very easy person to read, and the saying 'eyes are the window to the soul' was basically written about him. he reaches out for you, grabbing your smaller hands in his large ones as he sighs, "there's something else i need, if you don't mind" his hands squeezing yours.

"anything, what is it?" you watch as he shifts a little, now noticing the slight bulge in his sweatpants. now you get it. "i haven't tasted you in so long and now that i'm doing better i can hardly cope, i need- please just sit on my face" he practically begs, a smirk creeping onto your face. "fuck spence, who am i to deny that?" you whisper and press your lips to his, feeling the desperation in his kiss. his hands have moved and are basically pulling you onto the bed by your waist, hardly being able to wait now that you've agreed to satiate his needs. you break the kiss, giggling softly as you start to remove your leggings and thong that lies beneath it. "fuck..." he breathes out, shifting to lie flat on the bed. "come here, please baby" he begs as he feels your weight on the mattress, making your way towards his head. you straddle his head, pussy hovering over his mouth and nearly making him drool. "you'll tell me if you start to feel pain, right? the last thing i wanna do is hurt you- oh!" your sentence turns into a gasp as spencer tugs you down, his tongue coming in contact with your slit, collecting your juices on his tongue.

"f-fuck" you gasp again, his tongue devouring you as though you were his last meal. his mouth finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth and causing your hips to buck. your hands grip the headboard as he indulges, stabilizing you on his face. "spence, spence.. so fucking good, jesus-" you whine as he moans into your pussy, ministrations never faltering. as much as he was desperate, you were in the same boat, not having had sexual contact with your boyfriend in weeks. his hands have a vice grip on your waist as he releases your clit, taking a second to speak "grind on my tongue, please" he sticks his tongue out, pulling you back down. you moan at the contact, your hips rolling and grinding your pussy on his tongue. "you're so good, so good at this, i- i'm close" this omission makes spencer start to flick his tongue across your clit frantically, bringing you to the edge. "shit, shit- spencer, i'm cumming" you moan, legs shaking around his head as your orgasms crashes down, his tongue collecting everything it can. your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, yet his tongue continues to work at your hole. "baby-"

"more, give me one more, please" he whines, muffled slightly by his face being buried in your pussy. "god yes" you moan, throwing your head back at the blissful overstimulation you were feeling. "you taste perfect" he groans against you, lapping at your clit again and rapidly bringing you to the edge again. "don't stop, don't stop-" you gasp loudly, second orgasm making it's way out of you. "yes! yes!" you squeal, thighs squeezing his head as you cum again, his tongue hectically collecting it all once more. you take a moment to regulate your breath, lifting off of his mouth and lying beside him on the bed. a smile is plastered across his face, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "thank you, needed that so bad" he breathes, wiping his chin with his hand. "thank you, baby" you smile as your hand lingers on his waistband, his bulge now a full erection. "it's time for me to repay you" you whisper in his ear as you push down his sweatpants and boxers just enough to release his cock, the precum actively leaking down his shaft.

"o-oh god" his words are shaky as your hand wraps around him, the sensation overwhelming after weeks of no contact. "just enjoy it, baby... you've waited so patiently" you whisper, starting to stroke him, his precum being the perfect lube. "yeah, yeah, mhmmm" he whines loudly, your pace gradually picking up. "feels good?" you ask, his hips thrusting up into your grasp. "so good, so good i- i can't-" his breath is rapid as you jerk him off, moans constantly leaving his mouth. "that's it, you're doing so good, just enjoy it, don't think about anything else.." you press a kiss to his cheek as he grips the sheets, his orgasm building up. "gonna- gonna cum- can't hold it" he moans loudly as his cum starts to shoot out, landing on his stomach. your hand slows as he comes down, his breath coming back to it's normal pace.

"you okay, love?" you run a hand through his hair as he chuckles. "more than okay, you're unreal" he cups your cheek and runs his thumb across it gently. "should get you cleaned up, one sec" you slip off the bed, heading to the bathroom and dampening a washcloth. when you reach the bed once again, you wince as you see the purple that litters his torso, "tell me if i start to hurt you, okay? just wanna clean you up" you gently wipe up everything, careful to be as gentle as possible. "you're amazing, thank you" he smiles lovingly at you, grabbing your hand. you smile back, "of course. i love you, doctor reid",

"i love you too, sweetheart"

[lysaisland]

can we bridge the gap between feeling and fact?

He prided himself in being a great detective but, even then, he was still confused. No matter what train of thought he took, all lines led back to you. He was never any good at directions, but this was unbelievable.

Ranpo longed to unravel your entire being, thread by thread, knot after knot. He wanted to know how you ticked, to read you as easily as he would a case.

Surely he could conjure a better plan for his dilemma, instead of staring at the back of your head, the sides of your face, and whatever else his avid eyes could reel in.

The open window allowed the sunlight to stream in, catching your frowning eyes every so often. You were to the right of him, hunched slightly over your desk.

Despite your steady focus on work of all things, Ranpo thought that you had a sort of glow around you. He didn’t know any better way to describe it. It wasn’t all encompassing, or flashy, and it might even have just been the light, but something was utterly magnetising about you. It was subtle, and constant, as natural as breathing. He just needed to figure out exactly what it was.

Mmh, maybe he should go and close the blinds. You would like that, surely. The sun was at its brightest after all, noon, almost lunch, the best time of the day.

He wasn’t used to this. He was being a coward — a disgustingly passive one at that. Everytime his brilliant mind landed on the possible idea of getting up from his desk of doodled paperwork to do something, his, again, brilliant mind shut that idea down faster than he could properly process it. He couldn’t help it.

A small sigh, barely audible, slipped from his lips. If he couldn’t think straight, then it was only logical for him to take a step back and reevaluate his situation.

Ranpo pressed another piece of candy to his mouth, the sweet catching on his teeth. They were not as sickly as he thought they would be, but Ranpo was satisfied with the flavour.

He wondered if he should share them with you. It would be easy, just a call of your name and a small wave, candy in hand. You would come with a comfortable smile on your face if he beckoned.

There were more than enough left in the packet. As well as this, he had noticed that you were partial to this specific brand. Though, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to notice your clear preference for these sweets, especially when the same wrappers practically lived at your desk.

More than once, he had caught you absent-mindedly slipping the candy into your mouth, two at a time, whenever there was a big case that needed to be written up. He supposed that they were a kind of soother, an anchor, for you would always linger around the confectionery aisle, and reach for yet another packet with a soft look on your face. A look of nostalgia, brimming with subtle longing.

What if you looked at him like that?

He froze for a fraction of a second.

You, again. This again. It was simply maddening. Ranpo was accustomed to the gears in his head permanently turning, fine-tuning every minute, conceivable detail, because after all, he was​ The World's Greatest Detective. Hypotheticals were important for scheming, and speculation, for ordinary people. But, it had no real substance. Deductions were far studier.

However, despite this, Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to consider questions like those distractions. He liked to think about you; it was fun.

He was reminded of the time the two of you went to the near-by bakery. It had opened a few weeks ago, and you had asked him if he was interested in trying it out.

You didn’t ask Kyoka or Atsushi, who both had strong preferences for desserts. (Kyoka had to be restricted to one crêpe a week, rather than one per day.)

You didn’t even ask Yosano who was one of your closest confidants, and never passed up the opportunity to eat like a queen. (In fact, she was the one treating Kyoka to strawberry crêpes, everytime the food cart came near.)

The feeling of smug pride that grew in his chest was astonishing. You had asked him!

Suddenly, your voice ran out. Ranpo almost tumbled from his already precarious spot on his chair. He turned and looked up to see you standing over his desk. His name oozed out of your mouth again like warm honey.

Not a figment of his imagination. Very real. His mind slowed, no, halted in its tracks. You were so beautiful, the curve of your cheek looked so soft. The glow he was so focused on before seemed to intensify around your clear eyes. All he could muster up in that moment was how much he wanted to be closer to you.

What if he just slung his arms around you, losing himself in the smell of fresh cotton? Would you hug him back, what if you kissed him?

Ranpo forgot you also had this effect on him. Along with frequenting his mind so often that it could be deemed as a cause of concern, you had the uncanny ability to freeze him in his tracks. It became all too clear that this was not regular co-worker behaviour. It was obvious in more ways than one.

He liked you — a lot so it seemed.

“Would you like to go out with me again? The bakery is having a two for one deal.” Though the question was casual, your voice remarkably steady, Ranpo could see that you were nervous, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

The phrasing was almost exactly the same as the last time you invited him out. Why he found that adorable, he'll never know. Maybe you liked him too, as undoubtedly as he did? His face twisted into a small smile at the thought. Why else would you be nervous?

The agency was freakishly silent, void of everyone, but the two of you. They must have headed out for lunch break a tad early.

Ranpo didn’t trust his voice to not crack — throat a little too dry after eating candy, and a little sticky. He decided to nod enthusiastically before you realised he was taking too long to answer your invite. He got up from the place, where he did absolutely nothing but daydream, and followed you faithfully out the door.

The two of you began to talk. Every word that fell from your lips endeared him, and he couldn’t help but indulge himself. Ranpo hoped that maybe his terrible directional skills would rub off on you. Maybe that way he would be able to stay this way with you for longer. Sometimes, he didn’t know why what he said was so funny, even so, he found himself honestly laughing along to your own giggles.

He could figure you out another time, for now, he would settle for the comfortable peace you gave him.

[callalillywrites]

Happy Birthday, Bucky

It took a bit to get through my writer's block, but here's the next square I promised for Bucky's Birthday Bingo (hosted by @avengers-assemble-bingo). We're finally getting Childhood Best Friends to Lovers with a side of Firefighter!Bucky Barnes from my Station #107 AU.

A little over a week late for Bucky's actual birthday, but better late than never, right?

Pairing: Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

Other characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Tony Stark

Summary: Only one person seems to have remembered it's Bucky's birthday, and that's you. Bucky would give anything to have you there with him. Lucky for him, his wish might just come true in more ways than one.

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: some slight brooding on Bucky's part; lots of pining (Bucky); some thoughts of birthday being forgotten; Bucky POV; some teasing; lots of fluff

A/N: Well, here's the debut for Firefighter!Bucky within my Station #107 AU. While I wrote this in Bucky's POV, I'd love to revisit this one day and give us a glimpse of Reader's POV. If there's enough interest, that is.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist / Main Masterlist

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

The tiny smile refused to leave Bucky's face as he read your message again.

It might've been a simple wish for him to have a happy birthday, but he couldn't help how his heart raced at the fact you remembered. Not that he was truly surprised you did remember. You've never forgotten in all the years you'd known each other, but this year, it seemed like everyone else had forgotten.

Even Steve.

To be fair, Steve had run off earlier that morning to take care of some unexpected errands, already planning to make up his hours with the other shift.

But still, his best friend (well, other best friend because he had you, too) could've said something before he'd left.

Maybe that's the reason why your message meant so much to him.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why all his friends and co-workers seemed hell-bent on not remembering. Sure, it was just another day on the job, but that didn't mean he didn't want to be remembered in some way. Hell, they even had a calendar with everyone's birthdays written on it.

Though, he had to admit he couldn't explain why his name had been erased from the day. He could've sworn he'd written it down. And in ink, to boot. Yet, here he was without anyone acknowledging the day, and their shift would be ending soon.

Before he could stop himself, he typed, When are we seeing you again? Miss ya.

Soon, you typed back almost immediately.

Not exactly satisfied with your answer, Bucky also recognized you had a busy schedule. Not only were you working towards your master's in actuarial science, but you also had a full-time job. This didn't include your other friends and whatever social life you managed to find in the spare minutes of your day. For reasons he refused to analyze, he shut that train of thought down immediately. It wasn't his business if you dated others though his heart had other ideas on that matter.

"Hey, Buck, we gotta go. Another call to the Tower," Nat called out, her steps rushing towards their gear station. "Supposed to be a big one this time."

"Not again," he mumbled under his breath.

The calls to Stark Tower weren't uncommon for their station. In fact, it's one of the reasons why a lot of the firefighters who worked at Station #107 lived in Stark Tower at a steep discount. It's the only way they could guarantee fast arrival to handle any of the many disasters that one billionaire genius could possibly pull off.

Thankfully, these routine calls to the Tower had become so ingrained. It didn't take them no time at all to get everyone geared and onboard their truck.

"Steve's meeting us there," Nat said, taking the seat next to Bucky. Clint had already claimed shotgun that morning after Steve ducked out, daring anyone to try and take it from him.

Sam grinned from behind the wheel. "Can't wait to see what that man has done this time."

"Only you would be excited about that, Samuel," Nat shot back before sending Bucky a wink. Her typical smirk disappeared after a moment as she leaned in with a slight frown on her features. "You okay? You're not your typical cheerful self."

His tongue burned with the desire to unleash his disappointment, but he bit it back in the end. Instead, he settled for a small shake of his head. "Just tired, I guess. Hard to sleep with these loud mouth-breathers at night."

"Excuse you," both Sam and Clint exclaimed together though Clint added, "I'm a delight to sleep with. Just ask my wife."

"Ah yes, her ear plugs really help keep that love alive," Nat said which earned her another glare for her efforts.

Their playful banter continued, but Bucky had since tuned it out. His gaze settled on the passing storefronts along the few blocks they had to travel to reach the Tower. It never failed to soothe him as they traversed the same streets he grew up playing on, even if he did spend most of his time in Brooklyn in his younger years.

Him, Steve, and you.

The hours you three would spend getting into and out of trouble. Those were probably some of the best times of his life, and he wished the three of you could go back to those days. Before university. Before the Army. Before life had gotten a bit more complicated. Before birthdays became another ordinary day.

"Hey, Buckaroo, you good?" Sam nudged Bucky's arm, nodding toward the building beside them. "You really zoned out there."

Bucky nodded. "Let's get this over with."

Taking his cue, the others fell in line around him as they made their way inside.

The receptionist smiled warmly, spying them. Her hand waved almost frantically despite her professionalism. "We're so glad you're here. The incident happened in his personal suite this time. He refuses to tell us how bad it is, but Ms. Potts isn't happy. She hasn't stopped calling to check on your progress. Security's already cleared the elevators, so you can go right up."

They thanked her and headed toward the bank of elevators near the back of the lobby.

"Why would they clear the elevators without us okaying that?" Bucky asked, the thought suddenly occurring.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares? At least we're not climbing hundreds of flights of stairs."

Not one to argue with that, Bucky didn't bother to say anything, opting to step into the first elevator to arrive. If he pressed the button to the penthouse a little harder than necessary, no one bothered to mention it.

The ride up to the penthouse for once was relatively quiet. No one bothered to take bets on what Tony Stark could've possibly done this time compared to last. No discussion on what they could be facing or what they'd need to handle this latest situation.

In hind sight, Bucky should've known something was up, but his mind continued to brood. A stray thought kept coming up about possibly calling you later. If anything could lift his mood, an hour talking to you would do it. He'd settle for a couple minutes if you were too busy. He really hoped you wouldn't be.

The elevator dinged, then swished open to a loud chorus of "Surprise".

Streamers and confetti shot towards them.

Steve stood next to Tony, beaming. "Happy birthday, Buck."

"Oh, man, look at his face," Sam crowed as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder, moving past him into the penthouse towards the large buffet table resided. "Dude's been moping all day, thinking we forgot all about him."

That pulled a frown across Steve's features. "Clint, didn't you get my text?"

"No," Clint pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. After a moment, a sheepish expression washed over his features. His gaze met Steve's, then Bucky's. "That's totally my fault."

Nothing Clint said made any sense, so Bucky turned toward Steve who didn't disappoint as he offered, "We all signed a card that you were supposed to get this morning. I, uh, had a last-minute thing come up, which is why I texted Clint to be sure he got it from my desk. That's on me for not following up. I guess I got a little preoccupied. I'm sorry, Buck."

"It's fine," came his automatic reply.

"Now, now, even I know that's a lie," you said from behind him, "What happened? You used to lie so well. How else did we get ourselves out of trouble so often?"

Bucky spun around and pulled you into a tight enough embrace. He didn't think he'd ever get over how well you fit within the expanse of his arms or the sweet scent you favored. While he remained mindful of the scruff lining his face, he couldn't exactly help but nuzzle against the sensitive spot just below your jaw, only pulling back when you squirmed against him.

By then, you were tapping him to let you out, but that didn't stop him from holding on another full second or two. If he could have his way, he'd never let you go again. Instead, he settled for whispering, "Really missed ya, Sugar."

"I never would've guessed," you said so cheekily that his smile spread easily across his lips. After a moment, you softened. "I missed you, too. Happy birthday, Bucky."

If you were surprised he kept you at his side throughout his party, you never said anything about it. No, you rolled with it like you'd always done with him and Steve in your younger years. Already familiar with most of his co-workers, you quickly fell into your natural teasing personality with most of them, giving Sam and even Clint a run for their money.

It was only when you two moved toward the main host of Bucky's birthday bash that you surprised him.

"So, you're the one I'm supposed to keep my eye on with my new role," you said as you eyed Tony with a skeptical analysis that had the genius billionaire speechless for once. "Pepper warned me about you, and I've seen the montage your A.I. created for me of all your mishaps. Gonna make me earn my nice, fat paycheck, aren't you?"

Bucky spun you until you faced him, not Tony. He knew his face had to be comical, but he didn't care as he asked, "You're moving back here, Sugar?"

Your smile widened while you nodded.

"I thought you liked living in Boston. It was your dream to work there."

"Boston's nice," you shrugged, "but it doesn't hold a candle to our city. I got my fancy master's degree from my ridiculously fancy school. Decided to come back here and work. Plus, I had a little birdie who kept talking me up to Pepper about how I'd be a good fit at Stark Industries."

You nodded over his shoulder which Bucky obliged, only to find Steve raising his glass with a smirk that belied just how proud he was of himself. The punk.

It took Bucky a moment to come back to the conversation, hearing you say, "You're looking at Stark Industries' new Chief Risk Officer with the specialized priority of keeping Tony from upsetting their insurance companies more than he already has. I've already started work on some new protocols within J.A.R.V.I.S's programming to help override some of Tony's dumber decisions."

"Excuse you," Tony hollered.

Most of Bucky's fellow firefighters lounging close by overheard what you said and burst out laughing. Not one of them hadn't been grousing at one point or another when it came to the rather unique calls they'd answered because of Tony and his 'innovations' that initially went terribly wrong.

Neither Bucky nor you acknowledged Tony, who'd finally come out of his speechless state. While both of you were certain he had plenty to say, neither of you cared in that moment as you finally asked, "You're fine with me coming back, aren't you? I'm staying with Steve tonight in his quarters while Pepper finishes fixing mine up. So, I won't be in your way should you find some lucky lady to finish your birthday with."

"Oh, Sugar, you're the only lady I want to spend my birthday with." He pulled you into another tight embrace, still unsure if you're really a dream or not. If you were, he never wanted to wake up. As it stood, he couldn't wait to prove you were the only lady he wanted in his life permanently. As long as you wanted to be anyway.

That could wait another day though.

Right then, he had something worth celebrating that birthday, and he planned to embrace it all.

After all, he had what he wanted most standing in that room and at his side.

[takumiraine]

Once Upon a Time chapter 13

I attempted to move towards fluff and humor in this chapter and the next one. Also half of this chapter was written on actual paper. Gasp.

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny liked Jason’s apartment. It was cozy in a way his wasn’t. Even though there wasn’t much furniture, the couch, a small coffee table, the arm chair, and a little dining table with wooden chairs near the kitchen summing up everything Danny could see, it felt warmer than his own. There were signs of life in the dishes on the counter, the sweatshirt hung over the back of a wooden chair, the weights on the floor. Even the stuff that was put away, oozed life.

Danny looked over at the couch where Jason had his book and froze. Jason was watching him scope out his apartment. Shit. Fuck. What…. What was he going to do or say? He looked like he’s planning on robbing him. Which wasn’t true! “You…. Uh…. Have a nice place.” Danny said, swallowing nervously. “Warm. Homey.” Stop talking Danny. “Nothing actively trying to kill you.” Ancients fucking damn it.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Thanks….?”

Danny tried to go back to reading but he felt Jason staring at him yet. Which made sense. He tried to read the first sentence on the page. Failed. Tried again. Failed again. Closed his eyes. Opened them again. Then slowly tore a piece off of the current page of his notebook and stuck it in as a makeshift bookmark, closing the book.

“Ask.” Danny turned to look at Jason, who was doing a very good job of pretending he hadn’t been staring.

“Ask what?” Jason asked, instead of one of the millions of questions Danny could tell were swirling in his head like stars in the galaxy.

“Your questions. You’ve been…. Unreasonably patient.” Danny was used to prying, both intentional and unintentional, invasive and subtle.

“Well. You aren’t a threat.”

Danny snorted. “To you maybe not. But if you saw video you know what I can do. That’s not even all of it.”

“I said what I said.” Danny frowned at how offhand Jason sounded.

“How can you be a protector of Gotham and not take me seriously as a potential threat?”

“Do you want to know what I saw during our dive into your history? I saw a scared kid who didn’t want to hurt anyone. I saw someone who when having people better armed and going for lethal damage attacking them and the people they cared about using only enough force to escape. Not sinking to their level. Protecting others even at a cost to themselves. You are not a threat to anyone who doesn’t attack you first.” Jason’s voice was calm and steady, low in a way that was unique to Red Hood.

Danny stared. Jason knew so much about him already. Had so many insights. Just from the GIW footage! Danny has never felt or been so seen so quickly.

He hated it.

Having spent most of his life a ghost, pun intended, in the lives of his loved ones, he didn’t like a relative stranger seeing things his parents and teachers hadn’t seen. His classmates had even struggled to understand Phantom even as he was actively saving their asses.

Danny scrunched back in the chair. His face pinched up and his eyebrows furrowed. He resisted the urge to cross his arms. “Gotham has attacked first.” He pointed out instead.

Jason laughed. Danny’s eyebrows furrowed more. Infuriatingly hot bastard.

Wait. Nope. No time for that right now.

“Yeah, but not in any way that mattered. If they did, you would have fought back,” Jason countered. He was still so casual about it. Danny still hated it.

What was worse was that he was right. Danny hadn’t been attacked meaningfully. Not until Batman demanded answers.

Even then, he had almost run.

“Fine,” Danny conceded, definitely not pouting or sulking. “So I’m not a threat without reason. What now?”

Jason leaned back, smirking a bit, “now we thank whatever gods exist that you’re an actual adult because you’re adoption bait. Besides.” Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, dangerous, “the title of ‘half dead kid’ is already taken. By me.” His words were a weird mix of humor and deadly serious. The smirk gave way to teeth. Not unlike how Danny would sometimes let his smile go too wide or show more teeth than normal.

It did, admittedly, throw Danny a little. He just nodded. “Okay then.” He didn’t want to be adopted anyways. “I’m good with being essentially parentless. Between my actual parents and Vlad…” Danny couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Pass.”

Jason grabbed his book again, letting Danny lapse into silence. Probably to give him a moment or two to recover. To unclench. Danny took one slow breath, then another. Even though he didn’t need to breathe it helped him remember that he wasn’t in any obviously immediate danger.

Only once Danny was settled again did Jason close his book. “How did you settle the pit?”

It took Danny a moment to realize that Jason was referring to the previous offer to answer questions. Still. This wasn’t one he knew of. “The pit?” Danny returned, head tilting to the side.

Jason’s expression went from curious to confused as well. “The pit rage?” He began, then paused. “Makes you angry all the time?” He paused again. “Turns your eyes green?” That is what sparked recognition in Danny. Finally.

“Oh. That. Well. It’s a bit complicated. So….” Danny took a breath. He hated giving this speech. He really needed to make a ‘So you recently died but not really’ pamphlet.

Danny bit his lip, trying to figure out where to begin. “So I’m not going to ask how you died. That’s kind of a rude question with ghosts and ghost adjacent people. But how you die has an effect on your core. It influences your obsession and your domains. It also determines whether you’re a half ghost or a revenant, or something else entirely. Being a halfa, or half ghost, means you’re a bit more malleable at first. Revenants are less easy to control as they’re vengeance focused and unless that is satisfied they tend to go nuts. You seem to be a weird cross between the two. But your domain or obsession might just be vengeance so…. It’s hard to tell. I’ve been a ghost…. A while. and I’m considered a pretty powerful one unfortunately. So my ecto is probably smoothing your core out. It was a bit…. Rough.” And the award goes to Danny for ‘understatement of the millennia’. “Especially since the ambient ecto around here is…. Honestly disgusting.”

Danny knew he had just dropped a whole lot of information on Jason. Potentially unsettling information. Very quickly. As a result, he expected a sort of…glazed look on the other man’s face. Instead when he looked up again, Jason’s gaze was laser focused on him.

Danny resisted the urge to fidget.

“Can I see my core?”

Again, Jason was asking questions Danny hadn’t really expected. “I…. Can try?” Danny hadn’t had anyone want that before. Cores were intensely personal. Usually heavily guarded by the owner. “It might…. Well probably will…. Feel really weird. And I’m gonna have to get close.”

Jason nodded then made room for him on the couch, gesturing at the empty space. He set down his book properly and watched Danny as if he didn’t want to miss a single detail. As if it was important.

Slowly, Danny unwound himself and stretched. He definitely was not hesitating. Not at all as he hoped he could do what was asked. He’d only seen his own core once, when he was first formed. Even then it was only a flash of something blue that his chest formed around.

He… hadn’t really given a lot of thought on how he had seen that.

Danny went and sat next to Jason, suddenly fully aware that even though Jason couldn’t kill him again, he could certainly get close enough to doing so just with his hands if he wanted. Danny didn’t have any indication that he should worry about that, but he had seen people go a bit…. Haywire under any kind of supernatural influence before.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, looking for confirmation one last time.

“Never been more sure.” Jason nodded. Danny took a deep breath, eyes changing from blue to green in a blink. Then he plunged his hands into Jason’s chest.

[justageekk]

Hi, could you write a Bellingham x femreader oneshot or headcanon (whatever its better for u) about when he cames back from a trip or maybe about how they met? Please

❛❛ BACK HOME ❜❜

ft. jude bellingham x fem!reader

summary: Jude returns home after being on a long trip with his club

warnings: none!

word count: 501

a/n: I don't speak English, any error is in the translation.

(And thank you for the request 💙)

The sound of keys turning in the lock was the first thing you heard when the clock struck 9 PM.

You were on the couch, the television on just as background noise, wrapped in a blanket while scrolling through your phone. Your gaze shifted toward the door at the exact moment it opened, and there he was.

Jude.

You had been waiting for this moment for weeks. It had been a long trip, too long, full of matches in different cities, interviews, training sessions. Late-night messages, stolen video calls between packed schedules… but none of that could compare to having him right in front of you.

“Hey, love”, he said in a low voice.

Seeing him standing there left you stunned, as if your mind refused to process what your eyes were seeing. You were sure he wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow morning, that you still had a few more hours of waiting, of missing him, of anxiously counting the minutes until his return. But there he was, his suitcase still in hand, exhaustion written all over his face.

You got up from the couch without a second thought and ran toward him.

Jude barely had time to drop his suitcase before you threw yourself into his arms. His low chuckle, a mix of surprise and relief, was muffled as he buried his chin into your hair when you hugged him with all the strength you had. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you even tighter.

“I missed you”, he murmured against your skin, his voice sounding even more tired than you had expected.

“I missed you more”, you whispered, clutching onto his sweatshirt with no intention of letting go.

His hands slowly ran down your back, searching for the familiar warmth he always found in you.

“Don’t leave for that long again”, you mumbled against his chest, feeling his quiet laugh vibrate against your cheek.

“Believe me, I don’t want to”, he replied, his voice low and right against your ear.

His hands, warm and strong, moved slowly over your body, as if trying to memorize every curve, every inch of skin.

He leaned in slightly, his lips grazing yours with gentle hesitation. It was a slow kiss, unhurried, as if he truly had all the time in the world to make up for the lost days, to compensate for every second he had spent away from you.

At first, it was just a soft brush, but then his lips pressed more firmly against yours, with that perfect mix of restrained need and pure affection. His hand traveled up to your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, delicate circles over your skin as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a patience that contrasted with the urgency in the way he held you.

When he finally pulled back just a little, his forehead rested against yours, his uneven breath brushing against your still-parted lips.

“I never get used to being without you”, he murmured, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

[cyren-myadd]

Hey this is a what if question for Prisoner of War that’s been on my mind since the last chapter and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. What if Spider’s secret was found out by the higher ups of the R.D.A but instead of sending him back they make him their poster boy. Because it really would be a huge p.r win for them. The son of Miles Quaritch, who’s not even legally old enough to fight, sneaking his way into their army to avenge his parents and finish what his father started. The R.D.A could make a deal with Spider where they let him stay on Pandora long term, he gets an apartment to himself, a top notch education, and military training. In return Spider gives them promo material. I imagine it like that montage in Captain America: First Avenger. They’re putting Spider on posters alongside his father, filming him against a green screen, even staging scenes like taking Spider back to Quaritch’s body so they can recreate the moment Spider found his dad’s dog tags. 

I imagine Spider would hate it. I can imagine him either running away and then getting to discover Pandora on his own terms or sticking it out, biding his time until he turns 18 and can properly enlist. But then recom Quaritch enters the chat. Their handlers don’t tell either of them about the other's existence so they can ambush them with a “happy family reunion.” The cameras are rolling when Spider and Quaritch enter the room from opposite sides. They’re both stunned to say the least. I could go on but I want to hear your thoughts. Take your time though. I know you're working hard on Prisoner of War and don’t want to take you away from that. 💙

omg I love this idea so much! I can totally picture the RDA higher-ups looking at this tall, blond, good-looking teenage boy with a sad backstory and seeing nothing but dollar signs 💲💲💲

Like, maybe in this au of my au, Maverick ended up spilling the beans and Spider gets called to the higher ups office and he's completely panicking, desperately trying to come up with what he could say to avoid getting sent back to earth, but to his surprise, the higher ups are all excited to meet him and they tell him the deal: be their poster boy and he gets to stay. Spider hates the idea, but he doesn't have much choice so he agrees.

You brought up Captain America, but this also makes me think of Katniss in the Mockingjay, where they're trying to push her to be this figurehead but it always falls flat because traumatized teenagers aren't great actors. They have him film scenes where he pretends to fight na'vi while yelling about fighting for humanity or whatever, but they're not very convincing. The film crew tries a bunch of different things with him, and eventually they figure out that Spider's propaganda is most authentic and believable when Spider is actually feeling it himself. They have a sit down interview where they just ask Spider to describe how he enlisted in the RDA and wants to make his dad proud, and the raw emotion on his face as he talks is a million times better than any staged scene of him fighting a fake na'vi. They circulate the video around the RDA and send it back to earth and it quickly becomes very popular.

Then they take it a step further and bring Spider back to the site where his dad's body lays and have Spider just speak his mind about how he wants to make sure his parents' sacrifice wasn't in vain. Spider is no shakespeare, but he's completely genuine with everything he says, and that makes a greater impact on audiences than the best-written script ever could. This video gets even more popular than the first, and RDA enlistment rates even increase by a few percents. Spider hates having his personal feelings broadcast to the world like that, but Maverick tells him to suck it up because he's getting paid so well and gets to stay in Bridgehead with a nice apartment.

The RDA higher ups get very excited when they notice Spider's candid video with his dad's body seemingly inspires more people to enlist, and that's when they cook up the idea for an even better candid video: Spider reuniting with his dad in the flesh. They wait for Quaritch to decant and reorient himself, and then they bring Quaritch to the room where they do the interviews and tell him he's about to make an enlistment video. Quaritch thinks making videos is a waste of time when Sully is still out there, but he reluctantly goes along with it. Same thing with Spider, his film crew fetches him and tells him they have a new video planned, and they just have him walk into the room where Quaritch is sitting and start rolling the cameras.

Quaritch sees the cameras start rolling when this blond teen walks in and he immediately knows something is wrong, but Spider doesn't pick up on anything. He's used to ignoring the cameras, and he doesn't recognize Quaritch, he thinks he's an avatar so he starts talking to him like "oh, hey, man, are you gonna film the new video with me? It's nice to meet you, I'm Miles. Miles Socorro."

Quaritch had his suspicions, but when Spider introduces himself as Miles, it still comes as a shock. His jaw just drops and Spider tries to act polite but he's really weirded out by this random avatar staring at him like that. Quaritch looks at Spider, looks at the camera, then looks back at the admin guy who brought him here who's already got a box of tissues ready and he figures out this is some kind of weird stunt. The realization does not make him happy.

He immediately starts hollering at the film crew to shut off the cameras and get out. Quaritch was scary enough as a human, but now as a recom he's twice as terrifying, so the other humans scramble to get away from him. Spider is also freaked out, but Quaritch is too overwhelmed by the shock of meeting his son to realize he's scaring him. Quaritch gets down on his knees and grabs Spider by the shoulders to better look at him and yells, "boy, you better not be lying to me- is your name really Miles Socorro?"

"Yes! What the hell, get off me!" Spider yells and tries to squirm away, but Quaritch is too strong.

Quaritch does that thing parents do where their kids scare them and they don't want to show they're scared so they act angry instead. He grabs Spider even more tightly and yells, "what the hell are you doing here, boy? You're supposed to be back on earth! Safe!" (he doesn't know how bad earth got in the past several years) and then he turns and starts yelling at the film crew and admin guys who haven't made themselves scarce yet, "why is he here? Did you people bring him here?"

A couple of the guys start timidly trying to explain what happened, but Quaritch is too mad to really listen and he just starts chewing them out, not caring to hear that Spider came here of his own volition. The whole time he keeps one hand on Spider, like he's scared he'll disappear if he lets go, and Spider is progressively getting more and more scared of this unstable seeming avatar who just started yelling for no reason. In the back of his mind, Spider recognizes Quaritch's voice, but he's still too confused by everything to make the connection.

"Sir, you're scaring him!" Finally, one of the film crew gets through to Quaritch and he realizes he's holding onto Spider's arm really tightly and lets him go.

Spider backs away and rubs his sore arm, glaring the whole time. "What's wrong with you, are you crazy?"

Quaritch is just at a loss for words because he's still processing everything. One of the admins sees an opportunity to recover the situation and maybe get a heartfelt moment on camera so he discreetly gestures to the film crew to start filming again and steps between Quaritch and Spider.

"Miles," he says, grabbing Spider's hand and trying unsuccessfully to pull him closer to Quaritch, "this is your father, Miles Quaritch."

Spider just stares at Quaritch, studying him. Now that he's over the shock, he recognizes the voice and the face and the tattoos, but he can't reconcile the fantasy of his dead dad he's had in his head for all his life with this big angry freak standing in front of him.

The admin guy starts explaining project phoenix and keeps trying to pull Spider closer to Quaritch for the cameras, but Spider won't budge. He doesn't even hear what the guy is telling him, he can't do anything other than stare at the alien wearing his father's face. Quaritch has finally calmed down enough to think about someone other than himself and realizes this must be a huge shock for Spider as well. He squats back down to try and seem more approachable and reaches out a hand for Spider while the guy keeps talking, but that finally snaps Spider out of his surprise. Spider recoils from his hands.

"No," he shakes his head in disbelief. "No way, my dad's dead. You're not my dad."

Quaritch's ears flick downward and he pulls his hand back, but his face remains stoic.

"That's what I was trying to explain," the admin guy says, "project phoenix. Before he passed, your father uploaded his souldrive, which was implanted into this new body. His personality, memories, feelings, it's all right here. For all intents and purposes, this is your dad, Miles." The guy tries one more time to pull Spider towards Quaritch, but Spider is at the end of the rope.

He pushes the guy away and walks out of the room. "What? No way, no fucking way! That is so fucked! That is some-- some THING you cooked up in a lab, don't try to tell me it's my dad!"

Quaritch tries to call after him, "Miles-"

"Just stay the hell away from me!" Spider yells and he storms out of the room.

Everyone goes quiet after he leaves. Quaritch stays kneeling on the floor, a carefully blank look on his face.

"Maybe we should've talked to them before we introduced them to each other..." One of the film crew whispers. Quaritch's sharp ears hear it and he roars at them to get the hell out and they all run, leaving him alone. Later, the higher ups try to apologize to Quaritch for springing that on them without warning, but Q is having none of it. The higher ups walk out of there feeling grateful Q didn't throw any of them through a window.

Quaritch gives it a day before he tries to approach Spider. He goes back to the admin guys who started the whole fiasco and asks them where Spider is and they direct him to his apartment without a fight, eager to avoid getting chewed out again.

When Spider opens the door and sees Quaritch standing there he just closes it again before he can say anything. Quaritch's patience is wearing thin and he politely calls through the door that he knows Spider was startled yesterday but he would really like to talk to him. Nothing. He tries again, saying that Spider can't avoid him forever and they need to talk this out. Nothing again. His patience snaps and he starts yelling at Spider to open the damn door. Finally, he tells Spider he'll sit out there as long as he has to because Spider will have to come out for food at some point.

Spider must've heard him because soon Quaritch is interrupted by Maverick trying to bring Spider some food from the cafeteria. Maverick wondered why Spider asked him to bring food to his apartment, but once he sees Quaritch, he knows why. Quaritch sees Maverick and the food and realizes Spider is still trying to avoid him, and it just pisses him off even more. Maverick tries to awkwardly introduce himself, but Quaritch just snatches the food from his hand and pounds on Spider's door again and yells "dinner's here, boy, come 'n get it!"

"Fuck off!" Spider yells back.

Maverick just watches the whole display feeling really uncomfortable. His tablet gets a message and he looks at it.

"Was that Miles? What did he say?" Quaritch asks.

Maverick looks at the very rude message Spider typed about Quaritch and tries to be diplomatic. "He politely asked if you could leave and let him have his dinner."

Quaritch scoffs because he knows Maverick lied about the polite part. "Who are you anyway?"

Maverick introduces himself as Spider's friend and explains how he's the one who discovered Spider's identity and turned him in because Spider refused to stop going out into the field. Quaritch thanks Maverick for looking out for Spider and says he's a good guy.

"Listen, sir, do I have permission to speak honestly?" Maverick asks.

"Go ahead."

"I get you want to talk to Miles, seriously, I can't imagine having a kid and then missing the first fifteen years of his life-- but has it occurred to you that you might be, um, freaking him out with the way you're acting?"

Quaritch knows Maverick is right but he's too proud to admit it. "Miles has nothing to be scared of. He would know that if he would just open the damn door!" He adds raising his voice for Spider to hear.

"Yeah, but maybe he just needs a little time? Maybe let him approach you when he's ready? I mean, this is a big shock for him..."

"Oh, he's shocked? Try waking up blue!" Quaritch scoffs. then his expression darkens and his ears flatten back. He says in softer voice. "Look, Maverick, I'm trying not to make a scene here, but you didn't see the way the kid looked at me. He thinks I'm a monster. So I don't care if I have to sit out here all night, I need to have a proper conversation with him whether he's ready or not, so he'll see there's nothing wrong with me."

Maverick sits with his back to the wall next to Quaritch. "Miles doesn't think you're a monster."

"And how do you figure that?"

"'cause he told me. Last night, after that whole fiasco, he came and talked to me about it. I've never seen the kid so upset. He told me what he said to you, but he says he didn't really mean it-- honestly, I think he feels kinda bad about what he said."

"He doesn't think I'm a monster?" Quaritch's ears perk up in relief. "Then what's he hiding for?"

Maverick shrugs. "I asked him if he wanted to talk to you and he said no. I tried to get him to tell me why, but he wouldn't answer. To be honest, I don't think even he knows why he doesn't want to talk to you."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do then? I don't want to corner the kid, but he's not giving me much of a choice!" Quaritch throws his hands up in frustration. "I am me! I'm Miles Quaritch! How else am I supposed to prove that to him if he won't talk to me?"

"You know what... that might actually be the problem..."

"What?"

"That you're you- that you're Miles Quaritch."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Maverick hesitates. "God, I don't even know if I should be telling you this... but Spider's told me about his childhood and it was pretty rough, growing up as an orphan on Earth and all that. No one ever really stepped up to fill the hole you left in his life-- the role of a dad, you know?"

Quaritch shifts guiltily, but doesn't interrupt.

"And I think Spider grew up, seeing things on tv or seeing other kids with their dads, and he got this idea in his head about what a dad is like. He used to talk about you all the time, like all the things he would do with you if you were still around, and it always gave me the sense that he has this, um, sort of, idealized version of you in his head. Listen, sir, I don't know you personally, but what I did know about you didn't match up with the stuff Spider talked about. I never had the heart to correct him, 'cause I figured it wasn't doing any harm. I could be completely wrong here, but this is what I think happened: Spider's got this fantasy of you in his head where you're this perfect dad or whatever, and then you show up in person out of nowhere and you're... uh..." Maverick stops himself from saying something and nervously gestures at Quaritch.

"I'm a little rough around the edges." Quaritch admits.

"Yeah, something like that."

Quaritch crosses his arms and huffs, "so the kid's mad that I don't want to play catch in the backyard and make pancakes on Saturdays? Tough shit. If he thinks I'm bad he shoulda met his grandpa."

"I don't know, sir, I told you, I'm just guessing. I just wanted you to know Spider doesn't think you're a monster... and maybe giving him a little space would help." Maverick prompts.

Quaritch still looks frustrated but he relents. "Alright fine." He knocks on Spider's door and says "alright, kid, you win. I'm gonna give you space. I won't come back here. When you're ready to talk to me, I'll be in the recom barracks." and he walks away.

Once he's gone, Maverick grabs the food and Spider opens the door to ask "wait did he actually leave?" Before Maverick can properly answer, Spider is running after Quaritch. It doesn't take him long to catch up, but he's out of breath from following in Quaritch's bigger footsteps. He finds him in a thankfully empty area outdoors, close to the recom barracks, but far enough away that the other recoms won't hear them talking.

Quaritch is surprised but happy to see Spider willingly chasing after him, until Spider opens his mouth: "What the hell are you doing? Are you just gonna walk away from me? Again?"

The added "again" stings, and Quaritch immediately gets as pissed as Spider. "I thought you wanted me to leave you alone, you little shit!"

"No!"

"Then what the hell was all that? One minute, you're telling me to fuck off and locking me out, and the next you're pissed at me for giving you space? Make up your damn mind and tell me what you want!"

But Spider doesn't know what he wants. Quaritch freaks him out and he doesn't want to talk to him, but at the same time, when Quaritch finally left his door it made Spider feel sick to his stomach, as if he was being abandoned again, like he'd been abandoned by so many adults in his childhood in the foster system, and his instincts told him to follow after Quaritch, but once he got to him, seeing him freaked him out again. Spider scuffs his foot on the ground, trying to think of what to say.

Quaritch doesn't have the patience or the emotional intelligence to deal with this, so he snaps "Well, what is it then? Stay or go?"

"Don't go," Spider says in a small voice.

Even as irritated as Quaritch is, hearing Spider sound so pitiful makes him feel a little bad, so he sits down on the sparse patch of grass outside the barracks, the only green thing in sight. He doesn't say anything, he just watches Spider.

Spider digs the toe of his boot into the grass and avoids eye contact for a few minutes. Finally, he says, "so this is really you? You're my... dad?"

"Technically not. You understand what a recombinant is, right? Your father, my genetic donor, is dead, but I have his soul drive-- same memories, same personality, same thoughts and feelings and all that shit."

"Yeah, I understand that my real dad is still dead, but you-- you're like a perfect copy of him, just bluer? So the way you act is the way he would've acted? This is how he was like?"

"Yes."

"Oh..."

Quaritch can tell Spider is disappointed and it hurts him, but he tries not to let it show. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I was ever gonna be the perfect father. I was never gonna read you bedtime stories and help you with your homework and all that. In fact, I never wanted to be a father in the first place..." he sighs heavily, "but we're here now. You seem like a halfway decent kid, and I think I'd like to get to know you. And I'm an asshole, but if you decide you want to get to know me..." he shrugs, gets to his feet and starts walking towards the barracks.

Spider doesn't follow, but he doesn't have that awful feeling of abandonment anymore. he returns to his apartment and eats dinner by himself. Eventually, he works up the courage to visit Quaritch. And then he visits him again. And again. Until Spider is regularly spending time with him. They're not exactly a father son duo, there's an awkward space that persists between them no matter how much time they spend together, but Spider's not unhappy with it, and neither is Quaritch.

[the-haven-keepers-collective]

Unreasonably long post about plural shit

So I'm gonna be honest and uncharacteristically vulnerable for a second because I think people might relate or have internalized similar things. My name is Pyre; at least that's what I'll be going by on Tumblr. I'm a fictive, some of you might've already seen me sign off on comments or something using my source name but I don't really care. Also I'm not Techno, he's open about his source. Thought I'd get that out of the way for those of you who know us. Pyre is a very Techno name though and I just stole it faster.

Anyway, to the point: We've seen posts shouting out systems/collectives who are "too similar," particularly median systems and such who experience a lot of internal fakeclaiming and imposter syndrome because of that. This is for the non-median systems who are "too similar," though. This is part a post to point out their validity, and part a post talking about my own experience so far with that.

In my source, I'm kind of a badass. I was admittedly an asshole, and very misguided, but at least within my canon (within the shows canon is questionable, we never did finish it rip) I was fighting for what I believed was right. Fighting for those who fall through the cracks for no good reason, for those that get hurt for things they can't control. If I were brought here, in this world, in my own body, I wouldn't afraid of shit. I'd gladly punt a transphobe. I wouldn't shy away from conflict; sometimes conflict is how progress happens.

In reality, I don't have my own body. And one of the things about our body is, well, its nervous system is wired to treat any small amount of conflict as a threat. We're incredibly risk averse, and this isn't a personality trait, it's built in. No one in our collective is likely to ever take an opportunity, no matter how well laid out, to call out someone being an asshole or have some witty comeback to a transphobe or whatever. We won't even think of one. That's wired into our nervous system, it's just how our body reacts to danger. We stumble over ourselves if we try to do anything other than freeze.

This isn't a fault. This wouldn't be overwritten by sheer personality and willpower in a "real system." Some systems, maybe, but not all. So for those of you who feel like you "should" be a certain way and just can't because it's built into the body you're in to act differently; you're not any lesser for it. Whether you're a fictive, sourced in some way, have a certain role that "should" be different, your personality is just like that, or some other reason I can't think of- don't be too hard on yourself for things you can't control. The body you're in just wants to protect you.

Even if sometimes, you (and I) strongly disagree with it on what exactly that means.

-Pyre

[avasts-nightmare]

//did you know dark is canonically pussy with an inflated ego

((yes and I adore him))

[ratcandy]

Should I reread Camouflage of Great Renown,,? 👁️👁️

Wrong person to ask . CoGR has entered Old Writing territory in my brain and thus I am physically incapable of looking back on it without writhing and hissing and spitting as though I'm being burned

[right-there-ride-on]

Gyjo in the fandom

cw: light discussion of ableism

Gyjo… what am I thinking about gyjo…

I like them. I like them a lot, actually. They have paralleled narrative arcs, they complement each other nicely, the romantic subtext is incredibly obvious to the point that even the most homophobic fan you know will admit they understand why people ship it… so why do I also have a problem with it?

There’s a lot of good fanart. Hell, I’ve reblogged plenty. Maybe it’s just something that’s more pronounced in fic.

I’m trying to word this correctly. My issue with gyjo has nothing to do with the text itself. I think my problem is just how people portray it in the fandom.

Maybe it’s because it’s so popular, or maybe it’s the sheer prominence of applying ‘Character A’ and ‘Character B’ dynamics without considerable regard for the characters involved, but I feel gyjo is very prone to flanderization. I believe the intersection with how ableist people are toward Johnny (intentionally or not, subtly or not) and the old tropes these two get shoved into makes it so I have trouble enjoying fics in the fandom.

I’m not saying it’s bad to enjoy certain tropes. I’m not saying headcanons are bad either. What I am saying is that writing is hard, but if you’re going to write fanfiction please have consideration for the characters you’re writing. The arcs of these two are complex and multilayered, which is why I think they have such staying power, but I also think they also provide a good opportunity for us as writers and artists to examine our biases when it comes to the portrayal of certain groups, personality types, mental illnesses, queerness, disability, etc. and maybe come out better people for it.

[mantisgodsdomain]

Now that we are being followed by people, we need to make some thoughts and opinions clear so that people are not later Shocked And Disgusted or whatever by thoughts we have held for many years. We think it's weird and also bad to treat queer people like they're a different species from cishet people, and we think that treating things like Having A Sexuality makes a character better than if they have a different sexuality is bad no matter what way you put it.

We also think that, if in your setting queer folks are widely accepted and straight isn't a "default", it may be worth noting that, say, a straight woman might need just as much self-discovery to work out she's straight that a lesbian does nowadays. In the same manner that, in Ace Attorney, Larry Butz needs to tell Phoenix that no matter how many photos of handsome men he shows him, he's tried, he's just not attracted to men,

[starlight-bread-blog]

Alright now let's go back to blaming Viv for this shitty writing in the latest episodes.

[skid-the-mighty-poet]