#any suggestions from anyone who's aro would be appreciated too

[aroaceconfessions]

Being a teenager is a weird spot to be. Add in asexuality and thoughts of dating and it gets just a little more confusing.

We've all watched the high school romcoms -HSM, Heartstopper- and high school seems like a dream time for dating generally. Even from an ace perspective it seems better too. Despite what shows like Euphoria might convey, most teenagers aren't having sex, it's not an expectation, so it's not a concern!

But then enter me, stage right. I'm halfway through this business and have a solid zero relationship experience. I've been low-key asked out twice but wasn't interested. Even when I am interested in someone, the feelings aren't that strong like:

If I knew anyone else was interested in my 'crush' I'd encourage my 'romantic rival' instead of myself. I also don't feel an intense longing*, I just think a relationship would be pleasant. Maybe I like the attention or the affection more than I like them as a person. Maybe I want a relationship and am just seeing these people as a means to an end. It's also not really a physical feeling?

Like how when you're upset there's this emptiness in your chest, or overjoyed you just feel so light and electric? There isn't any of that in response to 'crushes'. It's more mental than anything. It's also largely aesthetic, but as time goes on I can appreciate aesthtics platonically.

I also only tend to get 'crushes' on people who I've convinced myself like me back. I never have feelings for people not attracted to my gender, but I don't always 'crush' in people who like me, hence the two rejections. I used to have 'crushes' way more often as a kid, but I can't remember my thoughts or feelings well enough to analyze those.

I'm definitely ace because while I'm chill with sex as a concept, when intrusive thoughts (sex edition) crop up about crushes it's an instant no. Sex is chill, as long as I'm not involved sorta deal. But I keep ping pong-ing about whether I'm biro or aro. I can find reasoning for either depending on the day. What I consider a crush at one point could be platonic attraction at another.

Then there's the bitch (affectionate but also sighing) that put me into this questioning mood in this instance.

I've known them since I was in middle school and I'm a sucker for them. Once they suggested someone in our group had a crush on me and I named everyone (I think) except for them and they told me I hadn't guessed the peron. I'm not sure if that's when my crush started, but that was definitely fuel for it. Later we talked and it became clear I was younger than they assumed I was (I have an older sibling and people have thought we're twins before). Our interactions didn't really change but nothing like that happened again.

Except for one instance. Our group was joking about stripper names (as you do) and a friend said the one I suggested required you have some ass to back it up. Crush offhandedly said I did. Crush is the type that when it comes up, won't sexualize peoples bodies but won't shy away from being in the conversation. Like thanks for the body confidence I geuss, but I feel kinda awkward that they noticed?

A while of not talking to them made me think I *had* a crush on them, but recently we've been around each other, and it's now clear I *have* a crush on them. I am to their attention as a flower is to sunlight. I can't really brush it off as admiration either because someone I think just as highly of is in the same position as Crush, yet I don't feel the same towards Other Person. I have physical (nonsexual) feelings towards Crush. I had a dream about them literally just being physically close to me and talking to me and my heart was thrilled with that.

I want them to understand that I'm asexual (sex repulsed) but not aromantic and have a relationship in a few more years when the power dynamic would be better. They're not that much older than me objectively, but relatively considering I'm in high school it's a big difference. (But what if life takes us to separate towns before then?)

I want to date anyone just to know what a relationship is supposed to be and how to act, but then again I'm scared of breaking their hearts. (What if I really don't feel romantic attraction either?)

I want a closer friendship with Crush because I think they're great. I want these weird intense feelings to sputter out. I want us to never be around each other again because they're cringe and I'm cringe and we're cringe together. We did the 'I like your shoelaces' bit irl. Unprompted. Neither of us were on tumblr in 2012.

I have ko idea what they think of me. I have no idea what I want them to think. They're part of the reason I've joined some extracurriculars which have helped me grow as a person. I have a bad memory and it takes me minutes to think of a specific memory with most/any of my friends. When I think of Crush, a sideshow presentation of highlights appears.

I want them to be attracted to me. I also don't. I don't know what I'd say if they asked me out. It probably shouldn't be yes, I'm like clay or a dumb puppy to them sometimes. I don't think they *would* coerce me into sex (a hard no for me), but I worry that they *could*.

I don't know what I want from this ask. I guess this *is* a confessions blog, not an advice blog. There's not really any advice that could be given.

TLDR: I have a Big Crush TM which is unusual for me, an ace (and probably aro-spec let's be real). Hope this was entertaining I am suffering, lol.

#asexual #ace #acespec #aspec #biromantic #aro #aromantic #arospec #questioning #sex averse #dating #relationships

[and-stir-the-stars]

would it be dumb to ask what loveless aro means? i guess i'm not as educated on aromantic as i'd like to be

It's not dumb to ask at all; I appreciate you asking for clarification :)

Lovelessness can be a hard concept to wrap your mind around, and I mostly have a vague idea of what it means rather than a concrete one, but I'll do my best.

Lovelessness refers to the rejection of "love" (in more than just its romantic form) being the key feature in human existence. According to the queer wiki, "Loveless Aromantic, or Loveless Aro, describes someone who is on the aromantic spectrum that is in some way disconnected from the concept of love, does not feel love, may doubt that they feel love, or rejects the idea of experiencing love."

There's a problem with dehumanizing aspec people in our community. For example, someone might say it's okay to be asexual because the asexual person "is just like any 'normal' person because they can still fall in love", which dehumanizes aromantics. Or someone might say it's okay to be aromantic because the aromantic person "is just like any 'normal' person because they can still love their friends just as passionately as any alloromantic would love their partner", which dehumanizes anyone who doesn't form or hasn't formed close/intense friendships with others. Or someone might say it's okay to be aplatonic (which is someone who doesn't experience platonic attraction to others) because the aplatonic person "is just like any 'normal' person because they still love pets/hobbies/etc."

So you can see, this line of thinking forms what seems to be a never-ending loop of putting other people down to justify the existence of being aromantic or asexual or aplatonic, because you're suggesting that it's okay to not feel one form of love so long as you can substitute it with another form of love, especially with a substitute that's "close enough" to romance. Instead of accepting and being comfortable with aspec identities, people will accept aspecs on the condition that they can "make up" for their lack of one form of love with an "approved" other form of love, which is just amatonormativity and aphobia in disguise, and it's extremely harmful.

Lovelessness stems from the idea of asking: who says love in any of its forms is necessary to human existence? Who says feeling love in any of its forms is the default or normal way to experience life? Who says love as a concept is inevitable in our lives and existences?

Being loveless doesn't mean that a person is miserable all the time because that the person doesn't feel passionate about anything in their life, or that they don't care about anyone, or that they lack empathy. But it does mean that if they do experience any of those things in the last sentence, the person likely will not feel comfortable or see it as necessary to use the word "love" to describe how they feel.

Some people might feel a disconnect with the term love because the term has been overused. People use the term love to talk about everything from nature, to food, to friends, to romantic partners, to hobbies, to family, etc etc; the list just goes on and on. Because of this, some people feel a disconnect with the term love because they feel it's too vague to be able to properly express themself or to clearly understand others, and it's been incorrectly used as a blanket term for so many things that it's almost lost meaning entirely. People lump so many feelings under the one umbrella term "love" that so many nuances in human emotion and connection get buried and lost, not just in communication with other people, but in our ability to understand ourselves and how we actually feel, because we just use the word "love" instead of digging deeper to see the complexities of what we're really feeling (this post does a good job of highlighting this tendency to lose the complexities of emotion when we use love as an umbrella term in this way). Having the term love be so broad can be confusing and even harmful, and it's hard to pinpoint whether or not you can feel love when you can't pinpoint what exactly love means, which also contributes to the disconnect a person might feel with the concept of love.

Here's some other posts that talk about lovelessness in more detail:

(1) (2)

*If you happen to be reading this and have a more in depth understanding of the topic of lovelessnes, and you disagree with anything I said, think I phrased something poorly, left out an important detail, etc, then please let me know

#hopefully this helps! #also! i have your other ask in my inbox but i wanna take some time to really think about my sexuality hcs for spn characters <3 #loveless #lovelessness #loveless aro #aromantic #lgbt #lgbtq #aro

[iamwestiec]

June 17: Chengxian 💜🖤💕

childhood friends to lovers/QPPs, ace Jiang Cheng, bi & aro Wei Wuxian, modern AU

(A/N: If you're wondering about a certain other someone, he will have a wonderful, full life of his own in Suzhou in this AU but is not in this story. 💙 There are some brief mentions of offscreen ace-antagonism, not by anyone we know.)

Read on ao3

Jiang Cheng had been Wei Ying's best friend in the whole world for his entire life.

Okay. Well, not quite his entire life, but certainly since Wei Ying’s parents moved to California when he was little little, which was about as far back as Wei Ying could remember anyway. Wei Ying’s baba and Jiang Cheng’s baba had grown up in Wuhan together and been best friends when they were kids, so naturally, when Wei Ying’s family moved into the same neighborhood as the Jiangs, it made perfect sense for Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng to become best friends too.

It was Jiang Cheng who had taught Wei Ying that he didn't have to be afraid of dogs, by introducing him to Princess, Jasmine, and Lil' Love. Lil' Love lived up to her name, coming and quietly sitting in all her fluffy glory on Wei Ying’s lap every time he went over to play.

It was also Jiang Cheng who Wei Ying got drunk with for the first time. They snuck booze from the cabinet where Wei Ying’s parents kept it and laughed at the faces each other made with every shot until they stopped tasting the harsh burn, and then laughing more just because.

(Wei Ying’s mom had not laughed, not at the time, when the two teens had been sick as anything the next morning, but instead made them a gloriously greasy late breakfast and gave them lots of advice about proper hydration.

Then she told Jiang Cheng’s mom and let her scold them.)

It was Jiang Cheng who came out first, their first semester in college, when he told Wei Ying he didn't think he wanted to have sex with anyone, ever, and asked if Wei Ying thought that meant no one would ever want to date him. Wei Ying hugged him tight and told him he didn't know about everyone out there, but he knew Jiang Cheng was the best guy in the world and would be an awesome boyfriend, and he'd fight anyone who said differently.

Jiang Cheng found a group on campus for third culture LBGT kids, and Wei Ying went with him, as a supportive ally.

Which was how Wei Ying figured out that he was not just a supportive ally.

In listening to the others talk about orientation and identity and attraction and cultural expectations, Wei Ying realized that what he'd always assumed was normal—finding all kinds of people physically attractive, regardless of their gender—was actually his bisexuality. So that was kind of cool.

"So yeah, now we can be queer together!" Wei Ying said, when he excitedly shared his newfound realization with Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng snorted. "Yeah, 'all' and 'nothing,'" he joked.

It was Jiang Cheng who'd helped him practice what to say to his parents when he wanted to change his major at the end of sophomore year, and Jiang Cheng who reminded him to eat and sleep and "take a fucking break, Wei Ying," those next couple semesters when he took way too many hours so he wouldn't have to rack up a whole extra year's worth of student loans to finish his new degree plan.

It was Jiang Cheng who graduated first, on a gorgeous blue-skyed sunny day in May, and Jiang Cheng who suggested Wei Ying keep living with him at his new apartment, so he wouldn't have to try to find a one-semester lease until he finished in December.

(They renewed the lease together every time.)

Jiang Cheng ribbed him playfully each time Wei Ying met someone new, but he was always there each times things fizzled out after a few months for reasons that never quite made sense to Wei Ying.

Jiang Cheng occasionally dated too, and Wei Ying was glad he never did have to fight anybody—though he did drive Jiang Cheng to the emergency room the time he came home with split knuckles from punching a guy who, "seemed to think I didn't know my own mind about certain things."

But dating sucked for everybody, right? It wasn't like Wei Ying or Jiang Cheng were in any hurry to settle down and do the whole spouse and kids thing or whatever. Wei Ying tried to imagine it and just... couldn't, though the image of Jiang Cheng with a baby was admittedly pretty cute.

~

It was not Jiang Cheng, but Jiang Yanli, a few months after she proposed to her girlfriend and they started planning their wedding, who Wei Ying finally asked, "Yanli-jie, how does a person decide someone else is their person?"

Jiang Yanli looked across the room to where Jiang Cheng was showing her soon-to-be-wife how to put side spin on a billiards ball and smiled. "I think you just know," she said. "You meet someone and you get to know them, spend time together, then one day you realize you love them and want to build the rest of your life with them."

Wei Ying wrinkled his nose. "I dunno if it works that way for me. Just some random person? I've never met anyone I can imagine wanting to live with all the time. Well, besides—huh..." he cut off suddenly and darted a look over at Jiang Yanli, who just calmly sipped her drink.

"Have you ever told him that?" she asked, after a moment where Wei Ying reassessed his entire life and dating history. "I think he might appreciate hearing it."

"I... huh. Yanli-jie, you're kinda blowing my mind here," he complained.

"I gathered," she said wryly, before fixing him with a smile that made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Of course, I trust," she told him, "that I do not need to explain to you of all people how very dearly I hold my didi's happiness and well-being."

He swallowed and raised three fingers in the salute he'd used ever since the summer that—hah—he and Jiang Cheng had decided as kids that they would make their own oath of brotherhood like the heroes of their favorite show. "I, Wei Ying, swear to you that I would kick my own ass before I did anything to hurt him."

Jiang Yanli leaned over to knock her shoulder against his and nodded. "That's what I thought."

~

Turned out, dating Jiang Cheng didn't suck at all.

It felt easy in a way Wei Ying’s past dates never had, less like trying to keep up with a game whose rules everybody knew except him, more like... well, like spending time with his best friend in the whole world, but on purpose. There was also a tension in the back of Wei Ying’s mind that seemed to have lifted, though he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that had gone.

It was Jiang Cheng who helped him figure it out.

"I think it's that now I'm able to count on this. On us," he said, when Wei Ying brought it up. "Before, whenever you went out with someone new, I wondered if this would be the time you'd find someone to fall in love with and leave me behind."

"Aww, Chengcheng! I would never!"

Jiang Cheng huffed and rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were pink. "Well, I know that now," he said, a pleased little smile breaking through his attempts at a scowl.

"As long as you're sure—" Wei Ying began, still getting used to thinking about himself with the word "aromantic." Still a so very sure that Jiang Cheng deserved to be fallen in love with.

"Hey!" Jiang Cheng cut him off. "None of that. I know you. And I know you don't see it this way, but I personally think it's pretty damn romantic that you choose to love me, on purpose."

"I simply have exquisite taste in life partners," Wei Ying sniffed, embarassed the way he always got when Jiang Cheng declared something he'd done "romantic."

"You do," Jiang Cheng agreed. "Someone told me a long time ago I was the best guy in the world and would make an awesome boyfriend, and that he would fight anyone who said differently."

Wei Ying laughed. "That's you and your sister I've promised to kick my own ass if I ever break your heart, then. Guess I'll just have to keep you forever."

"Damn right, you will," Jiang Cheng agreed, grinning smug and happy and breathtakingly beautiful. Wei Ying leaned across the couch to give him a sweet, closed-mouth kiss—the kind Jiang Cheng had shyly admitted he actually did like, a lot—and smiled too, at how lucky he'd gotten to be with his best friend in the whole world for his entire life.

🖤💜

Today's (extremely long!) thread was inspired by this WONDERFUL art of ace Jiang Cheng and bi & aro Wei Ying! Go give Midori some love on Twitter!

I spent a nonzero amount of time googling to double check when various terms and flags came into vogue, so if you're wondering, WWX & JC were in college in the early 2000s, before the ace and aro flags were designed. By the time they get themselves figured out, they can get their cute wristbands.

...which, yes, means these dingdongs spent about a solid decade living together before realizing that was what they wanted to do forever. 😉

This also means Jiang Yanli and her unnamed wife here are getting married between when California started recognizing same-sex marriages in 2008 and the Obergefell v. Hodges ruling in 2015! THIS SHIT'S RECENT!!!

Happy Pride, thank you for reading, check out more LGBTQIA+ sweetness on my #PrideMonthSnippets Masterpost!

#PrideMonthSnippets #chengxian #westie writes #mdzs #the untamed #asexual pride #aromantic pride #asexual jiang cheng #bisexual wei wuxian #aromantic wei wuxian #queerplatonic relationship #queer relationships #love has a lot of shapes

[vintagedaydreams]

TLNRS-Part Six (Marcus)

Without further ado- part six!!

Warnings: some cursing, brief illusion to panic attacks, low self esteem

Enjoy!!

@kettnerjanea @jelly-fishy-babie @the-graceful-ace @amwolowicz @batsdothings @waxingmoonstone @littlebabybatthings @mauvette268 @katsav17 @batsuperflashmartianwonderman @imyourapocalypse @chubbybbt @bepo-is-sorry @raindancer2004 @artaxerxesthegreat @bethanymccauley @bloodsweatandsnapple @kawaiipoplover268 @legithraclya

The next morning found you down in the kitchen for breakfast, a silly grin on your face and a happy song on your lips.

Last night’s date had been...amazing. You didn’t know anyone could be that attentive and sweet and Marcus had blown even the Queen’s expectations out of the water.

You gave a happy twirl and goosebumps erupted over your skin as you remembered the hooded look in his eyes and the gentle way he had wooed you over the course of the evening.

It was way too soon for Love and you were still a bit wary and skittish of anything remotely romantic, especially with Vampires, this soon after the whole Carlisle debacle, but oh, did you wish and want whatever this was to come to fruition.

It was so nice to be appreciated and feel as if you were sought after.

“Sounds like someone had a good night,” Edward’s sudden voice came from behind you and you jumped with a yelp.

“Eddie!” you scolded, holding a hand over your heart, willing it to stay within your rib cage, “Don’t do that!”

To your surprise, Edward lifted his hands in the air, a serious look on his face.

“No harm meant, Y/N.”

Your brow furrowed- what the heck was his problem? It wasn’t like you thought he meant to scare you into an early grave.

Edward’s head tilted a little behind him and you looked over his shoulder to lock eyes with Jane.

“Oh, hello,” you said with a small, uncertain smile. The Volturi has all been incredibly welcoming and helpful, but the Witch Twins had been more standoffish than the rest.

Which you could understand. After all, you were a human, and an Unwanted Mate at that.

Edward’s eyes narrowed in your direction and you gave a small sigh.

Honestly, you loved Eddie like a brother but the mind reading thing was a bit tiresome at times.

And it wasn’t like you were wrong!

You were human and you were an Unwanted Bond Mate.

Simple as that. No amount of positive thinking or good self esteem was going to change that.

You turned your attention back to Jane as she shifted and stepped further into the kitchen.

“You are okay?” the blonde vampire asked emotionless, ruby eyes darting from you to Edward and back again.

You tried valiantly to tramp down the warmth that blossomed in your chest at her question.

It was nice to know that she cared, even if she was just asking out of what was probably duty to one of her Kings.

You were suddenly grateful that Jasper didn’t like you enough to hang around like Edward.

One invasive-talented vampire was enough.

A gentle throat clearing reminded you that you had yet to answer, so with a very red face, you assured her that you were fine.

Jane stared you down for a few moments, long enough for you to start fidgeting, before giving a single nod and disappearing.

You turned wide eyes to Edward who just shook his head with a chuckle.

“I have no idea,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

Uh huh. Sure.

“Where’s Bella this morning?” you asked curiously as you continued to make your breakfast.

“Packing for our return trip,” Edward said quietly after a moment and you froze, all happy thoughts of Marcus disappearing as it dawned on you.

They were returning to Forks.

You probably should too.

Your mind started to race. What was it going to be like, back in Forks with the Cullens? Could you even stand to see them every day? Would their sudden apologetic and sad demeanors make you give in when you should stay strong or would their attitudes change back to how they were once you were out of Italy? Did you even want to stay in Forks? What if you didn’t have your job when you got back? What if you never recovered from being an Unwanted? What if—

A cold hand was suddenly on your shoulder and you were drawn back into a gentle, brotherly embrace.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Edward murmured into your hair. “Just breathe for a few moments, okay?”

You nodded as best you could with your head tucked into his chest, but dutifully took a few deep breaths.

Why were you like this?

You were pretty sure that normal people wouldn’t be freaking out over a sentence as simple as, “She’s packing”.

Then again, what exactly was normal anymore? Since apparently vampires existed and had their own version of the Mafia.

Edward snorted and you gave a somewhat shaky smile.

Well, at least you were entertaining to someone.

“You are not going to be forced to go back with us, Y/N,” Edward said softly after a few quiet moments. “I am sure that Aro would welcome you here.”

You raised your head to frown at the vampire. “I am not going to be a charity case.”

To your surprise, Edward actually rolled his eyes.

“Aro thinks many things about you, Y/N, but charity case is not one of them.”

You blushed at the slight reprimand and burrowed your face back into Edward’s chest.

A gentle hand ran through your hair and Edward added quietly, “There are a lot of people who care for you, Y/N. Never forget that. And those same people would do everything in their power to make sure you were taken care of and provided for. You have a way of endearing yourself to people quickly and we vampires are no different. Those that want to take care of you do so because of you and who you are, not because of any sort of pity.”

That warmth was back, unfurling in your chest like a flower blooming on a warm spring day.

You squeezed the vampire in front of you in a tight hug, mentally sending your thanks.

You needed to hear that.

“Anytime,” came Edward’s murmur and then you found yourself suddenly seated at the table in a rush of wind.

Your forgotten breakfast was placed in front of you with the order to eat.

“You’ll feel even better when you have something on your stomach. And then you can decide if you want to stay or come back to Forks.”

You weren’t exactly sure what epiphany Edward thought your food would give you, but by the time you had finished eating, you still were no closer to figuring out what to do.

Should you stay or should you go?

What really was waiting for you back in Forks?

But then, what was really waiting for you here?

You gave a soft growl, a pathetic sounding one compared to the ones the vampires could produce, but it made you feel marginally better.

Maybe you could just go...live in England on your own. No vampires, no Mates, no supernatural.

Just the English countryside, horseback riding and rain.

You smiled big, this was a great solution!, and turned back to Edward who was looking at you in a mixture of both amusement and disbelief.

“Y/N,” he started after a moment, “what on Earth makes you think that’s going to be an option for you?”

Your jaw dropped.

“An option for me?” you parroted. “I’m a grown ass woman! Why wouldn’t it be an option?!”

Edward snorted in pure amusement now and took a seat across from you at the table.

“Y/N, there are too many vampires interested in your well being to let you go off on your own somewhere. And,” he continued, holding up a hand when you opened your mouth to interrupt him, “English is very wet, very rainy and very cloudy. Not the ideal place to try and get away from creatures that thrive in the shadows.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

The man had a point there.

Which kinda sucked. What a good excuse to move to the UK.

“Why don’t you come back with us, Y/N?” Edward suggested when your thoughts didn’t leave England.

Your eyes locked onto tawny gold.

“At least for a little while. That will give you a chance to get everything in order if you don’t decide to stay.”

You studied his face while you thought it over.

It would be good for you to go back. Get back to the familiar and comforting.

And maybe even get on with your life.

Although…

“I know it sounds kinda crazy, Edward, it being so soon and all, but I’m going to really miss everyone here.”

The mind reader picked up on exactly who you would miss the most and he gave a gentle smile.

“I can assure you the sentiment would be returned, if he wasn’t going along.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times.

And then, “Wait, what?”

Edward leaned back in his chair, an air of smugness radiating from him.

“Marcus. King Marcus. The one with the beautiful eyes and the amazingly kind heart you haven’t stopped thinking about?”

You blushed red at that.

“He decided to come along with us to Forks,” Edward continued, “if you had decided to join us.”

“But why?” you asked in genuine confusion. Why would he want to go to Forks of all places?

Edward leveled you with a look that said, ‘Really?’

You leveled a look right back at him.

“He’s known me for a few days, Eddie. And we’ve had one date- if you can technically even call it that. Seems a little premature for him to go galavanting across half the globe for someone he just met.”

Edward leaned in, elbows on the table and face serious and close to yours.

“Y/N. Listen and listen good. You are worth it. Whatever my sire has said and done, however my coven has treated you, forget about it. I told you- you endear yourself to people quickly. The Volturi are no different. What they feel for you is true and all because of you. Bonded or no, Unwanted or no, they care for you. As do I. Don’t be so hard on yourself or surprised that Marcus would travel with you to Forks. There are more that would come if they could.”

“Young Edward is right,” a low, gravelly voice said from the doorway and you snapped your head over to see Marcus standing there, Volturi robes blending in with the shadowed doorway.

“You sell yourself much too short, Cara Mia. I am going with you to Forks because I wish to. Because I do not want you to have to face Carlisle and his coven alone. And because I very much want to see where this attraction between us may lead.”

Marcus stepped into the room and slowly made his way to your side before lowering himself elegantly to his knees.

“However,” he continued quietly, “should you wish me not to go, I will remain here in Volterra.”

You blinked dumbly at him.

“You mean, I have a say in this?” you asked in surprise.

Edward made an odd sound and Marcus looked stricken.

“Y/N,” he said earnestly, “you will always have a choice.”

You looked between the two of them and then your eyes went wide.

“No, that’s not what I meant! I mean it was, but not necessarily like that! Just...it is surprising to me that I would have a say in whether you went to Forks or not, because...well, of the obvious.”

“Why would you think you wouldn’t have an input into whether I accompanied you to Forks or not?” Marcus asked quietly.

You rose a brow. “You mean other than the fact that you’re a King? A Vampire one at that? You can go wherever you want- why would my opinion matter? I’m just me- human and decidedly not a royal.”

“But perhaps I am just Marcus- a man trying to woo a woman he’s beginning to care very deeply for. A man who wouldn’t want to press his luck and go anywhere he wasn’t welcome.”

Silence reigned in the kitchen. Marcus was looking intently at you, you were gaping probably quite unattractively back at him, and Edward was pretending to be engrossed in the ceiling to give you two the illusion of privacy.

“Y/N,” Marcus whisperer, cold hand lifting to gently cup your cheek. “May I accompany you to Forks? And act as your Protector?”

Edward’s attention was now focused intensely on the two of you, but you paid him no mind, your own attention captivated by the King kneeling at your feet.

“Yes,” you finally managed to murmur. “Please.”

A soft smile curled the edges of the Vampire King’s mouth and he smoothly stood.

“Then I have preparations to finish. I shall see you when we depart tonight, Y/N. Until then.”

With a kiss to the back of your hand, he was gone in a swirl of robes and a gust of wind.

Dazedly, you wondered if Aro’s flamboyance was contagious.

After a few minutes, you snapped out of it and looked over to see Edward looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“...What?” you asked cautiously.

“King Marcus,” Edward started, before stopping, his expression warring somewhere between joy and caution.

“King Marcus what?” you finally demanded when it seemed he wouldn’t say anything else.

“He asked to be your Protector.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And you agreed.”

“Yeah? And?!”

Edward’s honey gaze met your own.

“And he has formally claimed you. He is your Protector and you are his Charge. Your battles are his battles, your enemies are his enemies. He wants nothing more than your safety and happiness.”

You gaped as Edward leaned forward to add lowly, “He would now die for you.”

#twilight imagine #reader insert #volturi #cullens #marcus x reader #twilight

[llamamonger]

to reject & be rejected

A friend and I went mothing one evening with a local nature group, and while we were watching the moths crowd the illuminated bedsheet in the woods (as one does while mothing), we met a man & woman who seemed far more interested in talking with us than each other. The guy ended up finding me on social media through the event sign up. He seemed like a very interesting person, good friend material, so I wasn’t bothered. Several months later he suggested we go on a hike sometime, and I do love a hike! I made sure to invite my mothing friend because 1) this was still a stranger and 2) the friendzone needed to be in place. I felt like it went well. Then one day he asked if I would like to go for a drink at a pub downtown after work, and I was down for it as a friend. I considered going alone, but I knew I’d be in over my head if it turned out to be an attempt at a date, so I made sure to invite 3 friends this time. When I told him one friend was coming, he replied, “so are we always going to have a chaperone when we hang out?” “Hahaha probably!” I said (this response took 17 minutes to craft). His reply: a dejected bitmoji. He was gracious, and though he bought me a beer, I hoped he got the message. Sadly, no.

He asked for time to hang out “just the two of us”—“Sure, I don’t mind hanging out as friends!” I said. He replied, “Were you concerned I had ulterior motives? ;)” Hell yeah I was. But I had gotten soft in my old age & still hoped this could be a friendship, so I invited him on another hike, with 2 of the friends from the pub (and a dog I didn’t realize was mostly blind). While my friends guided the blind dog, I walked a very fast (sighted) dog ahead, so we got separated into pairs, unfortunately. Again, I crossed my fingers that I wasn’t encouraging anything romantic (which creature was most blind on this hike?). But a few days later, he went there: “Is it so terrible if I’m interested in being more than just friends?”—Yes, hideously terrible, worst news possible, as evinced by my constant refusals—“or are you just interested in girls (which it totally also ok...)”

So that was the first person who ever directly asked if I was gay: a twice-divorced lawyer & Royal Navy veteran I met while mothing. Quite a feat to make it that long (32 years) considering how unfeminine I present. I’ll be honest, the incredibly lack of attraction I have towards men sometimes made me feel like I must be gay, by default. Fortunately I knew about asexuality by this time & could provide a confident answer to him (after 3 hours of drafting), though I decided it was best to not spend paragraphs trying to teach him SAM & all the requisite vocabulary. Not sure if he believed me, but it’s not my problem if he didn’t. I’ve included my response below in its entirety in case anyone needs inspiration for their own rejection messages:

“Like I said, I’m totally fine hanging out—it’d just be as friends, though, so if you’re looking for more, it may, practically, be a waste of your time. I wouldn’t be offended if it was, since time is a valuable thing to invest, & there’s really no chance of getting any appreciable return besides friendship. And maybe some facts about fungi. Nothing personal at all, because you’re pleasant company—you’d be hard pressed to find someone less interested in dating than me, and I’ve found more challenge & fulfillment in developing friendships anyway.”

He replied, “ok :) I was just curious - but I would love to continue hanging out as friends”—I said I was down with that, but we never did, and that was his last message. All that talk about how interesting I was to hang out with, but no friendship?? LOL Which one of us was actually being lead on here, huh?? It’s funny how it’s somehow way too much to ask someone to just be friends when they’re simply asking you to become romantically involved with them. In many cases, seeking a romantic relationship with someone is actually a rejection of their friendship—for aro & aroace people who only want friendships, this is especially true. It may seem silly to allos to expect them to change their romantic feelings to friendship, but is it more ridiculous than expecting someone who doesn’t feel romantic attraction (at all or just to a specific person) to feel something they can’t? Is it that these allos can’t distinguish friendship feelings from romantic feelings or that they can’t feel “friendship” at all if they’re in romance mode? If allos are shocked I can’t feel romantic attraction, I’m probably more shocked when they can’t feel basic friendship.

#ace #aroace #aromantic #aspec #asexual #aro #amatonormativity #friendship #rejection

[starlocked01]

Do You Love the Color of the Sky

(pls don’t scroll it’s not that post)

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Not being able to see green must suck, but Patton pitied his soulmate more for being stuck with him.

Content Warning: Swearing, Food

Day 26 Queerplatonic Intruality, background Logince-  You can't see shades of your soulmate's eye color until you meet and look into each other's eyes for the first time.

Do you love the color of the sky?

Patton scrolled through the ridiculously long post and sighed. He liked most of them but the shades of blue always looked so dull. A lot of people reposted this particular picture set because it was the easiest way to tell what color eyes your soulmate has. Which led to a lot of bored scrolling.

If not for the lack of blue in his life, Patton would have assumed he didn't have a soulmate. It just didn't make sense to him as a concept. He loved all his friends and cared about the people he met in his day to day life, he didn’t feel like anything was particularly missing.

Other than the color blue, that is. He stared at his own green eyes and chuckled sadly. His poor soulmate had never seen summer leaves or blades of grass, probably never liked Luigi as a character, hated driving, and wouldn't recognize Patton's pride flags. Patton had learned about the aromantic spectrum and a lot of his feelings had clicked into place. Romance just wasn't his thing and he was happy. He did worry about disappointing his blue-eyed soulmate. How awful to be tied with someone who won't love you romantically.

Patton's best friend since middle school had managed to find his brown-eyed soulmate at a local cafe. Logan didn't say much but Patton could tell he was ecstatic under the calm exterior. And from the sound of it, Roman was quite the romantic which flustered Logan. Patton was happy for them, really.

"You know, Pat, I could try to set you up on a blind date," Patton looked up at Roman with confusion.

"Oh no, they're blind?" Patton couldn't imagine not being able to see at all.

"Why would you suggest that, Roman. His eyes are only green," Logan interjected from the kitchen where he was preparing dinner for his soulmate and friend. Roman had been the one who insisted on inviting Patton and this idea was probably the reason why.

"No, they aren't blind. A blind date is when you go on a date with someone you haven't met before. I could set everything up! I've got the perfect man in mind-" Roman started rambling excitedly.

"Don't tell me it's your brother," Logan scolded.

"It's my brother, but that's not the point!"

"Don't you think you've put Remus through enough humiliation?" Logan turned, shaking a wooden spoon at Roman menacingly.

"I mean, I doubt he's my soulmate and I'll probably disappoint him, but I'll meet your brother if he's okay with it," Patton fiddled with the napkin holder, trying to diffuse the argument by agreeing. What did he have to lose?

"Fantastic! I'll call him right now!" Roman jumped up from the table, phone in hand.

"Roman! Dinner's almost done, just leave it alone!" Logan called with an exasperated sigh, "sorry, Patton. He does this to everyone."

"It's fine, Lo. A low-pressure date might be nice?" Patton shrugged.

Roman had the whole date set up before dinner was even done. He decided the two would meet for a picnic at the local park that weekend. Patton didn’t even have to say a word and it was all planned out. Logan shook his head but gave his soulmate a small smile.

The day of the picnic arrived. Roman had done everything to get this set up for the two, excited at the possible connection for his brother and new friend. Patton just rolled with it, bringing a small cake he'd made to share.

He found the picnic and spotted Roman talking with a man who looked oddly similar and dissimilar to him at the same time. Patton figured they must be brothers and hesitated several yards away.

The man couldn't look any more different from Patton if he tried. His hair was dyed and Patton thought he spotted the glint of a piercing on his lip just under a trim mustache.  For some reason, he'd decided on a black and green mini skirt and fishnet stockings with a ripped My Chemical Romance shirt. It certainly contrasted with Patton's sky grey polo, grey cardigan, and khaki slacks.

Patton took a few deep breaths to try and remember that this wasn't likely to work and was mostly to humor Roman. He'd be nice to Remus. Maybe meet him again at a Christmas party where they both laugh at Roman's poor matchmaking. End of story.

Roman spotted him and waved Patton over, more excited than a puppy brought home from a shelter.

"Patton! Let me introduce you to Remus," Roman grabbed his wrist to yank him the rest of the way over, "I think you guys are really going to hit it off!"

Remus stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. Patton felt really bad as Roman must put him through this all the time. He offered a hand and a warm smile which he took but Remus wouldn't meet his eyes. He was fine with that.

"Alright, I'll leave you two alone to start building chemistry. Good luck!" with that Roman turned and left and Remus let out an exasperated sigh before sitting down on the blanket.

"You don't have to stay. I know he probably paid you or something," Remus muttered at Patton.

"No, I agreed to try, no bribes. I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you," Patton smiled sadly, kneeling down on the other side of the blanket.

"It's not you, Patton. It's him. He's obsessed with finding my soulmate ever since I told him…" Remus got very quiet, picking at one of the threads of his sock.

Patton urged him to continue, "you told him what?"

"That I'm ace. No one is ever gonna be happy with me so why try?" Remus picked up a rock and threw it hard, "he doesn't believe me and thinks I'm just giving up. I wish he'd just fucking listen to me!"

"Oh, is that all? Gosh, I'm sorry, Remus. I totally get it though! Have you asked him to stop putting you in uncomfortable situations?" Patton was so relieved he forgot that Remus wouldn't know why.

"Don't you think I've tried?? And yet here you are, probably telling yourself you can change me because all anyone would need to do is get in my pants- skirt- whatever and I'll change my tune! Right?" Remus glared at Patton who looked away quickly.

"N-no… I mean I actually get it. I'm aro and I hear a lot of similar stuff from people who don't get it," Patton explained himself softly.

Remus hit his forehead and flopped down onto his back, staring up at the sky, "oh! Oh, of course... I'm sorry for assuming, Patton."

"It's okay. Let's just enjoy this lunch and what I assume is a beautiful day," Patton laid down and stared at the sky, "is it cloudy today or is the sky actually blue?"

"Oh, it's a brilliant blue today, Pattycake. Have you never seen the blue sky?" Remus asked in amazement.

Patton chuckled, "nope, never seen it. My 'soulmate'-" he used finger quotes "-has blue eyes."

"Oh, well it's about the color of your shirt today," Remus grinned, "so I guess you know the difference between leaves and clouds, huh?"

"Green is a beautiful color," Patton smiled, "I hope someday you get to see it with someone who appreciates you for who you are, Remus."

"Thanks, Patton."

They both laid there in silence for a few minutes before Remus broke it, "so what do you think of horror movies?"

"Too scary to watch alone, but I'll watch with a friend," Patton smiled, "opinion on Bob Ross?"

"A treasure, but I wish he drew fewer happy trees and more sad ones," Remus grinned. They continued bouncing questions off of each other, a few starting heated debates as they ate the picnic and just talked.

It was wonderfully non-romantic. Patton felt understood for the first time in a long while.

Remus became more and more animated as their conversation drifted from movies and games to tattoos (Patton showed him a Spongebob tattoo on his ankle much to Remus' surprise) and careers. Patton was shocked to discover that Remus worked in daycare most days, something he would have never guessed from his attire.

"You like working with kids?" Patton asked cheerfully.

"I get to give them back to their parents at the end of the day and sleep like a rock," Remus laughed and took a bite of cake, "let me guess, you're a baker?"

"Not quite, I help run my parents' Mom and Pop diner and they stick me on dessert duty way too often," Patton happily patted his stomach, "I bet chasing all those kids burns about as many calories as I can bake in a day."

Remus snorted, "maybe I should stop by and find out some time."

"Yeah! I make the best cheesecake- if I'm being humble," Patton laughed.

"I love cheesecake! Can we go now?" Remus sat bolt upright with a large grin on his face.

"Don't we have to clean all this up or wait for Roman?" Patton asked, happy but a little nervous to make Logan’s soulmate upset with him.

"Oh come on!"

"I can always just make you one," Patton replied carefully.

"That would imply seeing you again," Remus smirked at him.

"You seemed to like the idea," Patton smiled hopefully, picking at the grass.

"I love that idea. You're so easy to hang out with, Pat. You really do get it, and I'm sure we could have lots of fun together," Patton looked up, tears in his eyes. He took off his glasses and wiped them with the sleeve of his cardigan before meeting Remus' gaze with a smile.

Something in the back of his head clicked. He watched as Remus blinked in confusion and started looking around wildly. Patton felt just as confused until he noticed the sky.

He fell back down on the blanket and stared up at the brilliant depths of blue in the cloudless sky. He could almost feel how far it stretched into the void of space and was utterly in awe, tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes and down his ears. It was magnificent.

Patton lay there crying until his view was blocked by two navy blue eyes, sparkling with joy and streaming tears as well. Patton smiled and opened his arms for a hug which Remus gladly fell into.

Roman came back and found them in each other’s arms, laying on the blanket and talking about everything they couldn't tell anyone else before. Patton made sure later to tell him off for how he'd treated Remus but also thanked him for setting up the date.

They weren't dating. It was something different, but they were happy. And Patton really did love the color of the sky.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

#Soulmate September 2020 #tsshipmonth2020 #qpr intruality #background logince #patton sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #ace remus #aro patton #aspec!sides #tw acephobia #swearing #food #food mentioned

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Anyone can betray anyone

Synopsis: While Ivar is away, Vanya does everything to keep her mind off his possible death, meanwhile Aslaug faces an enemy from the past.

Warnings: fluff? (Aslaug + Vanya), betrayal, character death, angst, slight anti-Lagertha (she deserved it), talk or revenge

Tags: @shannygoatgruff @queenbeeta @lol-haha-joke​ @xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @chynagirl13 @didiintheblog @astridbaby @heavenly1927 @thereareendlessopportunities

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3 

It was the middle of the night as they sat in a circle; some of the women were familiar, others weren't, but they all shared the same goal. They all prayed for their families to return from raiding alive and well. No matter if they went to the Mediterranean with Bjorn and Hvitserk or to England with Ragnar and Ivar, the women of the family prayed to the gods.

Hoenir sacrificed a goat and smeared the blood over their faces as they prayed to Thor for strength. Ever since the Ragnarssons left, Aslaug has been distant, and Vanya feared the Queen felt Ivar die.

And so distracted herself from these thoughts by spending time with the common folk. Prayer circles, visits to the orphanage, or just strolls through the marker, Vanya was always surrounded by people. But inside, she felt hollow just like the rest of them, Aros being her only source of joy.  

Ubbe joked that the babe would be able to walk by the time Ivar came back, as he's very eager to stand. Of course, he can't do it independently, but he has no problem holding himself up if you hold him. And Vanya was very proud of that.

Right now, the Ivarsson is with his grandmother, who asked to look after him for a little bit. The request was sudden, but Vanya was very happy that the Queen was feeling a bit better.

"Are you alright, Princess Vanya?" questioned an old woman, she had gray hair and looked worn down, but she came to every prayer circle. Her two grandsons left with Bjorn, and her son joined Ragnar.

"Of course, a little bit dizzy from the sigh of blood. But I am alright." The woman didn't believe her at all and put her withered hand on top of Vanya's.

"The gods aren't always just, but they listen to the prayers and act on them if they are pleased. You have pleased the gods since the ships left; you should rest a little bit too. Or you will wear yourself thin."

Vanya chuckled and shook her head at the answer. "I will be fine. The gods will hear our prayer and help us. Everything will be alright."

Not so far away from Vanya's place of blissful denial, Lagertha was hatching plans. "I am taking Kattegat back. Aslaug isn't fit to be Queen."

"What about Ragnar's sons?" Astrid asked her lover, curious about what will become of the boys.

"Born of a witch." The shieldmaiden replied simply, stroking her own like a conversation about the weather and not about usurping a Queen.

"They are still his sons."

Lagertha looked at Astrid with solemn eyes and stood up from her seat. "Bjorn, Hvitserk, and Ivar are all gone."

"But Ubbe and Sigurd remain. Are you going to kill them too?"

Luckily for them, Torvi had the perfect solution in the form of Margrethe. But one thing remained unclear to Astrid. "What of Vanya? What will happen to her?"

"We can't hurt her. She is the sole heir to a kingdom in England. If she dies as well, they will sail to our shores and demand vengeance." Lagertha's words held a tone of anger in them. They tried to pull the Princess to their side on the feast, but her mind was too warped by Aslaug's witchy ways. Just like Ragnar's had been.

"She will remain where she is, we just have to make sure she won't interfere, and no harm comes to her or Aros," Torvi suggested looking at her mother in law for approval. When Lagertha asked for an explanation, the younger blonde was happy to provide. "For leverage against Ivar."

Margrethe nodded at this and looked at Lagertha unsurely. "When Vanya went missing, he lost his mind. If she and the babe are safe, he won't be so angry. She calms him sometimes."

"Then it's decided. Now, enough questions. I have to talk to Torvi."

Vanya entered the Queen's chambers to retrieve Aros right after the prayer circle. When she saw Aslaug sitting on her bed, holding her grandson close with sad eyes, she didn't know what to say. "I always wanted a daughter. I am thankful for all of my sons, and love them very much. But sometimes I wondered what it would be like to have a daughter."

Vanya walked closer to the bed, sitting down next to Aslaug to watch Aros sleep. He looked just like Ivar when he slept, serene and innocent with a little frown and scrunched up nose. At least he slept easier than before.

"When the marriage offer came in, and it said they choose Ivar, I was worried. I wanted him to find somebody worthy of him, who would love him just as much as I do. And then this little scared Christian came in, and I was so angry that he would have to marry her. But she showed her true colors little by little. Suddenly there wasn't a scared girl who would bring his boredom and misery. The Princess didn't judge him and even grew to love him over time."

Vanya smiled at the Queen's kind words; no matter how much it hurt to remember Ivar and his possible fate, it warmed her heart to hear about him nonetheless. "I gained a daughter thanks to a monster from another place far from here. A daughter I grew to love even more when she gave me a grandson. Even if I lost a son, I gained two more people to care for. And I am very thankful for that."

She looked up to show her tearstained face and laid her palm against Vanya's equally teary face. "I want you to know that you are a part of this family, blood or not. You are my daughter, and Aros is my grandson. And nothing can or ever will change that."

"Why are you saying all this?"

Aslaug smiled and hugged her close, hiding her face in Vanya's neck.  If it weren't for the closeness, she wouldn't be able to have heard the Queen's next words. "I thought it needed to be said. We never know when we might draw our last breath. Ubbe and Sigurd went on a visit, and you are the only family that remains here. We should stick together."

Vanya nodded and hugged the woman tighter. "Of course. Do you want me to stay the night?"

"I would love that."

Hoenir walked the path around the village with a horn of ale in one hand, his other resting on his new sword. His morning walk towards Ivar's and Vanya's hut was always pleasant. Usually, he took a walk around town first, but today something felt off. So he chose to go straight to their home.

The atmosphere around him made Hoenir uneasy and on edge. He felt like prey in the lion's den, just waiting to be swallowed by the bigger animal lurking around the corner. His visions have been horrifying for some time now, and he couldn't make sense of them.

Yesterday he came with his worries to Aslaug waiting for an explanation, but the Völva told him not to worry. The Seer wasn't of any help either, and so he was left to solve it on his own.

The visions of blood and carnage weren't anything new to him. Destruction was where he was, or better said, he followed it. The Gods sent him where blood was shed, and he did what they asked. In some places, he helped the sick; in others, he slaughtered enemies. Here, he protected a Princess.

Not his most admirable work, but the easiest so far. Looking after Vanya was a challenge, and unfortunately, he was more used to a routine. The ginger preferred to vary her tasks between charity, sewing, or visiting Helga and Floki. She liked to do things spontaneously, and he had to follow. So he implemented routines where he could, morning walks at dawn, a tavern in the evening, training before bed.

But these visions were foreign to him; never before did he dream of owls on thrones or burning ships. He tried every approach to deciphering the pieces he had, but the meaning was still unclear.

He entered Vanya's hut without knocking; without Ivar home, the chances of his seeing something he wouldn't want to see are slim. But the house was empty, and the fireplace was cold. "Fuck."

He runs out of the hut, making his way to the Great Hall, but the snapping of a twig startles him. "Who’s there? I don't have time for games, so show yourself."

Eight women with shields and swords walked out from behind the huts, glaring at him as if he offended them. The shields were painted with the colors of Lagertha's Earldom. "I would say I am shocked, but that would be a lie."

The women charged at him as he drew both of his swords, fighting them off. He cut through two easily, but an arrow flew from somewhere, hitting him in the shoulder. The remaining six women used the opportunity to disarm him, another well-aimed arrow to his knee, putting him to his knees.

Hoenir looked up to the rooftop from where the arrow came from to see a blonde woman standing there, notching another arrow. "Torvi." A shield hit him over the head right after he felt a pain in his tight and a hit to his jaw. And then everything went black, he collapsed into the mud.

Aros whined in Vanya's arms as Aslaug got dressed for her meeting with the Usurper Lagertha. The woman invaded Kattegat to become Queen, and Vanya would rather they escape than face the shieldmaiden that could kill Aslaug in the blink of an eye.

But Aslaug was determined to face her husband's first wife; she could see it in her stance and eyes. This made Vanya wonder if yesterday's sentiment was because of today's situation. Aslaug turned to Vanya with the sword of Kings in her hands and walked towards the shaken ginger.

She pulled Vanya to her, a hand on the back of her head, and leaned closer to her ear. "Be brave, Vanya. If you let them see fear, you let them win. Be invincible." With that, Aslaug pulled away and kissed her forehead, leaving the Great Hall surrounded by warriors with Vanya and Aros in the rear. Hoenir was gods know where, which made her worry for his safety.

Maybe he was fighting outside, and they will arrive to see Lagertha's corpse in the middle of the street. With unsure steps, Vanya walked behind the confident Queen, praying for everything to end soon. They stayed behind as Aslaug walked through the cheering crowd to the blond shieldmaiden.

The sight behind Lagertha made Vanya's breath hitch. Some shieldmaiden's had Hoenir captured, his face bloody and body impaled by three arrows.He was breathing heavily, kneeling in the dirt with a pool of blood under him. Tears gathered in her eyes when she saw him; he looked half dead.

They pulled the hood of his head to show Aslaug what happened to one of her best fighters. But to their surprise, Aslaug stood her ground, looking at the seasoned shieldmaiden before her.

"How strange Lagertha, that you would play the usurper. One woman against another. It doesn't quite fit with your reputation."

"I was never the usurper. Always the usurped." She put her sword away, watching the other Queen with determined eyes. "You took my husband, my world, and my happiness. The fact that you are a woman is neither here nor there."

"I didn't take your husband. He chose to be with me."

"He didn't choose. You're a witch. You bewitched him." Even from afar, Lagertha's serious face and tone made Vanya take a double-take. What's more believable, that the Völva used magic to make Ragnar sleep with her, or that he cheated because he met a pretty girl far away from his wife? Honestly, Ragnar didn't strike Vanya as a man who would fall for magic. The pretty girl was more believable.

Even Aslaug couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of the claim. "If that's what you want to believe, it's up to you. I don't disagree women can have power over men. But it's not always magical, is it, Lagertha? In any case," Aslaug looked around the crowd and raised her voice so they could all hear her next words. "Ragnar is dead."

The crowd gasped and talked among themselves in a mix of confusion, shock, and disbelief. "You don't know that." Lagertha accused Aslaug, not wanting to face the possibility he was actually gone.

"I dreamed it. I warned him about his journey. In my dream, his boats were sunk in a storm. Ragnar died." The Queens face saddened, and Aros whined in Vanya's arms. "So did my son, Ivar."

"But you don't know that." The desperation on Lagertha's side was obvious. Aslaug averted her gaze as if she was thinking before looking back up at her with a tilted head.

"No. I don't know that for sure. It was just a dream." The people whispered while Lagertha glared at the woman who taunted her in a dire situation. Hoenir looked towards the direction where the crying of a baby came from to see Vanya. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but Torvi dug her nails into his shoulder wound, silencing him.

Lagertha's eyes were tearful, and her voice honest as she steered back to the topic at hand. "And I have dreamed of taking back my home. I have dreamed it for a long time. But if I have to fight for it, then I will."

Aslaug smirked in amusement. "Don't worry. I could never fight you, Lagertha. I am not my mother, nor yet my father. I would never win." She threw the sword of Kings to the ground, raising up the murmurs once again. "But still, I have fulfilled my destiny. The gods foretold Ragnar would have many sons. And I have given him those sons. I am as much a part of his saga, Lagertha, as you are. But now I renounce everything."

The crowd kept getting louder as Aslaug continued her jabs at the usurper, finding the whole ordeal amusing in a sense. After all, when Ivar was born, they seemed to have made up, only for Lagertha to change her mind seventeen years later.

"All I ask is safe passage. All I ask is that you let me, my daughter Vanya and my grandson leave here in peace, to go wherever the gods decide. And you shall have back your hearth and home..." Aaslaug preened at the shocked shieldmaiden. "With my blessing. And my sons, when they hear how it was done, will be grateful for the manner of it... And not seek revenge."

Lagertha nodded at the reminder of Aslaug's three living sons. "I understand." She moved out of Aslaug's way, Vanya running up behind her so they could leave together. Aslaug motioned for the ginger to walk in front of her, thanking the new Queen of Kattegat.

The two women and babe walked forward bravely; heads held high. A swissing sound and Aslsaug stopping made Vanya halt as well. She turned around to see Aslaug collapse to her knees with a smile on her face, Lagertha standing behind her with a bow in her hand.

"NO!" Vanya run towards her mother in law, catching her in her arms, Aros crying hysterically in his sling. She pulled the Queen tighter to her, laying her head against her shoulder as she tried to put pressure on the wound in her back. "No, no, no. You can't die, you can't die."

But she could feel the lack of heartbeat and the sticky blood on her hand, the dead weight of her mother figure a painful truth. "No." Vanya sobbed into her shoulder, raising her eyes to meet Lagetha's, the satisfaction in the blue eyes the last nail in her coffin.

She watched the blonde with disgust and hate in her eyes, wishing she would burst into flames on the spot, giving her the most painful death imaginable. "You..." She spat the words out, tears streaming down her face, failing to hold up the corpse any longer.

Carefully she laid her down on the ground, guards running up to her to haul her away from the body. Vanya struggled against them, screaming her throat raw, just like her son against her chest. But it was no use as they dragged her away, Aslaug laying on the cold ground, alone.

Vanya did as Aslaug ordered her to do; she hid her fear and resentment under a mask of power and pride. Lagertha watched her walk to the shore; the ginger had her hair loose and was dressed in black from head to toe. A golden crown rested on her head, big dangly earrings, and a golden necklace around her neck.

The funeral was a miserable affair; the moment they lit the boat, it felt like a part of Vanya died. As if she crawled into the ship and curled herself around the horse head, burning alive alongside Aslaug's corpse.

The Queen looked as magnificent as she did while alive, finally free of all the burdens that came with marrying Ragnar Lothbrok. Vanya stood alongside the shores, surrounded by shieldmaidens, a prisoner. Brynja was forbidden anywhere near her, and she never felt more alone. Hoenir was being taken care of by some healers; the only one she had left was Aros.

Her son hated the scene as much as her, clutching her black dress in his tiny fists, hiccuping in between sobs. Humming a lullaby into his ear didn't help either. She wondered if he understood what happened or what danger they were in now.

She may have walked onto the shore surrounded by Aslaug's guards, but a nod from the new Queen made them abandon her, Lagertha's warriors surrounding her instead. Their loyalties lay with the new ruler, which meant that if she ordered Vanya's death, no one would try to stop her.

Vanya's head was on the chopping block, the axe dangling over her head. But she had to hide her fear, look as if she was at peace with death, or hid an ace in her sleeve. But she was powerless; the only thing she has is her courage.

Lagertha stood away from her, smiling in satisfaction, unbothered by Vanya's hateful stare. This time, Vanya didn't pray for her demise; she wished she could kill the bitch herself. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

By the time Ubbe and Sigurd returned, everything was in chaos. Asluag was buried, and Lagertha sat on her throne. "Where's our mother?"

"She's dead, Ubbe." She replied nonchalantly, causing the two brothers to look at her in shock. They refused to go to England with Ragnar to protect Kattegat and their mother and failed both. "I killed her."

"Why?" The question was soft and laced with confusion and hurt. Despite being the oldest, Ubbe felt useless, helpless. He left her and signed her death sentence in return.

"She took Kattegat away from me. I wanted it back." Torvi and Astrid watched the Ragnarsson curiously, waiting for them to attack. Ubbe drew his weapon, and just as fast, the rest of the hall did as well.

Sigurd tried to hold him back, knowing it would be futile and would probably result in their deaths as well. "Where's Vanya and Aros? What did you do to them?" He asked, looking around the hall for his nephew and sister in law, but couldn't see them.

"They are alive, but not here. I do not know where they are."

"Why didn't you also have us killed?" Sigurd asked again, trying to make sense of Lagertha's plan. Did she really think they wouldn't avenge their mother? No matter how strained his relationship with her was, Lagertha's actions would hold consequences.

Sitting on her throne of lies, Lagertha smiled somewhat smugly. "This was nothing to do with you. You are Ragnar's sons. It was not your fault that your father was bewitched."

Ubbe pointed his dagger towards her, spitting words like venom. "It was a mistake not to kill us."

"That's a chance I was prepared to take." Ubbe turned his back to the new Queen, dropping his coat and charging towards her. Sigurd was held back by numerous warriors with swords to his throat as his brother fought his way to Lagertha.

He would have made it if it were not for Astrid stepping in and the others using the chance to pin him to the ground. Lagertha watched the Ragnarsson growling on the floor like a feral beast, worry evident in her eyes.

Sigurd and Ubbe left the Great Hall, the older of the two beaten up pretty badly. Brynja watched them go, taking the dark alley's between the houses to stay out of the usurper's sight. Striding after them, she picked up a pebble and threw it at Sigurd's head, startling the young Prince.

He turned around in shock to see her red hair in the alley, mentioning for him to come closer, he pulled his brother after him. "Brynja? What do you want?"

The ginger rolled her blue eyes and took both by the hand, leading them through the less crowded ways, taking various turns to shake off any followers. In the end, they reached a farm on top of a hill, hushed voices spoke inside the hut. "We were worried that they killed you too. Luckily, the Gods heard some of Vanya's prayers."

"You know where she is?" Ubbe questioned the servant earnestly only to ear a shushing sound and a nod. When the door opened, they were greeted with a bearded man with a bow pointed at that.

"Put it down, father. The Ragnarssons are back."

"Thank the Gods." He lowered the weapon and allowed them in. Behind a curtain in the kitchen were hushed voices by candlelight. One belonged to their sister in law, which made them sigh in victory.

"Vanya!" Sigurd called out, pulling back the curtain to see the Saxon Princess on her knees with an older woman by her side, tending to someone on a bed of furs. The someone was barechested, with bandages over his shoulder and pants ripped in some places to give access to his other wounds. "Is that Hoenir?"

"Arrow wounds, bruises, a broken nose, and two broken fingers, cuts, and scrapes all over as well. They beat him in the morning, left him on the ground to bleed out." Vanya explained, wringing the bloody cloth in a basin of water.

"Will he be ok?" Sigurd questioned, walking closer to his friend's bedside. The two men grew close over time, bonding over their love for music and Vanya. Hoenir was a good listener and gave wise advice when needed; it would be a shame if he died like this instead of the battlefield. A man like him deserved Valhalla.

Vanya bandaged another wound on the knee as the older woman wiped his face clean, and Brynja moved to find him some new clothes. "If the Gods's will it. We gave him tea to put him to sleep. But it's up to his strength and the Gods if he lives."

"We should move him." Ubbe declared, looking down at his sister to see her crying, eyes bloodshot, and Aros sleeping on another fur next to Hoenir. "I am sorry we left."

"She shot her Ubbe." Vanya sobbed out, looking at the beaten-up man in desperation. As if Ubbe could bring Aslaug back from the dead. "After renouncing everything and asking safe passage! Lagertha shot her in the back. I felt her die in my arms..."

#history vikings #vikings #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar #ivar x oc #ivar imagine #original character #original female character

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Halloween prompt: Alfred is getting increasingly annoyed at whoever is eating the halloween candy. No one will confess. (Bruce is sitting in a corner somewhere with a bag of... [insert Batfamily appropriate candy here])

Three Musketeers

Rating: G 1,844 words Gen AO3

Bristol was technically in Gotham City limits. Though the gilted mansions and private woods with pastures and stables seemed like a whole other world in comparison. The residents liked to think so too, especially because – despite Gotham’s robust public transportation system – it was almost impossible to reach the rich suburb from the city proper. It was because they lived in this separate world that Bristol’s wealthy residents often fought to receive special treatment or even secede from the city all together.

Except when it came to Halloween.

The residents of Bristol were more than happy to hold their trick-or-treat night during the same time as the rest of Gotham. Mostly, because it discouraged the city’s poorer residents from coming out to ask for literal handouts from them. The time it would take to sit in train stations and bus stops to get there ate up a large chunk of trick-or-treat’s two-hour window. And the walk from the last stop and between the houses took up the rest.

Despite all this, many made the trek out to Wayne Manor and its residents always made it well worth the work.

It was known that the Manor didn’t simply give out full-sized candy bars, no, they gave a whole bag of king’s sized bars. And from the entrance way to the ballroom off to the side were decked out and fitted to be a haunted house with games and entertainment and even more snacks. There was no reason to go anywhere else when you went to Wayne Manor.

Except, this year the seemingly endless supply of candy was mysteriously missing in the week leading up to the big night. Which was ironic considering the Manor was populated by detectives.

Alfred was suspicious. And annoyed. But mostly suspicious. He had raised the world’s greatest detective and then helped raise the current world’s greatest detective. In addition to the other seven vigilantes he’d actively cared for over the years. And countless others who hadn’t lived under his roof. Which meant that he was extremely hard to pull something over on. Extremely.

Yet, his stockpile of trick-or-treat candy was gone. Completely. And his list of suspects was long and skilled.

First, was Barbara because he loved the young woman dearly but she was a bit of a chocolate fiend. Also, if he could rule her out then he could enlist her assistance. It was easy enough to make her coffee just the way she liked and message her to come to the kitchen when she was working in the Cave one evening. She was happy enough to come up, thinking it was just for a chat but knowing something was up when Alfred passed her the mug.

They studied each other from across the long wooden table that took up the far side of the kitchen. Alfred sipped his tea from the good china that after the last family debacle was his alone to use. Barbara narrowed her eyes as her glasses slipped down her nose. They were playing a high stakes game of chicken and they both knew it.

Barbara broke first. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Alfred?” she asked sweetly, setting her coffee down and pushing her glasses back up in the same movement.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I was wondering if you happened to know where my trick-or-treat supply is disappearing to?” Alfred’s lips turned up in kindness, but his eyes were hard and steady as he held her gaze.

An adult, a seasoned crimefighter, an honest to god superhero and yet Barbara wanted to wriggle in her chair, knot her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt, under that look. Pure willpower was the only thing that stopped her. Though it didn’t extend to her mouth. “No, I’ve been out of town most of the week.”

This was true, Alfred knew, but not necessarily an airtight alibi.

“Besides,” Barbara continued, “I have a Costco card. The Birds and I split it. If I wanted to eat a whole bag of candy, I’d just buy my own.”

Alfred nodded, lifting his tea to take another sip. He accepted that answer, she knew better than to lie to him. “In that case, might I enlist your skills to uncover the real culprit?”

This was what Alfred had truly wanted to ask, they both knew, and Barbara smiled in delight at the prospect. “I’d love to.”

The next suspect was Tim. He knew exactly how to cover his tracks and misdirect their attention. Tim was sly, smart, and still technically a teenaged boy so sugar was irresistible. Barbara set the trap, crashing the Batcomputer one afternoon when everyone else was out. This forced Tim up, out of the Cave and to Alfred lying in wait in the kitchen.

Tim had climbed up onto a kitchen chair to get at the stash of poptarts on the top shelf of the cabinet above the stove. Proving that he had means, motive, and a record.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred drawled as he stepped out of the shadows. Bruce had to learn the skill from somewhere.

Startling, Tim whirled around and nearly fell from the chair. Dropping the silver packet in the process. It landed on the tile with a crunch. “Look I need the brain power to get the computer back up,” he said hastily, glancing guiltily between Alfred and the fallen junk food.

“I am not here to reprimand you about the poptarts,” Alfred said and Tim immediately relaxed, shooting him a relieved little grin. “But I may have to reprimand you for sneaking something else,” Alfred continued, causing Tim’s face to fall.

“I swear, I only had the one Monster the other week. And I split it with Kon ‘cause we were trying to keep Bart from drinking it. Me and him on an energy drink bouncing round the Tower is way better than a speedster on an energy drink.” Tim’s eyes were wide and the blood that had drained from his face made the boy almost impossibly paler.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the confession. Not what he was looking for but good to know all the same. “And what of the candy for trick-or-treat?”

Tim’s brows drew together in confusion. “Uh, I don’t know? I suggested we get milkyways but if you got snickers again then I’m not going to complain.”

“So, you did not eat the supply?” Alfred confirmed, though the fact that Tim was already feeling guilty and hesitant to lie on top of the fact that he had no idea Alfred had purchased boxes of three musketeers cleared him of the crime.

“No?” Tim shook his head as he shrugged.

Satisfied, Alfred nodded. “Enjoy your poptarts, Master Timothy. I shall be moving them shortly.”

“It wasn’t Jason,” Barbara said over the phone. “I have a couple different angles of him being in Paraguay all last week.”

“I never suspected him to begin with,” Alfred admitted as he pushed the shopping cart, restocking for the big night tomorrow. “He never liked three musketeers. Dark chocolate kit-kats are a separate story.” He smiled at the memory of a young Jason carrying a huge box of the candy bars to drop in the cart during his first Halloween with them.

“Cass and Dick are out too,” she continued. “Cass laughed at me when I even suggested it and then confirmed Dick was telling the truth when I questioned him.”

Alfred hummed. Richard had been his next guess, though he was more likely to take them to hand out while on patrol or pass on to his friends’ children than to eat himself. “Master Damian is innocent as well. He scoffed at the implication he would, quote, ‘stoop so low as to steal candy from children.’ He also vouched for Master Duke and neither were anywhere near the spare pantry recently to begin with.”

“Security cameras confirm that.”

“That leaves Miss Stephanie,” Alfred frowned. Stephanie tended to decline any offers of assistance from the Manor’s residents that weren’t directly related to masked vigilantism. Though she recently had allowed Alfred to slip her gas money when she visited during daylight hours. The thought of her taking the Halloween candy just did not sit right with him. It was almost as impossible to imagine as Damian taking it. Cassandra was more likely to be playing a trick on them all, having hidden it for some soon to be revealed reason. “Are you positive Miss Cassandra is not the culprit?”

Barbara chuckled. “I mean, not really. But at the same time why would she? Though why would Steph either? I don’t think it was either of them but I can vouch for Steph. She hasn’t been anywhere near the Cave or the Manor since last month. What with school she’s been staying close.”

“Which leaves us back to the beginning,” Alfred sighed and got in line. “We could create a sting operation though I’d loathe to lose this supply as well. There’s nearly no candy left in the entire state.”

“That I believe. Alright, I’ve got the feed from the events kitchen running on one of my screens. I’ll keep an eye on it for the rest of the night, see if anyone stupid enough to try it again.”

“Thank you, Miss Barbara. I really appreciate your assistance in this matter,” Alfred told her before exchanging their goodbyes. He had plans for a little stakeout of his own.

Placing the boxes in the spare pantry, Alfred settled himself on a stool next to the industrial fridge in the dark. He typed out a careful message in the family’s groupchat informing them all that the missing candy had been replaced and politely asking that it not disappear again before the next night. They would all be getting ready to go out for the night so there is no doubt they would see it. And he would have plenty of time to wait for them to strike.

Hours later, the family was returning and Alfred was still lying in wait. A creak echoed in from the ballroom where decorations were mostly in place. The light padding of rubber soles on the marble tile came closer and closer. Alfred leant further back into the shadows as the door swung open. He held his breath, waiting as the guilty party walked into the kitchen proper, headed directly towards the pantry. Alfred slipped from his hiding spot, keeping low as he crept around the island to come up behind the culprit.

Alfred contained his gasp of shock and annoyance as he flipped on the light. Forcing the candy thief to whirl on him. “Master Bruce!” Alfred scolded. He hadn’t thought his first charge would do such a thing and hadn’t even considered him as a suspect.

Having the good sense to look ashamed and like a ten-year-old boy again, Bruce offered a wavering grin in apology. “You bought three musketeers,” he said as his only defense.

Alfred frowned as he crossed his arms. “And your penance will be handing them out tomorrow night.”

#dc comics #alfred pennyworth #barbara gordon #tim drake #bruce wayne #batman #jason todd #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damian wayne #dick grayson #duke thomas #batbros #the batgirls are better than you #my fic #writing #own writing #fanfic #fanfiction #detective comics #radioactivepigeons

[oh-no-whoopsie]

reasons I love kip!! (aka @ghostsingold) 

(making this post bc they deserve all the love and my meds have kicked in so im able to be productive today. thanks long-acting adderall!!) 

kip I love you for so many reasons and as I fill out college applications im gonna list them out <3 no special occasion its just! you make me happy and I wanted to share that with you and since I have a teeny blog no one will see this but you <3 

1.) this response to a post I made on my old blog. it was one of my first positive interactions on Tumblr and this tiny piece of writing made that entire week easier. it was a tiny start to a friendship and it was also a stranger caring for me, which at that time I didn’t think was possible. 

2.) every single time that they have been a part of the Brown Eye Stan Club and hyped up brown eyes,,,,dude I can’t you’ve been such a big part of the journey to accept my brown eyes. it means so much to me that you just? say it!! you’re proud of the fact you love brown eyes! hell yeah dude! thank you!

3a.) for sending me songs that remind you of me??? to have someone think of me?? MY HEART?? I- I can’t express how much it means to me I just,, hnnhhh you even made me a fucking playlist (which I listen to CONSTANTLY) (here is the playlist ) just. dude. I love you 

4.) one of those songs is Glitter & Gloss by Skott and 

          a) this song makes me feel like a fucking badass 

          b) made me feel so appreciated and loved because it was the first time someone had said “this song reminds me of you!” 

          c). when I was stalking your blog trying to find my old posts I found this post about that song and?? sunbeams through Spanish moss? trees? pretty?? is this how you see me?? im in love????? also this ask I sent you where you describe your love for the sun <3 the implication that I am even a little bit like the sun to you makes me wanna cry happiness 

5.) Your taste in music is SUPERB. IMPECCABLE. A DELIGHT. 

6.) Someday I will have the strength to do naniwrimo with you and that will be a glorious month (and next September we should be able to be writing buddies!!!!! because now I have meds for attention span so I can write again >:) ) 

7.) A long time ago (old blog) I asked for people to give me nicknames because I never got cute nicknames and because I could only ever insult myself. for the longest time I forgot what you said but I remembered!!!! it was birdie!!

          a). even though now most people call me doe cuz of bumblebee, you were the first person to reply to that post and just because milk suggested fawn/doe and it stuck doesn’t mean I love birdie any less 

          b.) it means a lot that you suggested it in the first place and while I was finding links for this post I came across this ask where you call me birdie :> p.s. you still mean a lot to me and I hope you’re okay <3 

8.) every single time you sent me a picture of a frog :),, also that one post about taking fake shots of water still sends me but I can’t find it to link it,, and also everything you listed on this post including the fact that it is inspired by my post

9.) when you agreed to talk to people for me when I was panicking thinking they were going to die but had to go to sleep. that means so much that you would take that role on and dude I am so so sorry I ever asked that of you. 

10). you made me find magic in the sunlight and not just the moonlight, you helped me find that balance and accept that piece of me and it sounds stupid but its really important ok also im just gonna say it: your voice is perfection it is comfort it is warm and all things good in this world. ive only heard you speak like twice but I could listen to you for the rest of my life

11.) sometimes you send me posts that r like “thinking of you!!” and THEY MAKE MY DAY omfg 

12.) when you drew me!!! 

          a.) bc holy shit you are an amazing artist if you let me I want to post that drawing of me on my blog

          b.) I was supposed to draw you in return I am sorry I did not,, I still plan on doing it tho 

          c.) we drew ourselves as fairies and that was pretty fun 

          d.) you made me see beauty in myself I- 

13.) for never once encouraging my ed or bad habits. you were ready to call me tf out and I appreciate that so much dude? you were never subtley pro you also seem ready to stab anyone who opposes you. hell you post callouts against pr0-ana shit and m**nspo and f*tspo and photoshop and all of it. I admire you so much 

14.) for letting me ramble on about hermes and offerings and spirituality! 

15.) for lighting a candle for Catherine and talking with me that night

(I have the entire conversation copied into a google doc on my phone because it needed to be saved. the things you said are beautiful. it is so touching and breathtaking and if I could hug you I would and  I promise not to forget if you won’t forget. )

16.) holy shit dude P O E T R Y, both for being so good at it and for reading mine. 

17.) helping validate my arospec questioning and enby questioning,,, it was actually through your blog that I realized oh shit! I might be aro!! and having someone to talk about gender issues and arospec stuff is SO AMAZING and I love you <3 and thank you for talking with me and for helping me and for validating me 

18) validating my anger!! or at least helping to do so! you point out when things are unfair! you genuinely want my life to improve! you helped me realize some of my friends are shitty! you helped me accept things! 

19.) I love your vibes. I can’t say this enough but somehow you are just so wonderful to me,,, you are amazing I can’t describe it. you are ethereal and terrific and your features could be anywhere from beautiful to cryptic to solid to handsome but I promise you that there is something unique about you. a bit of mystery and magic left over from the days when fairytales were real. you have all the power of the sun and light and fire in both the life giving and the destructive aspects. you are so perfect and wonderful thank you 

20.) because you told me “you do not deserve to be traumatized” and in all honesty that slapped me into reality. if i still had my old Tumblr I probably would’ve screenshotted it so I could get the exact quote but I do not know how to make you understand How Much That Helped me 

all in all,,,, I must end the list here because I need to go be productive. alas.there is more I didn’t even BEGIN to mention,,, but kip, you are my rae of sunshine. someday we are going to go be cryptic authors in Scotland who disappear into the woods, perhaps to hunt with the faeries, perhaps no, who knows. we will become part of the local lore,, independent and happy and spooky. 

I love you so much!  also sorry I went through your archive to find all this,,,, to be fair I already did it once to find my posts <3 

I would never say that just one person “saved me”. thats too big of a responsibility to share. but kip, you helped save me, in ways I can’t explain, from myself and from death and from an abyss of numbness. you saved me from a thousand tiny deaths and gave me a thousand new pieces of life and I would not be the person I am today without you. I love and appreciate you so much and you bring me sunlight and joy and peace and connection. you are a true friend to me. thank you for being here. you deserve the world and so much more. 

#i luv u kip #tw disordered eating #do not think I am a stalker I just really want you to feel appreciated atm #I love you!!!! with all of my being I love you! #and I want to be there for you like you are there for me

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 10

Fandom: What We  Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: M

Word Count: 1838

Chapter Summary: You clear the air with all four flatmates.

A/N: As always, cross posted to AO3.

Warning: Brief mentions of suicidal ideation.

You entered the lounge in your pajamas, your face already washed, and your hair messy. You collapsed onto the couch and started scrolling through your phone, making excellent progress on spending the evening in a near vegetative state.

“You’re not going out tonight?” Dawn asked.

You didn’t look up from your phone. “No. It’s been weeks. That guy’s not coming back; I scared him off for good. So I figured I might as well stay home until my depressive state killed me, quite possibly by my own hand,” you deadpanned.

“Y/N. That’s not funny.”

“Sorry.”

Changing the subject from your macabre exaggeration, Dawn suggested, “Let’s go out tonight.”

You threw her a look.

“No, really. Like actually out. Not just you sitting alone and sad at bar waiting for someone you may or may not have known to show up. Let’s go out, you and me, for a girl’s night. We’ll go out for drinks and dancing. Not Boogie Wonderland. You need a break from that place. Some other club.”

“Rain check?” You didn’t feel like going out. You didn’t feel like having fun. You felt like lying on the couch until you wasted away.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m really worried about you.”

You brushed off her comment, but you were getting sort of worried about yourself, as well. You’d stopped going to see your psychologist. Earlier in the day you found yourself wishing you would go to sleep and just not wake up. You were constantly miserable, surviving but not living.

“Well if you really don’t want to go out, why don’t we stay in and have a movie night? I’ll rent something online and then order a pizza, my treat, okay?”

You didn’t really feel like doing anything, but you recognized that Dawn was trying her best, and you appreciated it. And watching a movie and binging on pizza in your pjs seemed much more manageable that getting dressed up to go out and party.

You nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

~

The kitchen table was much too small for all five of you. Your elbows bumped either Vladislav on your left or Petyr on your right every time you shifted. Petyr sort of gave you the heebie jeebies, so you found yourself leaning slightly away from him, putting you uncomfortably close to Vladislav. You suggested relocating to the dining room, but were told that it was currently covered in blood and had a corpse laying on the table. You weren’t sure what was more unsettling, the fact that that was the state of the dining room, or that that news was delivered to you so nonchalantly. Nevertheless, the dining room was to an option, so you were all squeezed around the tiny kitchen table.

Viago cleared his throat before beginning. “We are here to clear the air about our being vampires and discuss our living situation with Y/N. It might be helpful if we reintroduced ourselves, properly, this time. I’ll go first.” He turned to address you directly. I am Viago Von Dorna Schmarten Scheden Heimburg.”

You stared blankly.

“Oh, and I’m 379 years old,” he added as an afterthought.

You tried to do the mental math in your head, but quickly gave up and decided to figure it out later.

“Deacon Brucke. I’m 183 years old.”

“Vladislav the Poker.  862 years old.”

He might not have been kidding about the Middle Ages last night, after all. You turned to Petyr, anticipating his introduction.

“Petyr,” he rasped, his voice as cold and creepy as the rest of him.

You waited for his age, but he stared blankly at you with his pale eyes, not volunteering any further information.

“We don’t know how old Petyr is,” Viago explained. “He lost track. Over 8,000, though.”

Your jaw dropped. “For real?”

Your turned back to Petyr and he nodded once. Shit. Okay, then.

Viago continued, “Y/N, do have any questions about vampires in general or specifically about any of us?”

You figured a general ‘Tell me about vampires.’ was too open-ended, and you tried to think of a more specific question. You had a lot of questions, though, and you didn’t know where to start. You also had some vague ideas and assumptions about vampires, but you didn’t know which, if any, were true. “How about I just tell you what I’ve heard about vampires, and you guys can correct me where I’m wrong and fill in the gaps. Does that work?”

The four looked to one another before nodding.

“So, you-“ You realized you didn’t quite feel comfortable referring to them as vampires, so you restarted, more generally. “So, vampires need to consume human blood. They sleep in coffins, during the day. Sunlight, garlic, silver, and crosses are all bad for them.” You looked around to see that all four were still nodding along, so you continued, rattling things off a bit faster. “Not showing up in mirrors, turning into bats, flying, having to be invited in, wooden stakes, hypnosis, and whatever Deacon did with that guy’s backpack.”

“Teleportation,” Deacon clarified.

You nodded, but tried not to give it too much thought. Watching him crawl out of that backpack was easily the most horrifying thing you’d ever encountered, and you felt the ball of fear and anxiety in your stomach return just remembering it.

“Vampires also have quicker and superior healing ability than humans.”

“And it’s not just bats,” Deacon added. “Cats and dogs, too. But with practice it can be any animal. Vladislav is known for his transformation abilities.”

Vladislav smiled proudly. “That’s not practice, though, that’s skill.”

“Ja, some vampires have certain abilities that other vampires don’t. I once met a vampire who could become invisible,” Viago explained.

“It isn’t just crucifixes, either.” Vladislav glanced quickly to your chest where he knew your necklace hung. “It’s any religious icons or words.”

“Really? Words? Like even if I just say ‘god’-“

You were cut off by wincing and hissing from around the table.

“Don’t do that!” Deacon scolded you.

“Shit. Sorry.” As frightening as vampires inherently were, it made you feel better that they had their weaknesses. “So is it just vampires? That are real, I mean? Or is every mythological creature real? Do I need to be on the lookout for, like, ghosts?”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Deacon scoffed.

“Of course ghosts are real,” Viago argued.

“Oh really? Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“Not technically. But the house I grew up in was haunted! There was a spirit who lived in the walls.”

“There was not. It was probably a rat.”

“You think I would confuse a rat for a ghost?”

“So, there’s no reason for me to change my thoughts on ghosts?” you interrupted.

“Ghosts are real,” Vladislav answered. You took it with a grain of salt, though. “Werewolves are real, too.” The rest of the group nodded. “I wouldn’t go out on full moons, if I were you. There is a pack that roams in Te Aro.”

That thought chilled you. You were sure you’d gone out in Te Aro on a full moon before. Then again, you’d gone out many times before unaware that there were vampires, including your current flatmates, out and about.

“Zombies and witches, too.”

“We’re not sure what all exists,” Viago told you. “Lots of myths are true, and lots aren’t. Some Maori myths are based on real creatures.”

“Oh! Petyr, remember the taniwha that attacked our ship when we came to New Zealand?”

Petyr nodded solemnly.

Vampires, werewolves, assorted creatures. Your entire worldview was being forcibly changed over these past 24 hours, but you just nodded. What else could you do?

“I’m safe, right?” you asked suddenly. “From you guys? I mean, there’s literally a dead body in the other room.” You were afraid it sounded more accusatory than you meant it, but you felt it was a fair question, all in all.

“We can control ourselves,” Deacon said, somewhat indignantly.

“You’re our flatmate and our friend. You don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.” You thought it was odd to thank someone for not killing you, but you didn’t know what else to say. “Is there anything you guys need from me? As a human flatmate? Other than not slamming the doors and being quiet during daylight hours?”

“Don’t tell anyone we’re vampires,” Vladislav said sternly. “Not anyone. Not ever. Vampire hunters are also real and when word gets out that you are a vampire, you tend not to be around soon after.” He, as well as the other three, looked deadly serious.

You nodded quickly to reassure them. “I won’t tell anyone.” You looked around the table. Everyone was still seated, though it felt like the natural conclusion to the flat meeting. “About the dining room…?”

“Jackie will be here to clean it up later tonight,” Deacon said.

“Is she a vampire, too?”

“No. She is my familiar.”

“Familiar?” To you, the word conjured images of black kittens following cartoon witches on broomsticks. You weren’t sure how the term applied to the woman you’d once met.

“Slave,” Vladislav clarified.

You looked at him in shock, and he returned your gaze, shameless and undisturbed. It wasn’t the first time something that had appalled you had entirely unaffected him. You wondered if that was a result of his being a vampire, his living for over 800 years, his being from the Middle Ages, or if it was just how he was as a person.  

Undoubtedly sensing your discomfort, Viago clarified, “A familiar serves a vampire for a while in exchange for being turned into a vampire after service.”

You calmed a bit. That sounded better than ‘slave.’ “So you’re going to turn her into a vampire?”

“No,” Deacon snorted.

“What? Why not?”

“Familiars don’t get turned into vampires.”

“Well, sometimes, probably, they do,” Viago argued. “I’ve never actually heard of it happening, though.”

“You’ve lost me,” you told them honestly.

Vladislav sighed. “Familiars exchange their service for the promise of becoming a vampire. Then they serve their masters until they die of old age or are killed.”

You exclaimed in disgust. “That’s horrible.”

Vladislav shrugged, his sleeve brushing your bare arm. These guys all ate actual, live people to survive. You supposed their moral compasses would have to be a bit more skewed than yours was.

However, despite your clear distaste for it all, you felt relieved to know they were vampires. It was one thing to kill because you could, or because you wanted to, as you thought had been the case before last night. It was another to kill because you had to. Yes, innocent people still died, and yes, your flatmates seemed to enjoy it. Deacon’s manic laughter as he chased that man out of your room was sure to haunt you for a while to come. But no matter how awful it was for the victims, or or how little guilt they felt about it, they had to do it to survive. And that fact alone made you feel better, if only a bit.

#wwdits #vladislav #vladislav x reader #another life #al fic

[aroworlds]

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.  

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?  

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn’t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you  … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.  

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.  

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.  

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

#aromantic #aro writing #arospec creations #alloaro #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #contemporary #christmas #christmas mention #found family #aroace #frayromantic #recipromantic #physical intimacy #cissexism #aromantic and bisexual #frayromantic and bisexual #aromantic and transgender #aromantic and trans #romance mention #love mention #long post #very long post #extremely long post #k. a. cook #familial relationships #anxiety #mental illness

[flightofaqrow]

nsfw stuff 1/?: qrow and consent

To be clear, this stuff is all headcanon and maybe slight interpretation, not meta analysis by any stretch. This one’s not gonna get graphic, but I’m cutting the breakdown since plenty of people might not care and it’s just me getting stupidly detailed.

So big first of all, that I ultimately decided to give it’s own post:  Consent is super important to him! 

tl;dr he’s a disaster and he knows it so he just likes to be sure.

So this is all in part because I just think consent should be important to everybody, I want to play him that way, and see no real contradiction in canon, but the muse is also screaming at me to say so for several reasons. 

Raven and the tribe raised him right (about this, at least). Ozpin raised him right (seriously his emphasis on choice would highly influence qrow and of course it would spill over into this). He left the bandits behind for doing cruel things, he has his own morals too.

But also... it’s!! the anxiety!!

we know he sees himself as a curse and unwanted. he basically runs on this as a basic assumption when interacting with people. my qrow is also very much on the aro spectrum and is bringing minimal to no romantic feelings into the situation - maybe some platonic fondness at best. on both points he wants to make sure his partner has at least somewhat of an idea of what they’re getting into (or doesn’t care), and that it’s really okay, because he’s learned the headache later isn’t worth it otherwise tbh.

he’s touch-starved/avoidant himself, moreso as he gets older, to the point of actually having knee-jerk discomfort with receiving it - even affection from family and trusted friends, let alone intimate activities with others. he’s a walking “dont touch me im angy” meme, so he gets it. not to say he takes much convincing to switch gears, just that feeling comfortable and having agency is important to him too.

he’s not inept, he can read interest via flirtation and nonverbals, so it doesn’t always have to be super explicit consent, but at least apparent. he doesn’t need to be coddled through the whole thing either, just a little reassurance somewhere. that said, he will ask/state his intent if he’s the one pushing forward with something, and sustained open communication is still appreciated.

this has been all touch-focused. verbally or with body language, he might be more aggressive - suggestive and baiting, but even that’s usually after someone else starts or shows interest first.

this does mean the more outright harassing he is (eg. Winter), the less he’s actually expecting it to work! he knows it’s not right but is intentionally being a jerk to either mess with the person or push them away!!

alcohol doesn’t really change these standards, but helps the flirtations and the belief of someone’s interest (and his deserving-ness of it) come easier. or at some point probably just makes him belligerent and truly unappealing anyway. - this is also the one deviation from current standards of consent which would require sobriety from both partners. he’s not going to try and ‘get someone drunk’ or take advantage of someone because they are, but if he’s been drinking, and they’ve been drinking, and they decide to make something of it, well that’s just a good time in his opinion. // obviously, I’m not going to write this with anyone uncomfortable with that subject, though // - more on alcohol related stuff in following posts, just keeping it to the consent focus for now.

a couple more influences for this:

sex was just a thing that happened in the tribe. parties, drinking, roughhousing, downtime. it happened. there were no real expectations, standards, nor shame about it - except that the tribe takes care of each other, so yeah, it better be a mutual endeavor or there could even be consequences. (how people treated those outside of the tribe maybe varied.)

he learned very quickly with his semblance and general demeanor that trying to act suave and macho was always doomed to have that image broken at some point. he did try (and as mentioned will still do it to be an actual jerk), but has learned over the years that he has much more success (and is less stressed) with honesty. he may not be suave, but he can at least be smooth. keeping a cool head, expressing his genuine desires, and tucking requests for consent into his flirtations charmed people more than he expected and made it much easier to laugh off odd little things inevitably going wrong. it also tends to attract people who will be kind with him in return, while deflecting upfront those who buy into his bad boy aesthetic perhaps a bit too much and are likely to end up disappointed by this depressing disaster man.

but also like. ...sometimes none of this matters and stuff still just happens for him because people are just looking for a good time and it ain’t that complicated. do they even learn each other’s names? who knows. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#* hey don't get mad cause i'm right = headcanon * #* gotta look inside / a little introspection = character development * #* save that for when you're older = suggestive * #this was so much i hope i got everything #but we both have a lot of thoughts about this apparently

[divagonzo]

Hi, I'm wondering how to learn to not be so possessive over possible ace characters? Take Charlie, I'm so happy that word of god supports an ace view of Charlie, that he never married and are more interested in dragons than women. But he's shipped with self-inserts and other book character, sometime he's written as someone who sleeps with everything that moves, and it makes me want to scream. I realise that this sounds stupid, but I don't know how to not act so possessive and irrational over him

Evenin’ Nonnie. Grab a beverage from the fridge and we’ll natter a spell.

I’m tagging @weasleyismyking540 because she made an excellent point while we were talking last week (and I know she’ll want to add more onto this discussion.)

First of all, I’m the same way about Charlie. Having (even if he’s barely in the series) as any kind of aro/ace (or spectrum) of such is wonderful. It’s incredible. There is so little ace representation that we take what we can get. I’m sure our lovely compatriots the Aromantics appreciate such, too.

Having said all of that,…

More under a cut since this got long and slightly complicated.

There are some schools of thought (which is where you can look further if you so want. YMMV.) that Charlie dating someone and realizing “ain’t nothing happening” or “Whelp this isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be” or “Why can’t they be like Dragons? At least you know they want to kill you and it is not personal” was how he realized that he just wasn’t into that sort of thing.

For those who write him having relationships with Self-Inserts (looking at the online game and not tagging such since they are having their fun and it doesn’t impact me in the least especially with a black-tag list) and finding their own Weasley for their own Self-Inert? It’s their bit of fun. Their fun doesn’t impact you in the least, especially when some of it might be how he comes to really realize how Ace/Aro he is. It doesn’t impact me, either. (Or he could be Lithoromantic/sexual in that it sounds good in theory but in practice? Absolute pants. (With the one who wasn’t a guy I had such feelings for *aka UST and Pining* mine was Lithoromantic in that I’d never act on it because the consequences would have been destructive AF to so many. Then I got my s* sorted and figured out and things are swimmingly now.)

They aren’t harming us Aces, even if it feels like our particular orientation gets shoved aside the instant that the situation is shown where he might consider hanging out with (a girl, guy, Black Lake Squid - whomever) and maybe have some kind of relationship.  Admittedly, there is a bias especially when Ace still gets plenty of crap from The Community along with considerable gatekeeping and being told repeatedly that Aces aren’t oppressed.

The ones who make him out to be a Lothario? That’s probably a bit of wishful thinking and wish fulfillment, in that Charlie would be into them that way even if it’s canon that he’s more into his dragons than anyone else (guy or girl or whomever.) Heck, I’ve read my share and laugh a bit since Charlie is barely there and any more than a leg lamp or cardboard cut out. He’s almost an OC when it comes to mentions in the entire storyline.

(And yes, I wrote him doing such adult things but I also intentionally wrote him as Aro/Ace and while I don’t think my gift recipient liked their gift, I’m quite proud of writing something that intricate, complicated emotionally and mentally and have it applicable.) (No I won’t mention where it’s published since it’s so not Ace safe in the least.)

So, my suggestion on preventing violence and having an aneurysm about Charlie and his Aro/Ace orientation is black tagging some tags and then pointedly ignoring it, focusing on those stories that are written where he is Ace. Curating the media you take in will help considerably. But considering those possibilities, given the year/era (the late 80s when Asexual wasn’t talked about ever ‘cept in psychology and psychiatry and even then it was “something is wrong with her” and “she’s broken, I tell you” or “Prude” “Cold Fish” “Frigid” the only way you could consider and find out that you’re just not into dating and more) took…. dating and maybe more to figure it out.  People rarely were referred to a counselor because they weren’t dating by 15, or even 20. Maybe 30 and then you’re personally wondering but that’s more personal knowledge and understanding.

The upside now is that being Ace is widely spoken about more and people are comfortable knowing this aspect about themselves and wondering why they never felt that way about persons ABC XYZ. It’s easier to find like-minded people now.  It’s easier to find answers, materials, and knowledge now.

It wasn’t the case in the late 80s and early 90s.

So like so many little girls all buying the same Barbie and telling their own stories and having fun with Charlie…. it’s all good. Really. You keep writing/arting/creating things about him being Ace and I sure will read it.

#Anonymous #Dragon asks #Dragon listens #Dragon speaks #Dragon talks XXX #Dragon talks Charlie Weasley #Charlie Weasley and Ace Discourse

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot Ch14

Summary: The meeting continues, we learn about the members of this new group and Megan and Paul have an argument

Chapter Warnings: allusions to suicide, anxiety

Word Count: 2,584

08.20PM Tuesday 2nd November 2038

Not everyone was in, a few left, and Alex let them leave. Soon they were left with a grand total of six people, Alex and Megan included.

“Okay,” Alex checked their phone. “We’ve still got the hall for a while and I want to talk more about deviants next time, so, let’s introduce ourselves and our history with androids. You all know me, so Lucas, why don’t you start?”

Lucas turned out to be the guy with shoulder length black hair, and he let out a small groan, knowing that everyone hated these.

“Alright, I’m Lucas and I’m a History major. I grew up in California and watched the numbers of androids increase. We have one at home and I was fairly indifferent until I saw a gang kick the shit out of one. I didn’t get involved and it’s probably a good thing that I didn’t. I’m hardly a mountain of muscle, but I still regret it.”

Lucas fell silent and nodded, signalling he was done.

The rainbow dressed girl was next, and now Megan noticed that under her rainbow beanie poked out blue, yellow and pink strands of hair.

“Hi, I’m Ivy and I’m gay as fuck,” there was a small amount of laughter at the frank statement, successfully lightening the mood. “I’m from Chicago and mom swears an android ruined her marriage. Really it’s my dad’s fault for hiring one to have sex with, and I’m all for androids not having to put up with that shit.”

Megan was next, and she found herself staring at the floor again, specifically the part of the stage where Alex’s feet were dangling. She could imagine she was just talking to Alex.

“Hey, I’m Megan, History major,” she nodded to Lucas without looking at him, “I’m from a small town in Minnesota, only really got androids a few years ago and I’ve never really been comfortable with the idea. I was given an android by my elderly neighbours over a week ago and I’d be more than happy for him to able to live his own life and not have to put up with me.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. She didn’t really want Paul to leave now, but she didn’t want to force him to stay. She wanted him to be her friend, and friends didn’t force each other to stay.

Alex nodded, some things clicking together in the back of their mind. “Thank you Megan, Oscar?”

The footballer shifted in his seat. “Well, you’ve heard my name, I’m from Phoenix, and I’ve got a couple of stories. I’m kinda pissed about the idea of androids replacing footballers, and how far that could go, although, if androids could push themselves beyond their programming in sport, that would be pretty cool to see,” Oscar then swallowed. “I saw a similar thing to Lucas, except it was my own team beating the shit out of the other team’s android, and I don’t care what you’re made of, that’s not on.”

Megan got the feeling that there was more to the story, but Oscar wasn’t going to elaborate.

Finally was a gangly freshman, who looked like they still going through puberty. Poor boy still had acne. He also looked vaguely familiar to Megan, from the Ace/Aro society maybe?

“I’m Nathan,” he stated, accent clearly British. “I’m an international student studying Music. We don’t have humanoid androids in Europe, and I appreciate that’s a misnomer. You Americans are weird, why make them look human if you don’t treat them like they are?”

“Hear hear!” Alex agreed. “Well, you all know me, I’m Alex. I’m from right here in Detroit and grew up with the advent of androids. We’ve had one at home for years and I didn’t think of it as odd. Then my parents didn’t let me take an android with me to college and I had to learn to all these chores by myself. I think the idea was to ‘not take things for granted’ and it worked. So, that and talking with Julia, the Detroit Police Captain’s niece, gave me the idea to start this up.”

“Great, so are we done with the ice breakers?” Lucas asked. “Because nobody likes those.”

“I like them,” Alex defended, “but yeah, not everyone does, I get it.”

The group sat in awkward silence, broken by Oscar.

“You’ve said your plan, we’ve introduced ourselves. Now what?”

“Well,” Alex rubbed the back of their neck. “I had wanted to talk more about deviants, but Julia couldn’t get here tonight so that’ll have to be next time.”

“In the meantime,” Ivy adjusted their many wristbands, “We can brainstorm ideas to get new members.”

Alex nodded, “Obviously we want people we trust, people who are going to be on our side.”

“I can talk to some people at home,” offered Nathan. “See if we can build up some international pressure.”

“Good idea, maybe wait until we get info on deviants, but yeah, start poking feelers out. Anyone else?” Alex’s eyes were starting to shine with enthusiasm.

“Er, I guess I can ask around the sport teams, see what they think,” Oscar offered. “I’m not good at subtlety.”

“You can say you’re asking for a friend’s assignment,” Ivy suggested. “I know a few people who might agree with us, see if I can get them to come.”

“Yes, yes!” Alex was practically clapping their hands in glee.

“I can also think of a few people on my course,” Lucas fiddled with his hair. “And my little sister, who’s still in high school.”

Megan looked around at everyone, all of them having a plan of how to expand this idea and get more people, and she had nothing. She had no social life, online or IRL. Her family probably wouldn’t agree. Paul...

Her eyes widened. The next time they were going to meet was when they had this Julia here, someone who knows about deviants. What better to add to that than an actual deviant?!

Alex noticed Megan’s epiphany. “Got an idea there Megan?”

Startled Megan looked up to see everyone looking at her expectantly. “Um. W-well, I-I could get, a friend, to come. If he agrees, he might be able to help m-more than me.”

Alex’s smile didn’t diminish. “Great! Can’t wait to meet him!”

“Okay,” Ivy clapped her hands. “We have a plan, some homework. Now what? We go for drinks?”

Megan panicked initially, but Alex quickly cut in.

“Most of us are under the drinking age Ivy,” Alex sounded like they had to remind Ivy of this a lot.

“I’m not really one for it anyway,” Oscar admitted. “Don’t like the taste.”

“Alright, so, we part ways here?” Ivy asked.

“Some of us have work to do,” Lucas intoned, standing up. “Do you know when we’ll meet again?”

“I have all of your phone numbers, I’ll let you know,” Alex answered. “After next week we can set up a group chat and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Excellent,” Lucas collected his bag. “See you then,” he turned to leave, before pausing and turning to Megan. “See you in class?”

Megan knew he didn’t recognise her, she didn’t show up enough.

“Probably not, but I’ll be here next time,” she answered, surprisingly calm at admitting that. Lucas nodded, smiled, and left.

Oscar, Ivy and Nathan also said their goodbyes and left, leaving Alex and Megan.

“You alright Megan?” Alex asked, noticing that the younger girl hadn’t left.

“You, you know a lot of people,” Megan noted, and Alex nodded.

“What can I say? I like talking to people. A lot of different people.”

“I can tell,” Megan agreed. It had been an eclectic bunch meeting tonight.

“So, this friend,” Alex probed. “Is this the same friend who had their world turned upside down?”

“Yes, it’s the same guy. Paul.”

“Cool, see if you can bring him,” Alex nodded, before snapping their fingers in realisation. “How’s your android been? I got the impression you weren’t too keen.”

Megan was gripped by a decent amount of panic, and clenched her hand so tight in her pocket she began to dig crescents in her palm.

“H-he’s doing alright. Doing his thing. No issues.”

“Good, let us know how things go with him.”

Alex started towards the door, pausing to see if Megan was going to follow them.

“Why did you nag me about this?” Megan asked the question that had been niggling at her for the past two days.

Alex took their time answering.

“Would you believe me if I said I had a good feeling about you?”

“Not really,” Megan admitted, and Alex chuckled.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“And what’s with all the cloak and dagger? Was it really just theatrics?”

“That I can answer,” Alex turned to face Megan. “I’m a little paranoid, okay, maybe a lot,” they amended at Megan’s disbelieving face. “But, I didn’t want people showing up just to cause trouble, ya know? I wanted people who were serious, and if I threw in a bit of challenge, I’d get people who were determined.”

“And, that somehow applies to me?”

“You figured it out didn’t you?” Alex had that annoying, knowing smirk again. “You took the chance of it being a hoax and came anyway. Seems like you’re dedicated enough to me.”

“So, basically you took a chance, and it might have paid off.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Alex’s smirk turned to a soft smile. “I know it sounds like everyone has big ideas on how to help, but if everyone had big ideas then we’d never decide what to do.”

“I, I guess.”

“Hey, if you want to feel more involved, do you want to take minutes for the next meeting? I forgot to do that today, kinda got wrapped up in the excitement of it all.”

Megan blinked in surprise. “Er, yeah, I guess. What do I have to do for that?”

“Keep a note of roughly what was said when. Not word for word, you’d have to either be fluent in short hand or the world’s fastest writer. Just ‘this was suggested then’ and such. You can change your mind at any point.”

“I’ll, I’ll do it, yeah.”

Alex grinned. “Great. I’ll text you when we’ll have the next meeting. See ya later!”

“See you,” Megan added as Alex left, leaving her in a massive, empty room. Did, did all of that just happen? Did they just plan the start of an android rights group? This was how history was made, right?

Megan focused on her breathing, which was starting to get faster. This could be massive, what the hell was she doing, thinking that she could be involved with this?!

Breathe

She did, focusing on the air going through her nostrils and into her lungs, then out again.

It was okay. One meeting at a time. Now, she had to go home, and tell Paul that this was real. This was happening.

Calm, Megan left the room, and made her way home.

9.30PM Tuesday 2nd November 2038

“How did it go? What happened?”

Paul had been waiting by the door for Megan to get in. When she didn’t answer immediately he began to pace up and down the room.

“Paul you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Megan commented as she took off her shoes and jacket.

“Unlikely,” Paul refused to stop pacing.

“Okay,” Megan sighed, setting her bag down by the door. “So, this group is legit. It’s real, people showed up, discussed android rights and little on deviants, which will be covered in more detail next time. Overall, looks good.”

Paul visibly relaxed and stopped pacing. “So, now what?”

“Now, we wait for Alex to get their guest speaker in, spread the word,” Megan paused as she remembered. “Oh, and I may have said that I would ask you to come next time. They don’t know you’re an android,” she added at Paul’s alarm.

“Why did you say that?!”

“Because I thought you’d be interested! Besides, if we’re talking about deviants next time, who better than an android who’s actually a deviant!”

“I can’t,” Paul shook his head and began pacing again. “I just can’t.”

“Why?” Megan pressed.

“I’m scared, okay?!” Paul nearly shouted.

“Guess what, so was I!” Megan retaliated “I still went. Trust me, I get it. It sucks being scared all the time, but you can’t hide here forever!”

“Watch me,” Paul all but snarled.

“Paul, you will go mad if you stay cooped up in here. It’s already happened and you can’t deny it!” she called as he tried to walk away, however, it was a small apartment, so there wasn’t far to go.

“I’m not going to that meeting!” he shouted, making Megan step back, heart rate rising. She had to pause to gather herself in order to respond.

“I never said you had to!” Megan countered, making him pause. “For the love of- you stopped following orders the night you decided to stop me doing something I’d regret, and I’m grateful for that. This is not an order, this is a suggestion. I think it would be a good idea, but I can’t force you and I don’t want to.”

Paul had his hands on the kitchen table, head lowered as he tried to regain control of himself.

“From what you’ve told me, your mind has, essentially, been broadened. Now, you do experience boredom, and loneliness and don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she added when it looked like he was going to disagree.

“You’re being a little hypocritical, aren’t you?” he asked, and Megan froze. “You only ever left your apartment building once a week, at best before I was given to you.”

“That was self imposed.”

“That was you caving into your anxiety,” Paul snapped. “And now you’re telling me to not do that same thing.”

“Because we both know it was bad and we both know that you hadn’t been there I probably wouldn’t even be here right now!” Megan shouted, voice started to shake as she realised what she’d said. “It-it was bad, and I’m trying to st-stop you from, from making the same mistake.”

Paul was calmer when he replied, but still clearly upset.

“By pushing me to do things I’m not ready for?”

“Some-sometimes you need to be pushed. You pushed me, a lot, without realising.”

Paul let a sigh, and stood up from the table. His face was blank, and Megan took an unconscious step back, making him blink.

“I-I’m scaring you.”

Megan smiled nervously. “A-a little bit?”

Paul’s legs seemed to fold beneath him as he down in one of the kitchen chairs. He ran a hand over his face as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“Welcome to riding the shitstorm,” Megan tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Paul tried to respond how she wanted him to, mouth twitching into a smile, but it was clearly forced.

“You don’t have to come,” Megan reassured as she walked over to her computer.

Paul didn’t respond, and Megan waited a few minutes before starting to go over new commissions, since it seemed like Paul wasn’t going to say anything.

It took about half an hour for Paul to say something.

“Has the money from your commission come in?”

“Yeah, earlier today.”

“Shopping tomorrow. See where we go from there,” Paul decided and Megan nodded.

“One step at a time,” she agreed.

So, yes, mostly exposition about the the new characters, who we will be seeing a lot of. And with Nathan's thing about Europe having different androids, according the wiki that's canon. Here's the link detroit-become-human.wikia.com…

And Paul is under a lot of stress, as Megan said, him being stuck in the apartment is driving him mad, even if he doesn't want to admit it. He knows that he goes outside there's a high chance of something going wrong, which when he wasn't deviant didn't bother him, but now has the potential to make him freak out.

Other Options Flowchart Dismiss idea about Paul (argument won't be so intense later in the chapter, as Megan would merely suggest it to him) Agree to see Lucas in class Ask how many more people were supposed to show up. Ask how many Alex expected to stay

Don't ask Alex why they asked Megan to come

Don't agree to be note taker

Lie. Be 100% honest

Break the silence

@septicart-appreciation @nightmarejim

#Detroit Become Human #Detroit Become Human fanfic #Guess What? I'm Not a Robot #Guess What? I'm Not a Robot ch14 #character introductions #protest group #TheShapeshifter100 writes

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

(1/6) In advance, sorry if this sounds clipped but I'm rewriting an 11 part ask because that's just too much and it feels like it would be rude to send such a long question. Somehow it's still long. So my background is: mostly used to aro and ace communities, don't have much experience with the lgbt+ community at large (trying to work on that), the way the aro/ace communities break concepts like attraction down really helped me figure out what my orientation was. Questioning my gender now and

(2/6) having a hard time finding resources that help me clarify my feelings instead of making me even more confused. I started researching thinking that they would be similar to aro and ace resources, going to the root of things and saying “What even is attraction, let’s define it” and breaking it down into chunks instead of trying to tackle the whole thing at once (see the split attraction model). Instead I found many lists of labels and pronouns, trans 101 that was at the same time too basic (3/6) and not basic enough, and “Gender is a feeling, masculinity/femininity/androgyny/etc are feelings too, no one can tell you what your gender is but you”. My request isn’t for anyone to tell me what my gender is, I’ll figure that out myself. But I feel I’m lacking the tools to do it. So does anyone have any resources, be they articles/blogs/life experiences and stories written by trans people/etc that breaks things like the feelings of gender as a whole, masculinity, femininity, androgyny,(4/6) agender, and dysphoria down (not coded behaviors or presentation, but what they actually FEEL like. These are the things that I’m most confused about and most want some sort of answer or definition for) in the style aro/ace resources do for attraction/orientation? To figure this out I need some sort of starting point or foothold or anchor for this instead of “it’s a feeling” when I don’t know what that feeling could be. But “Nobody can tell you what you are” sounds much more like defeat(5/6) than freedom to me rn. I’ve heard it said that gender is experienced differently by everyone, and if it’s really just some nebulous unidentifiable feeling that literally cannot be put into words then I can learn to live with the fact I’ll just never understand it, but… it just seems like there HAS to be some sort of commonality in the feeling of gender, the feeling of femininity/masculinity/all the rest that could be prevalent enough to say what that feeling IS and used to help people (6/6) figure out better who they are and who they want to be. For the ones like me who don’t even know what they’re feeling or what they want to be, just that they don’t want to feel like they do now.

Kii says:You’ve got a lot here, and you’re right. Gender is really confusing, and it really is something that 100 different people will give you 100 different answers about. Some people do feel their gender is best described by more visible aspects, such as behaviors, clothing, desired body, hobbies, etc, but some people don’t, and for them, it is just a feeling that isn’t describable, they just know internally what gender they are and can’t always explain why. 

However, just because there are feelings doesn’t mean that everyone’s feelings are the same, like the commonality you’re mentioning. You know the old “how do we know that your green is the same as my green?” Two people could be seeing the exact same item, both agree that it’s green, but how does anyone know that if I saw the same item through your eyes, I would still call it green? Your eyes might be structured completely differently than mine. Your green might be my purple, etc. I think the same goes for the words “masculine” and “feminine”- I can give you words that I associate with each, but a lot of people might disagree. 

Think of a person that you consider to be very masculine (whether they ID as a man or not)- why do you see them as masculine? Is it because of how they dress? What their body looks like? Because they like cars, sports, etc? How they act or other elements of their personality? Do the same for someone who you feel is very feminine (whether they ID as a woman or not). How is your “masculine” person different than your “feminine” person?

Androgyny is usually described as the intersection or mix of masculinity and femininity, so to figure out what you associate with androgyny, you kind of have to figure that out first.

We have a whole page about dysphoria, since that’s a more concrete concept. There are lots of descriptions there on how different people describe dysphoria and how it feels.

We also have this post, which a lot of people have tried to make helpful to questioning people, as well as this ask where various mods described what gender feels like to them.

Harper Says:I would also suggest a broader understanding of gender (and sexuality). You’re looking for a commonality that is not found uniformly in lived/expressed experiences - perhaps you might find it fleetingly, strangely, but I doubt it will come with much uniform clarity. The assumption that there has to be a commonality, a universality, is one that potentially assumes a (purely) medical/psychological account of gender and sexuality. Experiences of gender will necessarily intersect with other forms of systematic oppression: race, disability, and so on; and so each account of gendered experience has to be uncommon.Try instead understanding gender as part of a wider system of oppression rigged to benefit white cis men. In this, bodies, activities, sexualities, (and many other things) are codified and performed within a system of oppression. This is the way as far as I, and many other thinkers, understand gender. When you ask for gender as “not coded behaviors or presentation, but what they actually FEEL like” I think you misunderstand that gender is easily and always both. The performances, the risks, the transgressions, that commonly make up transgender experiences are inescapably coded behaviours - we don’t live in a society that isn’t oppressive. That is why there is such fear and thrill in a trans woman shaving her legs for the first time, or a trans man using the men’s bathroom for the first time. The emotion and feeling wouldn’t be there if such transgressions weren’t coded in a system of oppression that frowns upon such behaviours. Gender is always on some level something that is done and the doing is bound up with being. To strive for a definition that reduces one to the other or excludes one or the other is as far as I understand it, a misunderstanding, and this is perhaps where your confusion comes from.With this understanding I would then say that it is not very surprising that you’re finding dead-ends and confusion by trying to parse an understanding of gender through split-attraction model type thinking. This is a relatively recent way of thinking about sexuality within the LGBT community, (one that I personally find no stock in), butting up against around thirty years of queer feminist thought, and a whole history of LGBT lives and experiences. You will probably find that trying to think through gender in ace/aro modes of thought is an impossible task without this appreciation of transgender history or an understanding of heterosexuality as the oppressive action of gender.I’m not surprised then, that you find defeat instead of freedom; for many, gender is something that is survived. Freedom can only come with the abolition of gender, that is the end of the “material, social, and economic dominance of men and exploitation of women” (Escalante). So to speak of a commonality, perhaps start reading about how these oppressive systems work. Understanding all of this is not an easy task. Below I’ll feed a few pointers on a theoretical level, and as such can throw up inaccessible language. My hope is that if you do struggle with any of it, from here you can google keywords and hopefully find more sources that suit you better.For the theoretical exploration of such see: Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Monique Wittig’s The Straight Mind and Other Essays (see One is Not Born a Woman - I haven’t yet managed to find a pdf for the whole book). Or key words: material feminism, Butler, gender performance, heterosexuality, the straight mind. CW: (this will be quite broad but I know Wittig talks about:) pornography, sexual harassment, slavery.For an account of gender which explores these concepts see Susan Stryker’s My Words to Victor Frankenstein…. In this Stryker mixes a lived personal experience with gender as a trans woman alongside theoretical musings. Key words: transfeminism, transgender studies, transgender rage. CW: surgery, suicide, TERF stuff, pregnancy, birth.I would also recommend investing yourself in transgender voices and histories, so you can see how a varied approach to gender throughout history has been undertaken and lived. How complexities and contradictions have been embodied and embraced complexly by trans individuals. See Paris is Burning for what has become an important moment in LGBT cinema and history. CW death, accounts of violence, mentions of surgery, talk about sex.Also check out One From the Vaults a trans history podcast by Morgan M. Page. (Also available on iTunes, etc. I think.) In this engrossing podcast, Page tells the stories of various trans - or at least gender transgressive - people throughout history, including clips of them, letters, interviews, etc.. It comes with “all the dirt, gossip, and glamour from trans history” and so shows the variety of our trans ancestors throughout history, good and bad, happy and sad; encompassing all different ways of doing gender and different ways of being.In terms of your own personal questioning of gender, I would do as I advised here. Do gender: evoke man, evoke woman, evoke neither. Try things out, see what you feel. Explore yourself and your own embodiment and explore the feelings that arise out of this. At the end of the day, gender isn’t something that originates from books and articles, it is lived and done out in the world.I wish you the very best on your journey!

#harper says #Anonymous #kii says #caps #what is gender #wittig #butler #split attraction model #transfeminism #long post #questioning #trans history #trans media

[gayfertilitygoddess]

I may just be shouting into the void here but @neil-gaiman if you see this...

I just read a post (linked below)—most of the comments are just unnecessary ad hominem attacks, so I’m just focusing on the original post. I immediately thought of Good Omens (I didn’t read through the comments to see if there was any explicit GO discourse) and realized that I did have a legitimate complaint for why Crowley and Aziraphale were the only pairing who had plausible deniability over whether or not they were *together* at the end.

I’m so used to queerbaiting in media, especially for male relationships, that plausible deniability seemed like a step up. I also doubted my motivations for wanting to see a romantic relationship between two male-presenting characters — I’m gay, but a woman. Am I just fetishizing gay men by wanting these characters to be kiss or share a bed? The post made me realize that, no, actual gay men would also like to see themselves on screen as romantic leads. WLW have finally been getting some representation in shows like Steven Universe, Adventure Time, She-Ra and Legend of Korra. MLM, not so much.

I guess the question I have is why: Why did this one creator of this one show I like decide to queer-code these characters and make it clear they loved each other, but not choose to have them be in a romantic relationship? Was it to give representation to aro/ace viewers (In which case, that’s great, they deserve it! Alloromantic folks can look elsewhere for representation.) or was it out of fear of losing viewers who wouldn’t be comfortable with queer love being taken seriously on screen? There were a lot of deeply homophobic things from the book that were updated for the show. Why wasn’t the status of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship one of them? There’s a chance to do with those two what Rebecca Sugar did with Ruby and Sapphire: they’re not human, so no, they’re not technically “lesbians” because they’re not technically women, but their story is still a queer love story because their love isn’t allowed on Homeworld. So they serve as representation for lesbians. We all knew they were in love and the only reason we had to wait so long to see them kiss was because of censorship.

A&C mean a lot to a lot of people because they are misfits trying to hide a forbidden relationship from their abusive home/family equivalents, something too many people can relate too. The fact that they win in the end gives anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong, hope. Making their relationship explicitly romantic would make that win even more joyful.

Did anyone suggest having them get together in the end? Did Neil not want to change too much without Terry’s permission? Was Terry against it while he was alive? Was the possibility of making the love story more explicitly romantic even discussed?

I just feel like knowing the intentions behind that choice will ease this gnawing I have at the back of my head. No matter what the answer is, I will still love Good Omens, I will still appreciate Neil and Terry for creating it and I will still give the scum of the earth that is a/mazon.c /om undeserved web traffic to watch the show over and over and over and over and over again. I just want to know how close our beloved show was to giving us the representation we actually deserve and what, if anything, was standing in its way.

#good omens #long post #please please please dear god don’t let this start a discourse #the fandom is so peaceful #also to anyone who says ‘write your own story!’ #i’m working on it ok #it has shit representation for mlm too though! #i also do want to point out re: good omens #having Disposable Demon be black and male jacked up the number of black male characters we see die violently on screen #and i’m wondering who took Neil’s direction that the angels (and presumably demons) ‘span all races’ to mean we get one (1) black archangel #but that’s the subject of a different post