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#havent posted anything in a little while so heres some Content
filibusterfrog · 2 months ago
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mistypluie · 6 months ago
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god i feel like i block someone every other week for interacting with sugarbabywenkexing like #1 was their url not creepy enough for you and #2 did you not notice that they and their ""sugar daddy"" counterpart are all friendly with the freak necroprankster who literally has chengxian in their bio like?????
bro??? look i dont like getting involved in drama so im hesitant to even answer this ask at all but
what did tumblr user sugarbabywenkexing do to u, anon??? their username is just a joke based on canon dialogue and events, they literally have it in their header, and they seem perfectly nice as far as i can tell???
#and im pretty sure i have tumblr user nekroprankster blocked so i havent seen anything with them in a while :'') #all i did was reblog one post it wasnt even their original post anon chill out...but block me if u want thats fine. ur tumblr ur choice :) #if there's any real issues with them feel free to tell me but we're all just here to stan questionable BL media right?? #im not trying to be disrespectful but if it doesnt cross a certain line i say let people be into what they wanna be into if its not hurting #anyone irl... and also block who u wanna block :) if thats how u wanna cultivate ur tumblr experience i respect that #like. idk the most important thing is bein nice to real ppl and if u wanna be into questionable stuff in fandom then. go ahead.. there r #a lot of things i simply am not into and find distasteful but at the end of the day live and let live. and tbh i think having #'sugarbabywenkexing' as a username isnt very bad at all????? #hope these r not wildly unpopular opinons and i am not giving ppl reason to hate me lol #just here to be nice and have fun!!! sometimes good media has bad components and sometimes ships r a little questionable but if u still #like whatever it is as long as u can acknowledge its flaws then!! go for it!! imo #like idk. be respectful and kind and have a good time and thats all u can do on the woh/the untamed fandom side of tumblr #as for ch3ngxian. i dont ship it personally it feels a bit too close to inc3st for me and also i dont think it would rlly work bc theyve #been forced to compete with each other for jc's parents' affection and there's definitely some inferiority issues there lol #but technically. the shidi/shixiong thing ISNT inc3st. its perfectly acceptable for martial 'siblings' to be in a relationship. they're not #Actual siblings. literally woh throws that in yknow??? altho for ch3ngxian i feel like their dynamic IS more like actual adopted siblings #but like. technically i cant find too much fault with it :/ if ppl wanna ship it then go ahead yknow?? who r they hurting #but like. what im saying is why so much drama :'') sorry anon but block me if u want. whyd u even tell me just do it it's ok yknow?? #i wouldnt get mad if someone blocked me like if u hate my content or think im problematic i certainly try not to be but ik some of my #interests arent everyone's thing and thats ok.. like u can block me its ok! dont need to explain urself or send me salty asks!! #have a nice day tho anon im not tryin to be mean we just disagree yknow #pls dont insult ppl in my inbox tho :( #ask #actually they might have ME blocked lol i cant find them on my block list #maybe we blocked each other <3 thats. thats so romantic actually.... wow... perfectly out of sync.. both dislike each other's blogs
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dadplease · 8 months ago
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just wanted to help.
[disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this this blog. for more information on this blog’s commitment to protecting minors, read eun’s full statement here.]
summary | chris finds out you’re worried he’s upset with you after you cut your hand doing the dishes to try to please him.
pairing | daddy!chris evans x little!reader
warnings | ddlg themes, reader cuts hand while doing dishes, chris kind of being a dick at first, hurt/comfort, fluff, soft!daddy!chris :’-), wtf was that summary idk if that’s even english lmao
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requested by anon | i have a request for little!reader x chris! reader notices hes stressed but she doesnt know its bc of his work & thinks its her fault hes upset. they havent had quality time together in a while & so she tries to be helpful & do dishes but ends up breaking one, cuts her hand, tries not to cry but cries &chris gets upset with her but still cleans/bandages her cut and when he asks her why she did what she did, she just starts crying again and explains “jus wanted to be a big girl and help you” 🥺💕
an | hi omg okay so this would just be so cute bc chris would instantly just!!! his eyes would get so big and he would literally be this emoji 🥺🥺🥺 and he would feel so bad and be so sweet, thanks so much for this request friend!!
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Gazing down at the soapy water in the sink below you, you try to keep your mind from wandering, hands fumbling slightly over the dishes as you attempt to clean them despite your very little mindset. The past few weeks with your daddy have been rough, and tonight’s dinner was no exception. Chris was cold, detached. He made some attempts to hold a conversation, but it was clear that his mind was entirely somewhere else. All you can figure is that you’ve done something wrong; now, all you can hope to do is try to win him back over.
Rinsing off the plates, you move to the silverware. Starting with the knives (something you usually wouldn’t go anywhere near while so little), you do your best to clean them thoroughly. Until suddenly, a sharp stinging causes you to let out a yelp, the water below you quickly turning pink as you raise a shaking hand out of the bubbles, revealing a deep cut into your tender palm. At the sight of the gushing blood, you simply can’t help it; before you know it, warm tears are making their way down your cheeks rapidly, a sob building up in your throat. Forcefully, you swallow it down. Gotta take care of it myself, you think quickly. If Daddy finds out, he’ll-
“Y/n?” a deep voice calls from behind you. Flinching, you do your best to compose yourself, drying off your unharmed hand and wiping at your eyes before turning around warily to face Chris. The moment he sees your bloody hand, he sighs, the look of disappointment and annoyance crossing his face making your heart drop into your stomach. “What were you thinking?” he asks with a shake of his head, making his way over to you and taking your hand in his own. Lowering your head, you fail to come up with a response. “Were you handling the knives?” he continues as he looks in the sink. “Jesus Christ, y/n, you know you’re not supposed to touch those!” he reprimands.
“‘m sorry, Daddy,” you mumble weakly, voice wobbling as tears continue trailing down your cheeks. “I-I’ll clean it up, Daddy. I’ll-”
“No,” he cuts you off with a huff, taking your other hand and beginning to drag you to the bathroom, “you’ve done quite enough already.” Whimpering fearfully at the edge in his voice, you simply nod, following him through the door and sitting on the closed toilet seat when he motions for you to. Taking another look at your hand, Chris shakes his head again, grumbling as he turns to look through the cabinet behind him. “You know I was in a meeting, right?” he sighs as he pulls out the red first-aid kit, placing it on the counter and opening it up to start looking for what he’ll need.
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy. Didn’t know,” you apologize through your tears, keeping your eyes fixed on your lap.
Grabbing a paper towel, Chris runs it under the sink, turning back to you and bending down to look at your hand. Running it over the injury, he sighs again as he assesses the damage. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches,” he tells you. “What’s the rule about knives?”
“D-don’t touch them,” you recite obediently, earning a stern nod from the man as he goes back into the first-aid box, finding a lump of cotton balls and wetting them with rubbing alcohol.
“God, y/n. What were you thinking?” he asks again, the exasperation in his voice finally bringing you to your breaking point.
Choking back a sob, you begin to speak, words jumbled through your sniffles and hiccups. “I-I’m sorry, Daddy… s-so sorry. Just wanted t-to be good and help, know you’ve been unh-happy with me lately, so… just wanted t-to be a big girl and clean up the dishes… ‘m really sorry, Daddy,” you conclude, dropping your head even lower as you squeeze your eyes shut in humiliation and shame.
Chris shuffles quietly in front of you, waiting several moments before he finally speaks. When he does, you can hear that he’s crouched down in front of you again. Instead of the harsh scolding you were anticipating, though, he surprises you by using a soft, careful voice, barely above a whisper. “Y/n? Sweetheart?” For some reason, the tenderness of his tone only makes you feel like crying harder. A gentle hand rests on your knee, rubbing in soothing circles. “Can you open your eyes and look at me, bub?”
Still a little fearful of upsetting him, you do as he asks, big eyes raising warily up to meet his. A flood of relief washes over you as Chris looks back at you, all anger and annoyance now gone from his face as he gazes at you, his expression full of guilt and worry. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting upset with you; that was mean of me. You were just trying to be a good girl and help, weren’t you?” Unable to find your voice, you just nod, falling even deeper into your littlespace as your daddy speaks so softly with you. “Sweetheart, what did you mean when you said Daddy’s been unhappy with you? That’s not true, baby; I’m always happy with you. You haven’t done anything for me to be unhappy about.”
“J-just thought… since you’ve been so distant… th-thought I did somethin’,” you admit shyly.
Chris’s heartbreak is visible on his face as he shakes his head at you quickly, promising, “No, baby. No, no, no- you didn’t do anything wrong, bubba. Not a single thing. Daddy’s just been really caught up with work, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied; you’re right, lovebug. I haven’t been doing a very good job of taking care of you. How about I take the next few days until the weekend off, hmm? You and me can spend some time together; how’s that sound?”
“Y-you don’t have to, Daddy,” you tell him quickly, not wanting him to feel like he has to just because of what’s happened.
“No, I want to, honey. Gonna back off on the projects, too. I was in way too deep; it hasn’t been good for me. Gonna make sure I’m here for you more, okay? That’s my job too, you know. Taking care of my princess comes before anything else.”
“Okay, Daddy,” you mumble shyly as he leans in, kissing you gently on your nose. “I’m still sorry about the knives.”
“That’s okay, bub. Just don’t do it again, okay? Can’t have my little girl putting herself in danger,” he says as he takes your hand in his once more, grabbing the prepared cotton from the counter where he set it down to talk to you.
“Gonna sting,” you whimper, a slight pout forming on your face as Chris nods at you sympathetically.
“Only for a moment, bug. Promise it’ll be over real quick, and then Daddy will wrap it up nice and gently for you, okay?”
“No Hello Kitty bandaid?” you frown.
“This owwy’s a little big for a Hello Kitty bandaid, sweetie. But how about this, Daddy’s gonna wrap it up in some bandaging, and then if you want, we can go put some Hello Kitty stickers on it. That sound okay?” he asks patiently. Satisfied with the compromise, you nod. “Alright baby, big breath in. This’ll only hurt for a moment.”
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suhkusa · a year ago
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desperate
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pairing ; daichi sawamura x f!reader
genre ; smut
warnings ; 18+ content, masturbation, sex lol, smut (starts under the cut)
word count ; 2,058
a/n ; heyyy its anica lmao. okay okay so im kinda iffy ab this little oneshot thing bc its not my best work but i wanted to write something since i havent posted anything on here yet. (this literally is so vanilla to me trust me i dont write stuff this vanilla) anyways i'll try and put out some stuff tomorrow thats a bit spicier lmao.
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After a long day of practice, Daichi was finally home. He was quite eager to see your face, give you a hug, and kiss you all over your face. So when he stepped inside his house and you weren't sitting on the couch waiting for him, he was confused. “Y/N?” He called out for your name, searching for you but you were nowhere to be found.
Maybe you went somewhere… He thought, pushing off his shoes and jacket, Daichi walked over towards the bedroom. He was about to open the door when he heard...sighs? Loud sighs. Coming through the other side of the door, he pressed his ear against it, furrowing his eyebrows together as he tried to make out these mysterious noises.
Wait.
They were moans. He heard you curse under your breath, followed by multiple sighs and grunts, and right after another moan. What the fuck? He thought, he was starting to get angry. The thought of someone else in there fucking you made his skin crawl.
But he felt like there maybe wasn't anyone else in there. He pressed his ear against the door once again, and the moans became slightly clearer to hear.
"Fuck." You sighed. He couldn't hear any other voices, or moans, nothing. Just yours. "Oh fuck." He heard again, this time it sounded more sensual.
Was she..?
He glanced down, seeing a bulge starting to form in his pants, oh god.
With the slightest touch he twisted the doorknob, slowly peeling the door open being careful to not make any noise. He peeked ever-so-slightly inside the room, red LED lights made the room a bit dark, and in the corner of his eye he could see you laying against your back on your bed, knees up and legs spread open.
And a hand, moving against your crotch. He glanced at your face, seeing your eyes shut as you grunted, moving your fingers faster against your clit.
Daichi let out a quiet shaky breath, backing away from the doorway and shaking his head. Glancing down at his crotch he saw a tent forming in his pants, dammit.
He made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could before ripping down his pants, palming his aching length.
His mind immediately started racing with thoughts of you. Fingers circling your clit quickly as you bit back moans, while you thought of him. He was hoping you were thinking of him. But in his mind, he knew.
Daichi imagined him in between your legs, his tongue attacking your clit at a quick speed. Watching you squirm and tense up, your mouth spilling out untamed moans. And just the taste of you, how sweet you would taste, how beautiful you would look as he ate you out.
He gripped his length, groaning as he started pumping slowly, shutting his eyes as he kept fisting himself, making his movements quicker by the second. And he couldn't stop. He was aching for you. Needing you. Wanting you.
Daichi wanted to watch you as you played with yourself, as you began to pleasure yourself. And right as you would cum he would snatch your hand away, and make you beg. Make you beg for him to let you cum. He wanted to see those big, beady eyes staring at him while he gently pressed on your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your mouth. And he would rub circles on it, making sure you felt nothing but pleasure. And it would be him, he would make you cu-
Knock Knock.
"Shit," He grunted, unwrapping his hands from his cock as he stared at the door.
"Hello? Daichi? I know you're in there." You hummed, he cleared his throat and frantically looked around, trying to make his dick go soft again.
"Uh-um, hi, sorry I just-"
"Are you okay? Can I come in?" You were smirking behind the door, you knew he had come in. You had heard him. "Are you pooping?"
You also had heard the bedroom door open, and say from the corner of your eye Daichi peeking into the room, looking so fucking hypnotized.
"What? No, no I'm not- I'll be out in a minute." He glanced down and saw his dick was getting softer, it was still semi-hard though. He was about to pull his pants up when he heard the doorknob turning, he forgot to lock it.
The door swung open and you stood in front of him. A tank top fitted tightly around your torso, hard nipples peeking through, and black, lacy underwear.
He felt his dick getting hard again, you licked your lips and walked closer to him. You knew what you were doing, swinging your hips gently and seductively pushing your hair back.
He was flustered, very flustered. Daichi’s mouth was wide open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, fingers twitching wanting to touch you as you stood in front of him. You hid your hands behind your back as you bit on your bottom lip, innocently locking eyes with him.
And in an instant his lips were smashed into yours as he greedily moved his hands up and down your body, feeling your curves and bare skin. You groaned against his mouth, bringing your hand down to his crotch and ever so slightly running your fingers over it. Feeling his growing length, his tongue slipped into your mouth hungrily.
He couldn't take it anymore, he was so desperate now. Desperate to touch you. To taste you. To feel you. Daichi gripped your thighs and motioned you to jump, as you jumped you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, hands gripping the back of his neck as he carried you back to the room.
His grip tightened around your waist pulling your hips closer to his, his tongue forced its way into your mouth as he hungrily kissed you. You moaned against his mouth as you felt the bulge of his dick against your pussy, the aching feeling of wanting to be touched erupted in your core. You wanted him as bad as he wanted you.
Daichi started kissing down your jawline before sucking on your neck. Your left hand held the nape of his neck while your right gripped on his shoulder. You were trying your best to hold back any moans, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip harder and harder until it hurt, finally letting soft moans out. You grabbed his neck and up his jawline, making him face you.
"Fuck me." You said softly. His large hands gripped your thighs and you wrapped your legs around him, he quickly walked over and dumped you onto the bed. His eyes roamed up and down your body, admiring you. Daichi’s gaze fell on your covered pussy, and he teasingly ran a finger down your slit.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you." He breathed, maintaining steady eye contact with you. He let his fingers roam your lower half, grazing gently over your sweat-slicked skin. Daichi touched your inner thighs, hiding his grin as he watched you gulp.
"I want you to fuck me." You glanced down and saw the tent in his pants, your mouth watered at the sight. His fingers looped around the bottom hem of his shirt and in an instant his shirt was thrown onto the ground.
"Take off your shirt." He demanded, his eyes were dark and full of lust. You bet mine yours were too. "Now." He said even firmer, you smirked, wanting to play a little game.
"You do it." You said playfully, trying to hide a grin from growing on your face.
"You're trying to make me mad," He said, he caught on too easily. He ran his thumb gently over your lips, and you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his thumb. Daichi bit his lip eagerly, and you went ahead and placed a hand over his hard dick. His breath hitched as you rubbed over the tent, guiding your hands inside his pants and into his boxers. Your small fingers curled around his cock, and you felt it twitch just from your gentle touch.
You sucked even harder at his thumb while pumping your hand up and down slowly, he fluttered his eyes shut and as you pumped a bit faster, a deep moan erupted from him. Your clit was aching to be touched, so you wasted no time shoving your left hand under your underwear. As your cold fingers made contact with your swollen clit, you sucked in a harsh breath. Daichi noticed this and glanced down to see what you were doing.
"Eager huh," He grinned, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and removed your hand out his boxers. He flipped over to the spot next to you and his back fell onto the bed, he sat up and shoved his pants and boxers down.
"Touch yourself."
You opened my mouth to say something but the only thing that came out was, "Huh?"
"You heard me. Touch yourself." He hissed. You hesitated for a moment, but once you saw him wrap his fingers around his erect cock, you felt a waterfall stream down your pussy. You let out a heavy breath as you felt your fingers press your clit, the feeling relaxed your entire body. "Spread your legs open." Daichi demanded, of course you obeyed and opened your legs further. Your fingers started moving against your clit, rubbing in circles slowly.
You turned your head and saw him pumping his dick slowly with his hand, his eyes looking straight at your wet pussy. Then his eyes met yours, and you took this chance to tease him. You pulled your hand out of your panties and brought the two fingers you were just using up and into your mouth, sucking on them and coating them with your saliva.
"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, you popped the fingers out your mouth and quickly went right back to playing with your clit. You went faster and faster and pinched your eyes shut, breathing heavily and letting out a few moans. "Rub it faster baby, faster." You heard him groan. He was too, breathing heavily. And you could hear low groans falling from his lips.
You rubbed faster, your body tensed up and you arched your back at the sensation. Pleasure striking throughout your entire body, the feeling clouded up your mind and left every vein in your body intoxicated with lust.
"I can't take it anymore," You heard him growl, he quickly hovered over you and pulled your panties down, guiding his dick quickly into your pussy. You opened your eyes and let out a moan, he grinded his hips faster and faster. Your back arched up in pleasure, eyes once again shut. "You feel so fucking good." He said deeply, your legs wrapped around him as he fucked you harder and harder.
"Touch your clit, again." He ushered, almost as if it was instinct your hand quickly found its way back onto your clit and started rubbing. Immense feelings of pleasure jolted all over your body, you couldn't stop the loud moans escaping your mouth.
"Fuck!" You yelled out in joy as you felt yourself coming close to your orgasm, he was fucking you way faster now, and you knew he was coming close as well.
"You gonna come for me?" Daichi huffed. You nodded and rubbed your clit as fast as you could. "Good girl."
Your core tightened up, your toes curled and your hips bucked against his. And right as you came Daichi crashed his lips onto yours, almost as if he wanted to eat up your moans. He kissed you harshly as you moaned into his mouth, feeling yourself release was euphoric.
Two seconds later he buried his mouth into the crook of your neck and moaned deeply, his cum shooting inside you.
He pulled his dick out and kissed you gently, sitting up and glancing around at the clothes on the ground. You laid still on the bed, sweat glistened off your body as you tried catching your breath.
"C'mon, let's get cleaned up." Daichi grabbed your hand and gently sat you up, using one of his hands to steady you. “Next time, just know I’ll go harder.”
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© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2020. do not repost or change.
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blurrybunnie · 5 months ago
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Hallo blurry the beloved! I wanted to send an ask as I am craving content, and you are incredibly big brained and great, so was wondering if you have any good ao3 reccomendations for mcyt content? :D
HI HI !!!!
wasnt sure if you wanted gt or not so i just went without it,, lemme know if you want a gt one :)
though cant promise there's anything you havent seen, theres not alot of dsmp gt on ao3 that isnt already cross posted here !
bones in the ocean
words: 63k (incomplete)
summary:
“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”
“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk. 
“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”
OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.
my review:
my all time favourite so far- it's got angst its got fluff- its got everything,, its incomplete but i agressively wait for updates :)
the space between monsters and men
words: 23k (incomplete)
summary:
Technoblade, asleep for years and hungering for human flesh, is woken up by the scent of blood and fear.
A block away, Phil and his foster children adjust to their new home, recovering from an adventure in an old slaughterhouse which turned out to be a little more than they bargained for, unaware of what's coming.
 
Blood for the Blood God.
Blood for the Blood God, the voices murmured approvingly, filling the space around him with barely audible whispers.
Decision made, Techno grinned. Time to pay his new neighbours their first and only visit.
my review:
this fic hides under some humour but the plot is so good,, horror and gore warning
change fate by being aggressively kind
words: 82k (incomplete)
summary:
“You do understand that you’re caring for the thing meant to bring destruction and chaos to our world, right?” The woman asks, Phil looking behind him fondly as Techno grabs at the ends of his wings.
“He’s just a child.” Phil answers distractedly, humming as his wings get gently yanked at.
“He’s the first of three to destroy life as we know it! Shouldn’t we, well, get rid of him?!”
“Oh, no.” Phil raises his eyes with a sharp glare. “Believe me, I have my own way of preventing the apocalypse.”
---
Or, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy are basically chaotic forces of nature, destined from birth to end the world and bring destruction. Most who hear of the tale of them are trying their best to track them down, and to end the monsters while they’re still young, still just children.
Phil has a different plan.
(In which Phil raises the minecraft equivalents of the anti-christ with love and support, so much so to the point where the world ending is really just a funny thought, and Phil has three kids who casually have powers that are bit more extreme than anything else in the world)
my review:
ughhhh soo good,, SBI against the world
Feather and Fang
words: 14k (complete)
summary:
George is a raven. How did this happen? Hell if he knows.
All he knows is that he's being tailed by a wolf with green eyes that look much too intelligent.
my review:
im not the biggest dream or george fan but this fic made it into my bookmarks (thats how u know its good)
Can't you stay right here forever pretty please?
words: 2k (complete)
summary:
Tommy was falling.
Falling, and falling, and falling.
Falling down from the heavens – his thin figure splitting open the very fabric of the baby-blue afternoon sky as he tumbled and seized and there was nothing that he could do about it. Nothing to stop it. Nothing to help himself or Ranboo. Nothing-
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Tommy is falling. Ranboo is falling. Phil can only catch one of them.
my review:
THIS KILLED ME,, IM CRYING RN JUST REMEMBERING THE FIC- ABSOLUTELY BROKE ME
Interstellar Relations
(consists of 3 works currently)
my review:
whole series is a good read,, cant even express how many times ive reread it haha
1.
Lost in Translation
words: 5k (complete)
summary:
Techno’s seen a human before, an adult, in the distance.
They don’t look intimidating.They don’t look like much, honestly. Small-ish, built more solidly than Ender and Elytron, but not the bulk of Piglin.
They don’t look like they should have been able to soundly kick the ass of the Dreamon fleet. But that’s what they bloody well did. And now nobody wants to mess with them. Its the prison yard principal on a galactic fucking scale. Take down the biggest guy in the yard and nobody fucks with you.
Nobody except for whoever was stupid enough to steal a human kid. Because, as it turns out, even baby humans are fucking nightmares, since this one managed to crash an entire ship on its own in presumably an escape attempt.
Of course it then managed to get itself caught again by Ender authorities. Who dumped it in here and then into Techno’s fucking lap--thanks, Phil.
OR: Fifteen years ago, humanity reached out to the stars, and the great bully of the galactic playground came and tried to beat up the new kid. Only the new kid kicked their ass, and all the rest of the kids on the playground are too scared to go talk to them now.
2.
Cultural Exchange
words: 3k (complete)
summary:
Humans are new on the galactic stage, but boy did they make an entrance. The galaxy at large avoids them, but Techno and Phil have ended up in close quarters with three of them. Its a good chance to learn about each other.
3.
Like A Diamond in the Sky
words: 24k (complete)
summary:
Skeppy lets himself slide against the wall and onto the floor. Well, this is… For the lack of any better term, this is a fucking shitty situation.
He is lost in the middle of outer space and has apparently been kidnapped by a trio of aliens. And well- there are a few things Skeppy knows about aliens, from distractedly listening to Spifey’s rants. The one thing he actually remembers is that, for some reason that completely escapes him, aliens really really do not like humans.
So… The chances that this random trio of aliens actually like him are quite low. The likelihood of them simply flying him back to earth is also abysmal.
This is shitty.
OR: Skeppy in the Sky With Diamonds (and the Badlands)
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writingtheworks · 11 months ago
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The way i got so excited when i read that you were back to writing reader inserts and accepting requests!!! I’ll be honest and say i havent had the time to fully indulge your newer CEB chapters and read them word for word, hence lack of comments and reaction, but u better expect a splurge of spam comments once life dies down for me!
One of my favorite reader inserts of yours is the fakedating!au with Damian, specifically the second part where the confession in the library (?) happens! If i remember correctly, Damian had Titus chew the readers clothes so the reader would be forced to wear his bc the Kents were coming over to the manor, and the teasing before the confession was GOLD lol. A lot of my favorite ones are Damian based oof 🤧
Anyway, here’s a request! Damian x reader, bestfriendstolovers!au. Reader goes to Gotham Academy with Damian during the day, patrols with him at night. Both are talented artists, but the reader is more musically inclined rather than drawing wise. They have a... flirty relationship, you could say LOL.
If u wanted a prompt instead of specific details, fluff and a confession, maybe a line with person a “And here I thought you would’ve left me hanging” and person B “Come on (name), as if i would let you fall for anything other than me”
Sorry for the long post LMAOOO, but its been a while since i spammed you with all my nonsense, even if its in the form of a request hehe. Can’t wait to see your works! I’m super excited for you reader-inserts comeback 😌✨
DESCRIPTION: You and Damian are just two killing things, unlearning yourselves while you learn each other.
TITLE: The Killing Things
WORDS: 7982
NOTES: i don’t think anyone has any time to divulge the CEB monster, since it would probably take a week to read the whole damn thing wtf. I’ll look around for you in those comments tho ;) And I still remember how much I loved writing that fic, damn!! He was such an ass in that one lmao. As for this request, it was literally everything I needed spiritually. It cleansed my soul. I will say that it might be a little bland/plain bc it’s not very heavy, but if you’re asking for a fluff fic, I’d bet that’s a good thing. Just sweetness 🤭 It’s so so SO good to hear from you again, I missed you so much!! I hope you have the greatest day sophi, and I hope you like how it turned out 😚💖
If you’re reading this from your reccomendeds or an old follow, then, SURPRISE!! I'm back to writing inserts, and better than ever. It's been... what, like two or three years? This is the first reader insert I've written in a while, but it was awesome to get back into the groove again. I look forward to your feedback! Comments fuel me so much, no matter how dumb you might think they are. Thank you, genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this fic. It means the world to me.
Also... 500k reads on Wattpad. What the fuck. what the FUCK. WHAT.
The summer of eighth grade, you’d broken your arm. Smashed it real good when Harvey Dent punted you off Gotham Academy’s Library tower like a football—Damian’s words. Thanks to a poorly-fired grappling line, you’d dislocated the damn thing too. In the blur of disarming Dent and rushing back up to cover Damian’s back, you could ignore the pain, worrying about your uselessness. Now, looking up at where you’d dropped from made you smile.
You were lucky. On your own? Dent was a peach. You knew how to talk him down, and if it lurched further than that, well. You’d been dropping guys like him since you were in diapers. But Damian wasn’t like the women who’d taken you from your home and weaponized you. He could be quiet, but he rarely was, and he was so… proud. Where you’d been raised, being proud of a kill was shameful. Killing was necessary, killing wasn’t easy, and it was never something to be proud of. You didn’t kill anymore. Neither did he. But only one of you had been taught that violence came second to reason, and that person clearly wasn’t Damian.
What Dent needed was comfort and reassurance. You had sworn to yourself when you’d escaped The Program that you’d make an effort to extend your hand before you fisted it, but Damian was the kind of pompous asshole who flew in without a thought. You’d been another sentence from convincing Harvey away from his hostages when Lord of The Ninjas popped in to smash a boot into his face. Damian cursed you and you cursed him and Two-Face cursed both of you, then you were kicked off the roof for Damian’s incompetence.
He had the decency to apologize. Well, Damian didn’t really say an apology, but you were starting to get that they were a thing to see instead of hear.
After handling Dent, he’d dragged you to the nearest first aid cache on one of the Madison Bridge towers. You could be honest and admit that Damian had been careful, mindful even, of your wound and reassured you the whole way, but summing it up as “dragged” made it easier to digest. He felt bad. He soothed your winces each time he jostled you too hard. He made sure you were comfortable against him, and then grappled you onto the perch together. The landing was rough without your other arm to hold him by, which flew Damian into a cursing fit.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” You’d grimaced. As soon as the words were said, you regretted them. The one time he’s being nice to you and you bring up his mom. Nice work, idiot.
Robin dropped you against the cement half-wall. He ignored you to survey the scene for onlookers, but you were too high up to be seen by civilians walking the bridge, and too far away to be anything bigger than a dot to late-night boats churning in the bay. This side of the island was ocean-facing, so the reflection of light off the water was wide and the view itself was wider. From here, the whole planet seemed to breathe. Gotham’s light streaked into the water like smeared silver on blue paint.
Damian turned back to you. He dropped into a crouch and opened his hand, which you set your arm into. Turning it over in his glove, he smirked, “Mother didn’t kiss me.”
“Well,” you avoided looking at his face, struggling for something funny to say. “My mom took me from my real one, so I never even had one to kiss me in the first place.”
Robin was weird. You were weird. As a whole, your situation was weird. Damian was usually in your way, and you were usually in his. The whole Batgirl and Robin thing really only existed when Bruce was there to keep you from killing each other—and when you sparred. For a while you hated that the only thing you and Damian seemed to have in common was violence, but it wasn’t like you hated him. You wanted to be friends with Damian, partners, but he was too… mouthy. So he would challenge you to a duel every once in a while, you’d fight until your teeth were ready to fall out, and then you both crawled away, wondering if you were bonding or not. Wondering if you wanted to bond in the first place. Wondering if this was how bonding was done, since it was the only thing you knew about each other. You were taken and raised to be a spy. Damian was the assassin. It made sense, even if it didn’t.
So when Robin prods your arm, you wince, and he replies, “My mother prepared clones to replace me,” you wonder again if this is what bonding looks like. Competitive trauma.
“Mine abandoned me in Siberia. Forced me to walk back to her.”
“Isolated island for me,” Damian retorted. He leaned in closer, mask pinching cleverly at the corners. Robin had never been intimidated by dramatic effect. “I had to swim back.”
It’s a casual exchange, but for the content.
You raise your brows. “Can’t beat you at anything, can I?”
Damian’s lip quirked. “Never.”
You consider that a win. He’s smiling. You’re smiling. It’s… nice.
“Broken ulna,” you remembered Damian muttering. “A cast. Ice. Pennyworth can handle this.” His eyes flicked up to yours beneath his mask, and a mean smile filled his face, “This will take you off patrol for weeks, you know.”
“Don’t get too happy about it,” you grumbled, “Just means you have more work to cover. I’ll just get to sit around and write songs all day.”
You talked as Damian investigated your arm. His expression was neutral, not calm. His face had a softer shape than you’d realized. You knew what was coming when he pushed you to recline, but you focussed on his face and voice instead. It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle pain—you and pain were close friends. But you knew you’d do something stupid if you didn’t prepare yourself, like cry or make a noise, and Damian would never let you hear the end of it.
“I didn’t know you liked music,” Damian said. Small talk—a distraction you took in gratefully. He moved his gloves into position around your shoulder. “What instruments do you play?”
“A little bit of everything. My… mother thought it would be useful cover on certain operations. I enjoyed it after I left, so I kept going.” You grit your teeth. “But my favorite is the violin.”
Damian hummed. “Me too.”
Then he wretched your arm back into place.
You burst into tears. You didn’t make a sound, not even a strangled cry, but tears immediately seared down your face. Your arm blistered with pulsing red pain, and now your shoulder ached at every touch or shift. For a moment you could only shudder and breathe, but Damian was right there, waiting for a reaction he could apply something too. When he saw that it was tears, he knew his own inexperience and paled, sitting rigid beside you.
Gasping, you forced a knuckle between your teeth and gnawed on it for relief. Robin didn’t touch, move closer, or comfort you, but just having him there—without remark or comment—helped… a lot more than you thought. When the ache wasn’t so unbearable that you couldn’t speak, you lifted your mask a little to get some cool air on your sweating skin.
Damian coughed. “...I play violin too.”
“You, you write music? Or just… just... play?”
“Just play,” he said.
“Huh…” you threw back your head and breathed, “I bet you’re better at it than me, too.”
Robin put his back against the cement, propping his hands on his knees. “The only thing you’re better at than me, L/N, is being a bigger idiot.”
“Man,” you smiled, “your bedside manner needs work.”
-
After that, things got… easier. To you it felt almost like you had met Damian for the first time, had come to understand him. Something dangerously close to understanding yourself.
Now, you were heading on fast feet for the end of junior year. It was early morning, too early for the sun to make it over the Gotham Academy castle’s primary keep. Around you, students flitted in rotating groups of skirts and slacks, faces lit by smartphone light and voices toned with tiredness. Your eyes fell from where Dent had kicked you to them, feeling more and more like a stone in a wall of the ancient fixture. Watching instead of participating. A stark jut of aged decay against the backdrop of city skyscrapers. There was a smartphone in your pocket, a uniform on your back and exhaustion in your face, too, but you could never be one of them. You never would be. Even if you’d been born to be the spy hiding among them, there was no amount of training that could give you the ability to walk up to any group of students here and be a part of them.
That thought had been on your mind for months now. Barbara had invited you into a softer mission with the Birds of Prey in spring, but all the opportunity had done for you was prove how out of place you were. Then, Bruce had suggested you try a few days with the Titans, but you knew better—if they couldn’t bear Damian, then they certainly couldn’t bear you and Damian together. You couldn’t fit in with adults more experienced with you, you wouldn’t fit in with the outcasts of your age group. For all the solutions you’d panned through, your survivalist nature whispered incessantly at your shoulder. You were made alone. You will be alone.
But you didn’t want to be alone. You wanted to walk up to a group of students your age and be understood. You wanted to say an unfiltered thought from your mind and be received with gladness. You didn’t want to be pushed away for being too quiet or too intimidating or too smart or too dumb or too… too scary, too much.
That’s where Damian came in.
You watch from your perch on the student balcony as Alfred’s familiar town car rolled through the student drop-off loop. Damian had been talking to you on the other night’s patrol about driving himself to school, but apparently it was a battle lost to Bruce’s paranoia. Free to study as you pleased, you drank in the harsh sneer to Damian’s lip as he jumped out of the passenger’s seat and stalked his way up the main stairway. He was angry. Forgetting your own troubles, you left the railing of the balcony to meet him in the front courtyard.
Damian headed for you on autopilot. You met on the same bench every morning, shaded by rose bushes and a pear tree from the other students. One of your funniest inside jokes (in your opinion) was the battle for this bench, where you and Damian had warred for days to win it back from a group of underclassmen. Granted, it was wide enough for a group of friends instead of the two of you alone, but Lois didn’t want Jon getting stiffy at a private school. So it was just you. You and Damian. Batgirl and Robin. Not that you minded.
Today, he had a deep green turtleneck on beneath his blazer. You noticed that Damian had started to step out of his pattern of blacks or dark grays, and even if you’d never say anything, it was… cute. Most of the kids at your school just wore name brands, so Damian almost stuck out in his stylish, more relaxed clothes. He’d kill the man who’d try to put him in a tie. You’d always… thought… about Damian in the fancy silk ties the other upperclassmen wore, but his turtleneck looked cozy, and the rings on his hand were tasteful instead of flashy. Simple. But handsome.
The weather was a breath below rain, so you were both carrying umbrellas. You only had so much time before the two of you had to separate for class, so you needed to get Damian out of his bad mood before he could marinate in it too long. You’d hate to think about his day being ruined by whatever was on his mind.
“Hey, loser,” you dropped into a sword fighting stance and raised your umbrella like a rapier. “Care to duel?”
Damian stared at you, laying out how pathetic you were with a quick cut of his eyes. But you didn’t move from your stance, so he was forced to sigh, unsheathe his umbrella, clash it against yours, and disarm you before you could even get one hit in.
“Good morning,” he said, sarcastic, “I don’t duel with amateurs.”
Damian offered back your umbrella. You took it, biting the grin working its way across your lip. “Good morning to you too, then,” you curtsied, getting the scowl from Damian that always made his lips look so plump. “You look like you had a pleasant weekend.”
“Delightful,” Damian hissed. Tossing down his bag, he lowered himself onto the bench and crossed one muscular leg over the other, eyebrows furrowed like a supervillain. You joined him.
He propped up his elbow. You took it like it was a non-issue, but being so close to him in the morning chill did something to the blood in your legs. Damian had you join at the arms like this as some kind of royalty quirk—like you were his minion meant to escort him everywhere. It fell under the category of things you should have teased him for, but last time you’d snickered about Damian walking around with his hands crossed behind his back, he’d stopped.
You really, really didn’t want to stop doing this. Ever.
“The Titans?” You lowered your voice between the two of you.
“I should quit that infernal team,” Damian scoffed.
“From what you told me, they don’t treat you like a teammate at all. Not even a leader.” You resisted the urge to fumble your hand awkwardly along his bicep. You gave Damian enough clues about your… tendencies toward him as it is. “I know how much you hate that. I’m sorry. What exactly happened?”
Damian studied the cobblestone under your shoes. “You don’t like them, do you?”
“I’ve seen the footage. I’ve heard from you what I have to. Roundhouse, he’s got little direction. Kid Flash is trying to do what you are and make something of this team, but they won’t listen to him any more than they listen to you. Crush has issues of her own to solve. And all of them are blaming you when few of them have put in any of their own effort,” you analyzed.
Again, Damian studied the ground. He closed one fist against his chin and thought, until he turned to you, “You know…”
“No,” you were instantly shaking your head. “I told you. I can’t do the Titans. I work alone.”
Damian’s low eyes slipped to you and your hand folded into his side, unimpressed.
“We work alone,” you corrected.
“No, we work together,” Damian corrected. “I need someone on my side on this team.”
The phrase flushed your stomach with butterflies. Still, Damian was talking business—he wasn’t bringing up how you’d been on his side when the last Titans team had rejected him, or when you’d had to cauterize a stab wound in his stomach (screaming till his throat tore, gripping your hand, cradling his head in your lap), or when you’d been tortured side-by-side during a mission gone wrong. Students milled around you, faces tired. The only face tired like yours was his.
“What about Red Arrow?” You fished.
Damian deadpanned, “Unpredictable.”
“Djinn,” you offered, “she’s into you, and the team likes her—”
Damian scoffed. “Distracted.”
Your voice filled with a little too much heat: “That’s one problem you can solve, at least. Tell her that you’re not interested.”
Damian carefully schooled his expression, pausing. “Hm.” He said, “I’d be more cautious when expressing your opinions about the girls that like me, Y/N. If you’re not careful, I might find out you’re obsessed with me.”
That earned him a solid elbow in his stupid laughing stomach.
“Jerk,” you said. “I’m not obsessed with you, I’m madly in love with you. There’s a very obvious difference.”
Damian snorted. “Forgive my ignorance, Mat-Girl. Get it? Because you’re a doormat?”
“A doormat who’s saved your life,” you reminded (threatened), “I know you’re keeping score. We’re 11-14, Damian. I’m ahead. That means you owe me three times now.”
“If I attempt to kill you and then give you mercy, does that count towards my points?” Damian asked.
He said this low and close, keeping your exchange between the two of you. For a moment, your brain lost its footing and you could only blink at him. Damian blinked back, mocking your expression, but you were more distracted by his long, intense lashes. The hand he’d tilted onto was pushing a knuckle against his cheekbone for support, where an intricate gold ring winked his family’s crest at you. There were similar tones of green in his calculatory eyes.
“For you? Sure.” You dared him, “If you can get close to killing me in the first place.”
Damian’s head tilted, content, and you knew he was thinking of the in-depth conversation you’d had a month ago about how you planned to kill each other. Other people would sweat at the subject, but for you and Damian it was a comfort. A necessity. Every time you counted the exits in a safe room and what weakness to go for in a person who wouldn’t hurt you, you’d cringed at yourself—but Damian did it too. Damian understood. You’d spent the whole night bent over each other, laughing until just looking at each other was funny.
For all the fear you had for a group of what should be your peers, every thought or worry related to that was ambushed and slaughtered by Damian. Your nightmares of abandonment were shot point-blank by your inside jokes and shared stories. The games you’d played late at night during sleepovers brutalized your otherness. Every moment you questioned your worth because of the things you’d been forced to take as a child, Damian’s presence and Damian’s words and Damian’s care rose to plunge in the knife and twist.
You were used to violence. Not like how boxers were used to violence, or soldiers, or doctors. You were used to violence like Damian was—where you’d wake up with your hands around the throat of the person next to you, where your first instinct was always to cut, stab, wound or hurt, where you had felt the weight of a gun in your hand before you’d felt someone love you. In the beginning, you’d disliked Damian because he’d been too much of the things you were afraid of showing. Now you loved him for the very same reason.
“What of you, then?” Damian bumped your shoulders, smiling at his lap.
You looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“How are you feeling?”
You smirked. “You care about my feelings?”
This time, Damian was bringing up the Titan’s rejection and the chest wound and the torture. All laughter in his voice calmed into sincerity. “Of course I do.”
You looked around the courtyard. There were groups everywhere you looked, each student spilling together like water on metal. Some groups were big, of seven or eight students, and some good friends were joined in pairs. Some were laughing, some were texting, some were talking. You knew that you would never be like them. You weren’t the pretty, naive Teen Titan girl who daydreamed about Robin. You weren’t the rich-kid Gotham Academy student, whispering about the Wayne boy in your math class who killed the room with his looks. You weren’t what had been done to you, what you’d been forced to do. You were healing. And so was Damian, so maybe you had a shot at doing it together.
“No,” you squeezed his arm against your side, nodding, smiling, “No, Dames. I’m… feeling good.”
Damian smiled too. “Good.”
-
A few weeks had gone by since you’d last been in Damian’s room. He’d told his father that he’d rearranged the furniture because the cat was getting into place he wasn’t supposed to, and he told you that he’d flown into a panic because the room wasn’t secure at all. The windows would give a sniper a perfect shot at his bed. Anything that could be used to block the door was too far away to be fast enough. With Damian’s constant, vigilant grooming, you personally doubted that his bedroom was anything but safe. But you understood, and had personally done the same a half-dozen times in the last year.
Never in a million years would you make fun of him for that. But you weren’t above touching everything until he got annoyed, which started with the ornate handles on his wardrobe and ended on the swords crossed and mounted on the wall.
“Stop that,” Damian hissed, slapping your wrist.
You slapped his back. “You stop it.”
You both paused, squinting at each other, debating if it was worth it, and then instantly deciding it was when the other moved in to strike. You slapped each other for a minute, scuffling and giggling like children. Titus separated you when he jumped up to join in.
“Titus doesn’t care if I mess with his stuff,” you teased. Titus nudged into your side, sitting against your leg, and you pretended to slap his paws around so he could feel included.
“Titus is a kiss-ass,” Damian replied.
Leaving that at, “Pff,” you followed Damian to his drawing desk. There was a cushion under the window just beside it, but the best view of his work was seen over his shoulder. Damian made a second annoyed noise; you drummed on the back of his chair. Having thoroughly irritated him, you hugged your arms around the carved seat back and really took in what he’d drawn, relaxing.
It was beautiful. Just a study of the garden rabbits, but no one had ever said that Damian didn’t take his studies seriously. Simplicity and complexity softened their eyes but textured their fur, which was filled with husky black and brown lines that kept the drawing uncrowded, even clean. Damian’s leather-bound sketchbook was stuffed with drawings of no lower quality, which showed in the flexibility of the spine. It was a well-used book. You liked the idea of Damian drawing, and knew that, if it was anything like what music was for you, you wanted him to continue it.
“Gorgeous.” Your voice was lost in your appreciation.
Damian, shoulders hunched, scrambled to a blank page. “They’re just rabbits.”
“Just rabbits, he says,” your hair scattered as your head shook. “Makes me want to see your drawings from when you were younger. I bet you’ve improved so much since then.”
Damian murmured, “You think so?”
That translated to, is it really possible for me to be valued for something more than my training? You found yourself kissing the side of his head. “Yes. Of course I do.”
Embarrassed, Damian cursed at you for a little while and then ordered you to go get food for him, which was really an excuse for him to cool down. You understood. You came back with snacks for the two of you, and the moment the door was closed he blurted, “Would you play for me?”
You paused. “Your violin, you mean?”
“Yes.” Damian didn’t face you, pencil in the hand tensing against his sketchbook. “While I draw.”
Depositing the snacks on his desk, you teetered over to his violin stand. You didn’t have any reason to be nervous, but feeling his eyes on your back locked up your joints. The violin seemed almost unplayable until it was in your grip. Immediately, you could tell it was a quality instrument and one loved gravely. Spruce and ebony wood—custom made, no creaking, tight seams, engraved. Violins were an instrument that played better the longer they were used, and by the sound of the first experimental note, you could feel how many hours Damian had poured into this thing. It was a little too small for Damian to play comfortably. Huh.
You awkwardly balanced the instrument on your shoulder, glancing in Damian’s direction. “Anything you’d like me to play?”
Damian started sketching. “You know the one I like.”
You did. It delighted you in a strange way, like you’d unlocked a secret connection to him. You and Damian had talked about violins before. For hours, for days. On boring missions and strolls through the Manor grounds at night. You’d listen to violin music together, but you’d never actually played for Damian before. Still, his words were telling. He knew you cared to remember everything about him, including songs he’d told you he liked six months ago.
Your first note was nervous, and then the next few stumbled forward, then came together, then fell into a song with tender rhythm and passion. The nervous edge to Damian’s profile melted away. For the first few seconds it felt like performing to an empty theater, then it felt like you were playing for Damian, then finally for yourself. You just played. You enjoyed the music and the feeling of making it. You drifted over to play in the window behind his desk, Damian’s pencil working away at the page, together, in the same space. Making something other than a dead body.
The fluidity of notes into song drew you to your thoughts. Instead of leaving the room, your mind gravitated to him, and you found yourself staring at his hand as he drew. Damian’s hands were broad, masculine and well-worked. You played, and he drew, and you thought about hugging his arm to your chest and tenderly kissing each ridge of his fingers. Maybe Damian would cup your face and nuzzle his knuckles along your cheek. Together, you might close your killing hands, joint to sweet joint. You thought about Damian’s hands, what they’d done. How you could hold and kiss them and heal them—make a tool for pain a provider of affection.
A few months ago you’d stopped planning your weekends together and just… lazed. Just enjoyed one another’s company. Just existed in the same room together. It was a nervous breach, going from effort to cohabitation, but one you reveled in. You loved him. You loved that he understood.
Watching Damian draw soothed your spirit as much as the music did. It was relaxing. Like the worn love in the violin, you could see Damian’s experience in his hands. His stance. He drew from his shoulder, moving his arm with each stroke like it was a machine made to create that exact line again and again, only to shift and be made to make a different line. The geometric frame became a person with just a few shifts in pressure. It occurred to you that you’d never seen Damian’s hands work this comfortably with anything other than a weapon.
His trigger finger drove his pencil to define a darker line. You closed your lip between your teeth, imagining how the finger could lift up your chin to give Damian access to your kiss.
The song ended. You paused, unsure what to do.
“Would you play it for me again?” Damian asked. He stopped his drawing, hands fidgeting on the edge of the table. He whispered, “...That was truly beautiful. I’ve never heard anyone play like that.”
You’d never heard him say that word. Beautiful.
“Of course,” you nodded, warm cheeked.
“But, um…” Damian stood from his seat, “before you do…”
A paper tore. Damian offered it to you, and you pinched it in your bow hand to view it.
It was a drawing of you. A few of them, actually. Damian had captured your face, your side profile, laughing, and the two of you walking arm-in-arm in your Academy uniforms. For something he’d roughed out in ten minutes, each individual drawing looked like it had taken hours. The framing, the poses, the perspective—incredible. But the accuracy? Unbelievable.
Your cheeks burned. You’d been standing behind Damian; he hadn’t needed a single reference.
Damian explained, “You played for me, so I drew for you.”
You found a grin in your voice. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
“You would say that about a drawing of you, wouldn’t you?” Damian snorted.
Whapping him on the back of the head, you slid past him to store the drawing next to your things, putting it away with a reverent carefulness. No one had ever drawn you before. No one had ever taken a picture of you, or put it up on the wall in your home, or lined the mantle with your face. It wasn’t exactly like that, but it was the closest thing you’d ever gotten to being treasured by someone that way. Like you were something to be appreciated, or shown off, even. Loved.
When you slide in front of the window to play for him again, you face your back to him and Damian faces his back to you. You play. He draws.
It’s wonderful.
_
You should have seen the signals. You were trained to pick apart the mannerisms of politicians to be assassinated and targets to be interrogated, but for some reason, your reflexes yielded here. And it’s all for one stupid reason: they were nice to you.
They appeared to be nice to you. Most of the students at the Academy didn’t look at you, nevermind say anything kind, so it was a big jump from what you were used to. If you spoke to anyone it was out of absolute necessity. If you associated with anyone it was brief, and then later referenced to Damian in surprised tones. But this time it was you who was being spoken to, so you couldn’t be the one to pull away and psychoanalyze yourself like usual. Damian was your only friend at the Academy—in that shining moment, you forgot why that was.
Three of them. Girls. Rich kids in public school were always popular, whereas rich kids in private school were common, which left the popularity of these girls to their looks. The hierarchy made you uncomfortable, but you weren’t going to shit on them for being friendly and pretty. You wouldn’t shit on them for dancing around boyfriends at such a young age either. It wasn’t your place, no matter how much you dared to envy them. Perhaps it’s that—envy and surprise—which makes you naive.
It’s not traditional bullying. Traditional bullying isn’t really real, or at least very common. If you were getting shoved into lockers and kicked around the schoolyard this would have been a different story. Instead, you’re praised with passive aggression hidden behind giggling hands, poked and prodded with not-so-innocent questions, and quickly ensnared in a net you don’t quite understand. They ask you to sit by them at lunch. They ask you about your hobbies, sharing side-eyed smirks where they think you can’t see. By the time you’re a few weeks in, you know that something is wrong. But no one had ever offered you a seat at their table, or complimented you, or spoken to you. There’s something wrong, but you think I’m a high school junior—we’re not little kids anymore. This isn’t middle school.
“So,” one of them asks you at lunch, a slim-faced girl with one thumb glued to her phone, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around your other friends. Do I know any of them?”
At the word friends, the other girls smile and giggle, and you slow down your chewing like you’re doing it wrong. “Oh, well… There’s Damian.”
“Damien McCormick or Damien Stinesville?” Chips in the one at your right.
“There’s another one. I had him in biology last year. Damian… Rite?”
“You’re thinking of Damian Vrite,” comments the first. “So cute. I loved that accent he had.”
They talk over your head for a few seconds more, so you jump in the first second you can and end up cutting them all off on accident. “...Damian Wayne.”
“Oooh. Damian Wayne,” the girls exchange a look. The first turns over a leaf in her salad, “Woah, Y/N. You’re dating the Damian Wayne?”
You flush, “I-I’m not—”
“Tall, dark, and crazy?” The girl on your left contributes. “Gosh, he’s hot though. Arms are bigger than my whole head. Remember that time in seventh grade where he cussed out Mr. Handel in front of everyone?”
The first girl cupped her face in her hand and sighed, humming, “Every day. He’s a bad boy. I can smell it.”
You set down your fork a little too forcefully. “Damian’s actually quite sweet—”
“Well, yeah, duh,” the girl at your right continues, plowing over your words, “He has to be, with a face like that. All the other guys around here are so stuffy and plain, but Damian looks like they pulled him right out of a movie.”
“Yeah,” agreed her friend, “Like he’d pick you up on his motorcycle and stargaze with you on the roof.”
The first added, “Steal his daddy’s fancy wine for you to share.”
“Then settle down with you in a big, fancy mansion,” returned the second. “I’d never have to work a day in my life with that boy…”
“What do you mean, you?”
Despite your building annoyance, you couldn’t help but be… smug. Motorcycles, stargazing, drinking. Really? That’s who they thought Damian was? It was cute, watching them spin his personality to what suited them. You’d daydreamed plenty about the kind of life you’d have with Damian, but you also actually knew him. Better than any of them ever could.
“Yeah, Y/N’s the one who’s dating him, (somehow),” snorted the third.
“Damian and I… we aren’t...,” you struggled for words.
At this, the girls exchanged a telling glance. Curious, the one on your right folded her napkin across her lap and spoke to you, looking away like that would hide how interested she was. “Huh. So you’re just good friends? Or you have a crush on him?”
All the power was in your hands. You could tell them anything at this moment. A vengeful part of you wanted to say, I’ve held him half-alive in my arms, he’s saved my life a hundred times, we’ve been tortured—hurt—nearly killed together. We’re Batgirl and Robin. So, yes. We’re very good friends.
“I guess… I um, have a crush on him,” you replied. That’s something you tell your friends, right?
The eyes of the first girl flash. “Cute! You should totally introduce us. It’s important that all your friends know the guy you like… right, girls?”
Without a single pause, the other two nod and chime in agreement.
Feeling a little like a cornered animal, you awkwardly smile. “...Okay.”
_
Naive. You’re stupid, useless, witless, naive. Okay. What a fantastic show of willpower, Y/N.
You take them with you after school to meet Damian, who you’ve failed to text a warning in your excitement. Once you’d gotten off the subject of him, the girls had been sweet to you, boasting about your talents and commenting on what a neat instrument violin was to play. They even asked if you wanted to do it as a career, and your answer inspired giggles hidden behind their hands.
You couldn’t think of even one person who you could consider a friend from your childhood. The Program separated it’s agents, taking them from their families at birth and totally isolating them in the training environment. There weren’t other spies to befriend amidst the hell of bullet wounds and torture, or other kids even suffering beside you in solidarity. Just you. Just you and your Mother, who gave you everything she thought you needed—wrath, vengefulness, and hatred.
But now, you’d made friends. You sat with them at lunch, you texted them outside of school. You knew that there wasn’t something right, but more than that you knew how little experience you had with normal people your age. Perhaps the only thing wrong with your friendship with the three girls… was you. Only Damian could be a solid judge.
The courtyard is wet with fresh rainwater, which seeps between the aged cobblestone and trickles down into a puddle where the pavement dips. You splash through it, spraying your friend’s white uniform socks with black grit. They hiss with dislike, but you’re too busy talking about Damian to care.
“He’s the greatest artist on the whole planet, I swear,” you puff for breath, “Just a few lines and he’s made a masterpiece. I’ve got this picture of these rabbits he drew on my phone—I’ll show you them later.”
“Art, huh?” One says. “That’s… a stable job.”
“Oh, I don’t know if Damian’s going to go into it for sure,” you chitter, “I think he wanted to do something with animals.”
The second girl chimes, “A veterinarian?”
“A doctor?” Emphasized the third, sending the trio into a fit of laughter. You’re a little confused as to why that would be funny, but Damian is waiting for you in the shadow of the front gate’s arch, so you ignore it to skip forward to meet him.
“There you are.” The appearance of your friends makes his hands jump into the pockets of his slacks, and he recedes deeper into the shade, “Where were you this morning? You failed to meet me at our bench.”
“I’m sorry. I was—” you start.
The first girl steps forward, hand extended, finger brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “—at my locker. I wanted to show them the photos I took on my last family trip. We went to Rome for the weekend.”
The three introduce themselves to Damian, and giggle and coo when Damian introduces himself in reply.
“Damian’s a handsome name,” one girl says.
“Yes! Like… I wonder what country that’s from.”
Damian deadpans, “Greece.” The girls bump against each other like flower petals in the wind, delicate and swooning, all at only a word from him.
“Do you know the meaning of it?” Asked one of the girls. “My name means wealthy.”
You answer for Damian, “It comes from to tame,” but your voice falls on unheard ears. All you get in reply is a half-hearted hum of acknowledgment, then the girls are talking again.
“Someone told us that you were an artist,” said the first. “Are you in any clubs? Have you won any art awards?”
Damian shakes his head. His silence is somehow still attractive, though, because the girls again swish their skirts and smile big at him. They sort of preen, and you notice that you’ve been moving that very same way in front of him for months. Playing with your hair, moving for his biceps, dipping your head when he speaks.
The nerves in your legs go numb. They like him too.
...And you’ve led them right to him! Argh, you idiot! The most inaccessible, isolated boy at your school, who’s told you countless times how much he hates the empty courting of your classmates, and you’ve trapped him. Here. With a whole pack of girls ready to eat him alive. Your stomach stinks; you owe Damian a serious apology.
This time, you try to enter the conversation to close it, but the girls must sense it because they move in on him to dig their nails in. For every word you try to squeeze in, they slide over their own with ease. Damian has the decency to try and include you, but it doesn’t work.
Sensing that she’s getting cut out, the first girl gleams a smile in Damian’s direction, “You know, I think it’s so cute that Y/N’s got such a big crush on you. And how nice of you, keeping her around still.”
You freeze.
Damian’s act drops. The minimum of kindness in his face evaporates, and he turns on the trio with the promise of a massacre in his eyes.
The situation disarms you, and, trusting your instincts, you know what you can’t do without your weapons and sprint for it.
_
You don’t cry. You don’t make it a habit to cry over pain, but you certainly don’t cry over nothing. And this—this was nothing.
Because if it wasn’t, then you’d spent the last two weeks being used as a pet for those girls, only useful for your connection to Damian. You’d let your desperation for connection throw you to the dogs. If you’d listened to the cold voice in the back of your mind, none of this would have ever happened. You wouldn’t have ‘befriended’ them. They wouldn’t have told Damian about your feelings for him. And you wouldn’t have proved to them both how much of a coward you were by running.
No one else comes to the school’s rooftop. It’s after school hours, so the only people in the building mill between clubs and activities, shadows on the darkening lawn or warm-lit windows. Being a castle, even the roofs are intricate, framed by identical rows of the same ironwork in the elaborate windows. You must have spent half an hour admiring the framing on Lunch Hall’s broadest glass piece. It was stained, black and gold to make the Academy logo. By the time you’d memorized every inch of it, your breathing has evened and pointed shoe bottoms scrape the tile above you.
Damian slides down the steep slope, slowing and stopping against the wrought iron frame of the roof. It’s chilly. The dying, warm-toned sunset doesn’t reach you because of the angle of the roof, so Damian’s face is set at its most natural; in shadow. You want to crumple into your knees and scream at him until he leaves, but your throat squeezes shut. It’s easier to just not look at him, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, hoarse.
Damian just stares at you, waiting for a better answer.
“I was a coward,” you shook your head. “Shouldn’t have run. Shouldn’t have hidden.”
He settles onto the tile at your side, feet braced next to yours on the rail. The slope is uncomfortable to stand for too long, but no one had ever said you wouldn’t torture yourself over being an idiot, and couldn’t stand a little torture anyway.
Simply, Damian replied, “You were embarrassed.”
The air between you almost hummed with energy. He’s so warm, so sweet, so—so good. After everything he had done, Damian was just plain good. He’d come back from killing and hurting better than you ever could, and had the time in between to comfort you after you embarrassed him. There was no specific reason why you had come to like him, but moments like these only gave you more reason to.
“That was cruel of them, taking advantage of you,” he said. “In fact, I told them so. I also happened to mention that I knew how much money they actually spent to get into this school, what sort of business their parents are involved in when the police aren’t looking, and what ugly policies their very existence endorse.”
You sniffed. Smiled. “Did you bring up the part where you’d rather die than date them?”
“Obviously. I spent at least ten minutes on that part,” Damian snorted. He paused, the breeze rolling through his hair, and closed his plump lips in thought. When they opened again, he was staring intently at you. Damian could never just glance at something with eyes like his. He took everything to its full depth, including the shape of your face through the small space between your bodies. When you gained the courage to look back at him, his shyness didn’t stop him from holding the intense, almost romantic stare. It roots you in place.
“I…” he trailed off. “I spent more time speaking of you, though. I care more for their opinions of you than I.”
“You gonna verbally abuse everyone who doesn’t like me at this school?” You teased.
Damian offered you his arm. “I’ve always held the opinion that idiocy should be punishable by law.”
Flattered and subdued, you took it. Damian’s arm is the perfect shape to be wrapped against yours. Your elbows lock just right, and you’re not so uncomfortable that you can’t take your free hand and cup his bicep. It’s a hug. You’re hugging his arm, as you always do, but this time Damian sides his hip against yours and you sit there, smiling where the other can’t see.
“Does it… make you uncomfortable?” You wince, head bent to the ground.
“The fact that you like me? No.” Damian scoffed at the idea, rolling his eyes. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Tt. I’m not like these juvenile boys,” he nodded to a group of them shuffling around on the track, “I don’t dance around. I don’t play. I don’t squirm at the thought of feelings.”
Dryly, you replied, “Really.”
“These feelings,” Damian corrected himself. There was passion glowing in his eyes now, fierce and mean and totally Damian. “Our feelings.”
You paused. Your breath was somewhere you couldn’t chase it, and your heart, despite careful, brutal training, was recklessly roaring in your ears. He didn’t seriously mean…
“You have a crush on me?”
Again, Damian scoffed. “What the hell did I just say, L/N? Crushes are for children. Tell me: are you and I children anymore?”
You deflated. “No.”
“This isn’t a schoolyard fancy. You’re Batgirl. I’m Robin.”
Damian twisted his arm through yours, snatching up your hand with all the grace of the brutish little boy he’d been years ago. It was clear he’d never done this. But neither had you. His grip is hard at first, trying to say something, then Damian finds his message and your hands close together, warm, calloused and sweet. You both pause to take it in. Damian’s hands are big, muscular, and cruel-looking; the hands of a killer. With his killing hand, he caresses your knuckle like he’s wondering if you want to let go.
He whispers into the wind, certain of himself. “You and I are more than that.”
“Are you… are you…” you swallowed. “Are you saying that you love me?”
Damian murmured your shared mantra, the words that had been said as you gripped one another by the hands and refused to let go for years now, “Of course I do.”
Happiness like overgrown flower fields, like sprawling vines, like feathers catching wind as they’re made to, rushes up your spine. If there is such a thing as two weapons becoming something good then you would compare it to this. Death feeding the earth, the earth feeding life. Gun metal melted down into symbols of hope. Your hand and Damian’s, aching at the thought of separation.
You squeeze his fingers. “...And here I thought you would’ve left me hanging.”
“Please, Y/N,” Damian grins, “As if I would let you fall for anyone other than me.”
You kiss. It is two killing things becoming one, a good person, and two killing hands holding each other instead.
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dynamido · a year ago
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Tanjiro Headcanons
A/n: HI HI!!! I havent posted any Demon Slayer content yet BUT i hope this is okay while i get some more stocked up!
also i will be moving over here from my wattpad so if the layout is ever weird that is more than likely why
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✧ Obviously, he's a soft boi. (A/n: my phone tried to change that to soft bi-)
✧ Even before you were dating he made sure to treat you right.
✧ He's a true gentleman.
✧ Seriously, keep this boy around you.
✧ He is a pure ball of sunshine so... he'll keep you happy.
✧ The jokes he tells are borderline dad jokes.
✧ You laugh because of how stale they are.
✧ Not because they're funny.
✧ *Cue one pouty boyo*
✧ Hugs are a must.
✧ What did you expect?
✧ He's one cuddly boi ready to spread his love.
✧ If you somehow are wrangled into a prank with Zenitsu and Inosuke, he takes the fall for you.
✧ "Tanjiro!? Again!? You need to stop taking my punishments! They're in place for a reason..." "But I don't want to see you hurt y/n!" *sigh* "Fine... but let me make it up to you!" "Cuddles and be my partner in training!" "You're too cute Kamado~"
✧ Will give you his haori if you're cold.
✧ Prepare yourself for little adventures in the forest near the Demon Slayer Corps.
✧ And him begging you to go on missions with him.
✧ Honestly, he'll protect from anything that comes at you.
✧ "Y/n! Watch out!!" "Tanjiro? I can handle myself.." "I'm sorry.." *cue cute puppy dog eyes* "S T O P I T"
✧ No demon will want to go near you.
✧ Or human.
✧ He is a scarily overprotective friend so they can only imagine what it's like when you get together.
✧ "Why does Genya look horrified?" "Maybe he did something he shouldn't have." "Tanjiro Kamado! What did you do to him!?" "He was staring at you and practically drooling!" "I swear to the gods... I love you but please stop..." "HUH!? I-I love you t-too y/n..."
✧ C H E R I S H H I M.
✧ He loves you so much.
✧ Protect him as he protects you.
✧ It'll make him melt trust me.
✧ Are you friends with Nezuko?
✧ He'll fall for you more.
✧ You can somehow deal with Zenitsu and Inosuke?
✧ He loves you more.
✧ A past time of his is to lay on some grassland and look at the stars with you.
✧ When he eventually asks you out, he's friccing adorable about it.
✧ *cue a lot of stuttering and blushing* *giggling from you* "I love you too Sunshine~" "Hhhhhh" "AHHHH! SHINOBU!? HELP, TANJIRO PASSED OUT!!"
✧ When you're in a relationship, he calms down a lot.
✧ He has his moments but ehhh, it's cute so. *pterodactyl sounds*
✧ "Inosuke stop headbutting y/n, you idiot!!"
✧ You swearing to turn Nezuko back to a human with him.
✧ "I want to help Nezuko too!" "Ahhh, y/n... you're too kind!" *cue you being tackled by both Kamado siblings*
✧ If you're a girl Nezuko braids your hair and if you're a boy Tanjiro teaches you how so you can braid Nezuko's.
✧ She's like a sister to you.
✧ "You know... I love Nezuko!" "Huh!? B-But-" "Oh my... I love you more dumby~"
✧ Shinobu has practically adopted you at this point so she's protective and extra hard on Tanjiro.
✧ He doesn't mind and says it'll help him get to where he wants to be.
✧ You had to stop her from poisoning him more than once.
✧ "I get you don't like him all that much but can you maybe not kill him??" "cAn yoU nOt KiLl HiM- bitch, how about no?" "... I'm telling oyakata-sama." "Hey, no... y/n? NO STOP-"
✧ Overall, you're the couple everyone is jealous of.
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cunaeparker · a year ago
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champagne problems | t. holland
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pairing: tom holland x fem!reader
genre: angst | exes | badass crewmember kelly on the night train
word count: 1k
note: hey !!!! i havent posted for awhile, so i thought i would pump this out :) i’m currently writing a longer piece for @rosyparkers writing challenge, and really recommend checking out her works !! they are honestly phenomenal and are probably some the best written peter/tom fics i’ve read <3 this blurb is inspired by taylor swift’s song, champagne problems. t swizzle is so good i love her so much we stan her here - there also might be a cameo of one of my favourite tv characters that is absolutely irrelevant to this blurb but i wanted to put her in here bc shes cool asf :)
— tom is taking the hard way home, y/n decided to end things, and there’s nothing like champagne to help with champagne problems
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ- 
you booked the night train for a reason so you could sit there in this hurt
The cold glass pressing against Tom's warm forehead isn't enough to distract him from the one thought running through his buzzing head like a parasite. 
Y/N.
She left.
His hands clench at the thought and his eyes squeeze shut as a deep breath echoes through his throat, trying to suppress the flow of tears that he know will inevitably come. He leans closer to the cool glass and watches the cold snow swirling in pretty snowflakes, begging, wishing, she was still here with him, riding the night train back to London... but alas, she isn't, and he still thinks he can see the figure of her dancing happily in the snow...
bustling crowds or silent sleepers you're not sure which is worse
The ride back home is anything but exciting, and if anything, it's one of the most boring rides he's been on. He usually prefers to take the normal class, and there's usually some crazy folk that like to wreak havoc on the employees (he hates to admit it, but it is a little amusing) that thoroughly makes his night.
Instead, there's mostly sleeping working businessmen knocked out against the window, either snoring or tiredly doing work with heavy bags of deep purple under their eyes.
The train is so overwhelming dull and depressing Tom feels his pulse quicken with nerves.
He sighs and shuts his eyes, turning up his music.
because i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing
"Hey, Tom?" she had asked that night with a nervous quiver in her voice as a small watery smile tugged on her lips, "do you think we can head back to the hotel? My feet are tired."
Tom noticed her hesitance but reluctantly agreed, offering her a small smile as he took her hand.
“Of course. Dancing all night tends to do that," he joked, trying to lighten to rapidly darkening mood.
She just smiled sadly.
crestfallen on the landing
Tom never knew how much the cold of Brighton could sting. His face was tingling and pulsing uncomfortably as he stood on the balcony of their hotel room, face-first towards the wind.
He needed to feel something after what he had just experienced.
"Tom, I can't do this anymore."
"Tom, I don't think I love you anymore."
The wind whipped through this chestnut curls as tears streamed quickly down his rosy cheeks, freezing against his skin. He sucked in a shaky breath and rested his elbows against the freezing metal of the balcony, putting his head in his hands defeatedly. He couldn't believe he never saw it coming, the night had been so perfect.
champagne problems
His upsetting recollection of memories are interrupted by a strong Midlands accent.
“Any drinks for you?"
Tom whips his head up and tries to wipe away his tears with the back of his sweater. A waitress—or whatever the proper term is—is standing tiredly in front of his seat with a pen and notepad, offering a taut smile.
"The alcohol is 20% off because it's so bloody late the attendants think we all need a pick-up," she says.
Tom's lips quirk into a small watery smile.
"Yeah? What's cheapest?" he asks, keeping eye contact as he reaches for his wallet.
The waitress—her name-tag reading Kelly—just shrugs, sighing. "I don't know, bruv. Just choose whatever."
“Sure," he says, a little taken aback by her bluntness. "What's there to get?"
She shrugs again and pops the pen out. "Probably the champagne. It's really cheap, and—don't tell the company I told you this—but it's made in like a meth lab or some shite. I wouldn't really recommend it, but the alcohol content is high and really helps with problems."
Tom blanches and his readily prepared wallet lowers.
"What do you mean?" he asks with a small chuckle, trying to mask the fact that he's so obviously upset. "There's nothing going on here, Miss."
Kelly snorts. "Yeah, and I make minimum wage. Get the fuckin' champagne, would ya? It's on the house, love. You look like a mess."
She winks and turns before he has time to protest, heading down the corridor of sleeping passengers.
"Well, shit," Tom mutters, not knowing what to do with the money. He guesses that he can tip her, it's the least he can do—for a woman as tired and unkempt as her, she's awfully talented at reading people.
He smiles a little and puts the money in the empty seat beside him, patting it as if some of his good karma is going to transfer into her life: it's outrageous and absurd, but he likes the feeling of giving. It's rewarding.
He goes to plug in his music—an upsetting Sufjan Stevens song, of course—only before Kelly arrives again with a gleaming bubbly flute of champagne and a napkin, smiling kindly at him as she offers it forward.
"Here you go, darling, a crackhead champagne," she jokes, placing it on his tray above his seat. "I hope you enjoy, I made sure to put good word in with the other crew that you are going through a rough time." She leans forward and smirks. "Expect some gifts, luv, my co-worker Lindsey finds you really fit. She said you look like a movie star."
Tom flushes.
“Uhm, thank you, Kelly. I hope this isn't too much."
Kelly scoffs and waves a hand, wrinkling her nose.
"No, no, of course not! There's nothing better than champagne to deal with champagne problems, am I right?"
Her lips twist up into a knowing smile before turning, leaving Tom thunderstruck. He frowns and hesitantly reaches to take a sip of the drink.
It's bubbly, smooth, and lovely, nothing like the champagne Kelly described earlier. It's warm, comforting, and reminds him of an old pub he went to when he visited France with Y/N—
His face falls.
His grip on the flute tightens.
And as his jaw clenches, pondering on whether or not he should down this whole thing, he decides: fuck it. Nothing better than to deal with champagne problems than with champagne.
He downs the glass, swallowing all of the bittersweet memories with it, watching teary-eyed over the glass rim as he sees Y/N dance merrily in the snow. She's smiling and laughing with snowflakes in her hair, a vision of pure, unadulterated bliss, until her shadow sees him.
She screams. It's silent, an eerie terrifying sight that distorts her once pretty features, causing Tom to cower and feel his blood to run cold... but suddenly, the ghost of her vanishes, vanishes right out of his life, leaving the brown-haired boy with unsaid baggage and nothing but a cold, bitter glass of champagne problems in his trembling hand.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
@galaxystern08  @averyfosterthoughts @pparkeramorr @peterparkermadness@thenoddingbunny-blog @galaxystern08 @coni-martina @inhumanwithpowers @averyfosterthoughts @softholand @quackeroos @parkersbliss @chaoticpete @cosmicholland @stardustom @mannien @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @silteplaittais-toi @spideygirl2003 @yoinkyourheart @darlintom @dreamofaprilsblog @the-crazy-fanfictionist @peterspideyy @stuckonspidey @eridanuswave @thirzaholland @t-holland2080 @peachyparkerr @parkeret @etoileholland @duskholland @rosyparkers @finelinesupremacy @uglypastels @darlingspidey @spideyspeaches 
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lino-know · 20 days ago
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Heyy how have you been lately? You havent posted for a while so i was wondering how you were? Dont feel pressured to write anything tho, if youre not in the mood coz thats completely understandable. Just prioritise your mental and physical health and thats enough to make us happy >:) i hope ur doing well tho!! Good luck for whatever youre doing and eat n sleep well <33
Hi nonnie <3
First of all merry Christmas and happy new year :)) I hope you have a good holiday or at least had a good time with family or friends!
Second of all thank you so so much for sending this <3 I really really needed this message and it came at the best possible time so thank you 😭
The reason why I was putting off answering this ask for so long was because I was thinking about how to go around it exactly. It crossed my mind briefly to do the 'I'm okay and there'll be updates soon!' thing but I know that's not going to be true and I'll just disappoint. So here's a breakdown of what's in my thought process and why I haven't really been writing anything for the past few months :) anyways this is going to be long so take a seat
The major, main reason that I haven't really written anything is life. I've just started my first year at university and while I have studied abroad before, uni is something I really need to get used to because time management is not my forte I tell you ☠️☠️ all academic things aside I'm just operating on a really bad life schedule at the moment which consists of sleeping at 3~5am, not having a social life and trying to make dysfunctionality an art form. Which is not healthy and please don't do this.
However, uni means that I'm also in a really fortunate position to explore some of my other interests, like writing in another medium and performing. Three months into tertiary education and I've already written and assistant directed a play and I really hope to keep going at this, which is why writing on Tumblr is taking a back seat on my priority list at the moment.
That said my creativity hasn't taken a blow (too big of one, anyways) so these are really just excuses tbh. But they do explain my chaotic lifestyle I call a schedule so yeah
Regarding this blog specifically though, I fully intend to get back to writing. I don't want to make any promises because I might just disappoint people anyways, but I do want to continue writing again :) there are just a few things that's stopping me from doing it.
The first is the reception. I know this is going to sound really bad/shallow but I do want to receive recognition for my work. Not even like followers or anything but notes or reblogs or even comments!! I can't reply to comments because this is a side blog but I love them. But yeah. Like obviously I know not posting for a long time and suddenly coming back is not a good equation to have notes all over your work, but the last time I took a break just kind of led to fewer and fewer reception on my blog until it kind of just flatlines. I know there are some of you guys out there who keep coming back and I really appreciate it <3 and I love you guys so much!! Whenever I see your username on my notifs it warms my heart 💕💕 But what I'm saying is I do need those breaks sometimes and when I do feel the motivation to continue writing again then it just gets like a note or two it just sucks :') especially when I look at my mutuals and they're celebrating a milestone - which is great for them and I'm happy they achieved so much!! - but personally it does sting a little. It's kind of trying to not get disappointed by not doing anything, which is a sucky attitude to have but that's one way I'm protecting myself.
Leading onto the reception thing is an...Interaction thing? I don't know if this even makes sense. But essentially I love how content creators keep their blogs going by interacting with followers and answering asks and stuff and I really want to do that too!! But maybe I just don't have enough stuff published or I don't seem as into skz as others do? There aren't many asks in my inbox and it's just sad for me personally :') Anyways yes hi this is seong self pitying hours what's new
My mental health also plays into this a little. I've been struggling with...A lot of issues and this also means that yes, sometimes I'm not in a headspace to write :') However it's not really the writing process so much as a combination of the two mentioned above. Yes, it's tough to write sometimes but when you see people liking your work it pays off. But without the reception or whatever the drain just keeps...going if you know what I mean? Like you don't get what you think you might get and it just sucks, a little. Obviously I don't write for attention - I write for the fandom and for skz but it's just nice to be acknowledged sometimes.
Going into more specific things - the first thing is about my feelings with skz. To clarify I have absolutely nothing against skz, it's just that I've kind of moved on about them. I haven't watched their videos for a long time and what I've heard about Christmas Evel is from that tiktok trend blasting itself all over my ig feed. I'm still in love with those guys, but it's more of a fond reminiscence rather than trying to get into whatever they're doing?? If that makes sense?? I know a lot of creators have continued to create for them in spite of this, but I feel like I might be unable to capture their actual personality in my works if I start writing now. I know it's technically fanfiction anyways but I just feel like I'm not doing them justice. Or maybe I have a perfect grasp of their personalities and my self esteem is just beating me over the head with a stick again. I don't know. But yeah, I still love skz. I saw Felix's purple hair and Hyunjin's very appropriate interaction with Changbin involving his ass *ahem* so I'm not entirely out of the loop. Just kind of distancing myself a lil
I guess this also involves my general attitude towards kpop now? For one thing it's not an active part of my life rn, and I don't really know much about other 4th gen groups like txt or enhyphen that I know other skz creators tend to write about adjacent to skz. This means that I don't really have much to write about other than skz on this, very skz-centred blog. And the thing about me is that I'm very actively interest-hopping around life right now. Currently I'm into Legend of Zelda, Andrew Garfield and astrology which doesn't really make much for content on this very kpop blog so I guess that's also why I'm so quiet. It's just my interests aren't really aligning with the content I usually produce so I'm just sat here ._.
Another thing also is the direction of this blog and the content I make. I know there's a mix of sfw and nsfw work here, and I've allowed minors onto this blog because of this reason. However I've also seen quite a number of minors interact with my nsfw posts even though I've specifically told y'all not to (just to clarify, you're allowed to consume my content. Just don't let me know you're doing it because I'm an adult now and the fact that you reblog it or like it makes me uncomfortable. That's literally it), and I'm hesitant to make this entirely 18+ and publish entirely 18+ work because I do want to include everyone in the fandom!! And also the fact that it's way more effort to write sexy stuff so sometimes the sfw stuff just lets me write without cringing at myself too much :) the angst also makes for a good outlet. But I guess the fact that I lean towards creating sfw content would mean less reception because most people on this site is horny :')
Anyways this has been a really really long post and there's no tldr for this, I'm sorry but you have to read it in full. But yes, thank you so so much for this ask nonnie you have no idea how much this means to me. I'm not doing too well at the moment but I fully intend to get my shit together sometime so hopefully I'll be able to write properly! And I hope you're eating and sleeping well too <3 also please someone reply to this long ass post haha haha I need attention :(
(I also didn't proofread this so if it sounds a bit wonky or it comes off the wrong way I'm so sorry :')
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itonje · 10 months ago
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that’s fascinating because I know a lot less than you do and to me it seems
anti-lancelot agenda: the Victorians
anti-kay agenda: like... a lot of the major works
omg hi anon i dont know if you know less than i do but you probably dont i know like nothing im just here LOL youre good and fair warning for my arthurian mutuals or anyone else who reads this really this is going to be my own personal interpretation and not anything you should take as solid fact or analysis LOL also preface im not going to talk ab the prose lancelot here cause i havent read it and i feel weird talking about things i havent read LOL 
anyways i dont think that medieval works where kay gets humiliated or embarassed (which uh. is a lot of them lol) are really trying to say something about how they think kay is a bad person/awful character etc etc i think mostly he’s there for like. some form of comic relief? idk. i think he is certainly a punching bag character most of the time but in an affectionate way, while he does get pummeled a lot its not because the author is trying to condemn him for his actions because they view him as a bad person who needs to be punished its typically to be a. a foil for the mc (typically gawaine) so that their deeds look even greater in comparison (and even that isnt like..a constant imo like in the perilous graveyard kay is a foil to gawaine but its to rag on gawaines inaction and faults i digress) and b. said gag character. also kay has a lot of immunity in the texts lol, no matter what he does and how much he does suffer he does...always get out of it fine no matter what happens to him (see: him getting ragged on by arthur all the time esp in the dutch stuff but he never dies or is that severely harmed or anything even though he most probably should have) even on like..a grander arthurian ‘’canon’’ scale kay is almost always one of the characters to survive the strife of camlann and the fall of camelot so like. yeah. thisll make sense when i talk about lancelot and i will talk about him right now
anyways i think while lancelot is the hero of many romances and literature and who typically gets a more in depth look at his character than kay (but i also think kay one of the few arthurian characters with deeper characterization throughout multiple texts) i think that most of the time he is condemned by the authors even if he isnt said to be explicitly wrong in the text...like lancelot DOES commit many transgressions, far more serious transgressions than kay (while i do think that you are supposed to view knight of the cart as satiricalish/comical in genre awareness you know what i mean adultery is not the same as like cursing people out and then getting the shit beat out of you for doing that) and he DOES get ragged on by the authors for this even if he isnt ragged on in the text itself. like even chretien de troyes, the creator of lancelot (sidenote: do NOT debate me on who came up with lancelot it was de troyes it was him. this does not make lancelot not a valid arthurian character hes just a guy.) did not like him and while knight of the cart textually presents lancelot as a hero the author is condemning lancelot personally and metatextually in a way the author does not condemn kay 
and unlike kay, lancelot DOES suffer for these actions in the text, hes not immune in the same way kay is. in the post vulgate cycle and things based off it which i have actually read like le morte he cannot achieve the holy grail, him and guinevere’s affair (i will put this in big air quotes cause i actually have a lot of opinions on this but i will. keep them out sigh. anyways while i do think the authors of many medieval texts were not personally fond of lancelot i, phineas, am and i find his actions reasonable but this isnt phineasland so i digress) and his actions after the discovery of said affair ie killing all those people is what leads to the fall of camelot and the destruction of arthurs court. and lancelot is doomed to a life of mourning and repentance in the monastery, which i also think is a notable difference between him and kay in medieval texts: lancelot is typically forced to repent. kay is not. 
TLDR: while kay is typically ragged on and humiliated in medieval works more often, my opinion is that lancelot is condemned metatextually by the author and audience in a way kay is not. kay has a sort of immunity for his actions that lancelot (and to be fair, most of the characters in the story) do not. 
anyways to answer your note about the victorians cause imo they’re both two different things to talk about uhhh i really don’t get the vibe that the victorians disliked lancelot (im not really that deep into victorian stuff yet forgive me haha)! in fact, from what ive read and seen so far irt to art it seems to me like they actually were fond of him lol maybe even more than poor old chretien de troyes. (see: richard hovey, ea robinson, william morris all authors that seemed to write about lancelot often and really delved into and explored his character in depth, many times him as a sort of tragique hero)
 i think if the victorians had a conspiracy against any character it would be gawaine, he is very much reduced in importance imo and i think that DOES contribute to the wider western cultural perception of him nowadays ie that he isnt really that important/an archaic/minor character that only shows up in like. one text and we all know which text that is. 
to be fair i think the wider western cultural perception of lancelot is just like. medieval lit gawaine but blonde LOL anyways i dont want this to become a post about gawaine but yeah i think that from the victorian stuff ive read about lancelot they seemed to really get into him as a character and produce a lot of content for him (see, all the artworks he and gwen gets in comparison to other arthurian characters) so unless ive just been misinterpreting everything ive read wrong idk about most of them really disliking him, or even disliking him in the same way the medieval authors did. 
TDLR: i want to stan lancelot the same way that william morris stanned lancelot i want to depose him as the no. 1 lancelot fan 
anyways thank you for sending me this ask!!!! i got to think a little out of my gawaine box cause i usually dont focus on lancelot or kay and im glad i got to flesh out my feelings on their characters more cause of this 
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owlf45 · a year ago
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so,,, i have a few My Hero fanfic ideas that i'm quite fond of. but every time i try to sit down and write them, i just. cringe. like, physically cringe. although like i said, i'm quite fond of them and i would love to put them out there on ao3. this doesn't happen with my other fics from a diffrent fandom. did you go through this? any tips on how to conquer it? should i not write them at all? should i make up a new plot? thanks, sorry for being annoying lol.
youre not annoying anon! i also feel the same way at times too! firstly, though, you should always write them!! share your gifts with the world!! secondly, im not sure where the cringe lies, so there might be numerous reasons: 
lack of content 
phrasing of the first scenes 
framing the time period 
outlining
characterization 
plot
infodumping 
what about MHA is causing this? 
but also, im of the firm believer that all ideas, to some degree, sound cringey and stupid until theyre put down on paper effectively. so dont let the cringe hold you back too much. fic writing is the equivalent of “fake it until you make it” and i too always feel some amount of cringe over a certain phrase or scene in a chapter. anyway, going to ramble a lot under the cut, as i always do: 
so if im struggling with liking the writing, then i probably havent sat on the idea for long enough. if there’s not enough content for me to work with, i get caught in a corner and start writing an awkward mess. it’ll come out in a way i don’t like and i start to get frustrated. so maybe simmer on the ideas a bit more. brainstorm a bit. give yourself sort of an idea of where you’re going to go, but be flexible if you find out while writing it that something works better, feels better. your gut will treat you well. 
it also might be because of how the beginning/first chapters play out. beginnings are always the hardest hurdle to jump, imo, because i struggle to get the work done if the first few scenes aren’t incredibly strong. so i tend to do quite a few drafts until i finally find a route i can vibe with. so look at things like word choice, imagery, strength—are the first few scenes strong? do they represent your story? is it something that’d peak your interest while reading it? does it feel like a scene that could come to life? maybe it’s not the idea that’s the issue but the writing, and it’s simply not polished enough. should you consider pursuing a different writing style altogether? a good first few scenes can help propel me to writing the rest of the story. a weak first few scenes ruins the process for me. 
if it’s not the content or the phrasing you’re struggling with, maybe consider framing the story in a different way. instead of starting at the beginning of your character’s story when they’re a child, why not start where the important plot comes in when they’re older? about to go to UA or any other school, for example? instead of changing the plot, why not change what period in it you talk about? flashbacks or reflection exist for this very reason! and if not time, what about a different character or POV? 
also you might want to consider outlining more! its not for everyone, but maybe it’d help if you had a good idea of where your story is going. it’s absolutely wonderful to add heavy foreshadowing to the beginning of one’s work. you can also add a lot of details which seem ignorable at first but become important later. maybe that might help the progression of you writing your story. maybe it’ll add a bit of mystery. that can always help liven up a bit of work. 
(speaking of mystery: imo, mystery is a writer’s best friend. it helps spruce up the writing and make it tons more interesting, and detracts from any of the “cringeyness”. so consider that while youre writing, even if the mystery is as simple as “will character A and character B become friends?”) 
what about characterization? have you considered that, perhaps, while writing it the character(s) just comes off as awkward and stilted? when you’re writing the scenes, do the character interactions read as fake or forced? maybe the plot isn’t the problem, but instead the way the characters react and interact. maybe try working on those. would rewatching/rereading some canon mha help you better grasp the characterization? 
and if this still isn’t working, consider tweaking—not changing!—but tweaking the events of your plot here and there. rearrange a few events. maybe the progression doesn’t make as much sense as you thought it’d originally made. 
one of my biggest pitfalls that make me c r i n g e at my attempts at starting a new work are when i start explaining. its easy to start talking about the world and your characters and what your story is actually about, and i encourage you to avoid that. instead of explaining why your character is the way they are, or what they do, have a scene filled with action. your character robs a bank. or they’re running from the police. they stare down at an assignment dealing with a societal issue theyre painfully aware of. one of their friends set up a date with their crush and smugly staring down at them. 
so don’t explain how your character has faced societal issues all their lives, which they have never talked about to their class, and now has to do an assignment on said issue. describe how the character stares at the paper of their assignment blankly. don’t explain how the character’s life has been horrible ever since their parent passed away and they got hooked up with the league of villain’s bullshit, and now that’s led them to being chased by the cops. describe the character running for their life as the sirens sound behind them. 
ofc, you can still add those little details here and there. the character running from the cops curses out shigaraki. the student staring down at their assignment mentions briefly that they’d never had to talk about such a sensitive issue to their classmates. i find, however, that the more i attempt to explain rather than describe, the more cringey it gets. it feels like a stream of consciousness, or a deliberate telling of a story, rather than the story speaking for itself. 
interestingly enough, you said this whole thing only seems to happen with MHA and not other fandoms. so what do you think you’re doing differently? are you relying more heavily on canon in MHA than you would in your works with other fandoms? how do you begin your works in contrast? if youre not doing anything differently, then is it a problem with mha as a fandom? is it  because there’s a lot of huge creators in MHA, or that it harbors a surprisingly large amount of content of incredible quality? in that case, are you really doing anything “wrong” or “cringey”, or is it more of an expectations kind of thing? in which case, tell expectations to fuck off, because i promise you you’re doing better than you think you are.
finally: if you love the work or the ideas, then who gives a shit about cringeyness? just post it my dude, i promise you someone out there will love it. and if youre still concerned, there’s tons of nice people in this fandom who’d look at your work if you asked. reach out to some people, maybe join/look at a few servers, ask someone to read what you’ve written, as for their advice—after all, each fic is unique in the “why?” it might be causing you to feel these things, so i’m only so limited in my ability to help. 
anyway, it’s... ass-o’clock am, and usually i would spend the next hour or two cutting this down to a reasonable length but im too tired to do that. so here’s MY apologies for rambling once again. one of these days ill learn to be concise. 
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jos-corner-of-the-world · 5 months ago
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LMAOOOO screw u anon!! while ure here being a complete dickface about the update, im here THRIVING about one of my fave stories being updated! and i love it as always!! if it wasnt enjoyable for u then maybe shut the hell up since u dont rly have anything nice to say. reading it isnt a requirement, and all ur doing is ruining stuff for the author ((and the readers who love her content)) WHO BY THE WAY DOESNT OWE U ANYTHING :) its her creative liberty and her brain child and her intellectual property and not urs so i dont think u have the right to say crap. anyways jo i just finished reading 35 and i loved it as always!! worth the wait no matter how long u were gone ((bc @/anon news flash,,,, SHE HAS HER OWN LIFE OUTSIDE THE INTERNET U TWAT)). so yeah #jodefensesquad i hope ure doing okay today jo :) drink lots of water!! i hope ur kids are okay too :D and ill always be here to support ur fics no matter how much time u take off because, unlike some people, we know that writing takes effort and time and energy and LOTS OF PASSION. so yeah. love u i think i said too much lmao
ps. no i havent read baker and her star but ill try starting today!! ive only read the wonu and the jihoon ones apart from lhotl :D
Um, I fucking love you? I appreciate you? I'm in awe of you? I feel like that doesn't suffice in my FEELS FOR YOU RIGHT NOW.
I have a defense squad. I am fucking here for it.
I love you and your unyielding support because it makes me feel like the time I put into these matter.
I also just want to bring a little joy and entertainment to someone and I'm glad I can for you
SO
I'm going to post the next chapter because I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND WANT TO KNOW YOU SMILED TODAY!
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someone-worth-racing-for · 9 months ago
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Hey there!
I am quite new here and I was wondering how you got into this fandom. Specially the carlandofandom :)
Also, when did you start writing? I saw your posts the other day about not being able to write all of it, so it somehow triggered me to write some stuff myself (some requests were just too cute).
Havent been properly writing for ages though and I am not quite sure if anybody wants to read my stuff...any advice? Im so indecisive...
Thanks for all your great stories and have nice day :)
Hey you, anonym and especially – welcome to the fandom! 🤗❤️
Oh my God, believe me – you actually don’t want to know how I got to this fandom, it’s such a long story.. You better grab yourself some Coke and popcorn, because this will be a longer one.. 🥤🍿
But alright, everything has begun with that the TWD (The Walking Dead) fandom has started to annoy/boring me, also because the show has become pretty bad and I wanted to leave the sinking ship before it will be too late. That must have been around autumn/winter 2018. During the winter months I really, really love to watch ski jumping, also because it’s pretty popular in my country (Austria). I was already a fan of it since many, many years, but I only became a real fan at that time. I always say I love this sport so much, because those jumps are always so “quickly over” – meaning that I don’t have to wait for too long to find out the results. Yeah, the competition itself isn't that short, but the individual jumps of each athlete are. That’s why I actually “hate” F1 so much, because I have to wait freaking two hours of pure stress, several mental breakdowns and heart attacks later to finally find out who will win, and also because so much can happen during a race, while those ski jumpers are practicing individual – does that make any sense!? However, so I got pretty deep into the ski jumping fandom over that time, especially also here on Tumblr, where I have met a pretty nice girl back then, who had been as thrilled about the fandom as me. But you know, during the summer there aren’t any competitions, so it had been pretty boring in the ski jumping fandom and then suddenly that girl came up with F1.
The first thing I have thought was ‘NO WAY! NEVER EVER!’ – you have to know, I have really hated F1 with a passion before August 2019. I was always making fun of my boyfriend watching those cars driving in circles for two hours. I just couldn’t understand it how someone can watch that voluntary (I sometimes still can’t..😅) and I really, really hated it with everything I had. My boyfriend even was at the Austrian GP in 2019 and back then my biggest nightmare would have been if he would have forced me to come with him (he got there with his father in the end – today I would give everything to get there!)
I remember, we have been on vacation during the beginning of August 2019. We were in a theme park, when my boyfriend said at one point that he will get over to that bench in the shadow under the tree now and watch the qualifying. I have really thought he was kidding me, because I couldn’t understand how the hell someone would watch something so stupid like F1, while being in a freaking theme park. Well, today I would be the one sitting there on the bench, while my boyfriend would probably urge me to please finally stand up so we could go on 😅
That was at the beginning of August 2019 – so I must have slowly but sure fallen for the fandom around 15th of August. And if you believe me or not, but I have neither fallen for Lando nor for Carlos at the first place. It was actually Max, also because he was one of the less drivers I have known next to Lewis, Sebastian, Valtteri (I always had to think about Harry Potter because of Bottas..😂) and probably Nico. But I have actually began to “stalk” when I have got to know about that Max has a little sister and I have found those sweet pics of him with her together (Do you know which pics I mean? You should really check them out – they are so cute). And somehow Lando came into the play as well and so my first story for this fandom resulted. Back then I have really, really thought it would be the first and also last story I will ever publish for this fandom. Well, that didn’t aged well..😅 Somehow my interest grew and grew with every more day stalking the internet for content and by the time of the first race after the summer break, I was already a fan. Spa 2019 has been the first F1 race I have ever watched from the start till the end and I have to say that this weekend has broken me (literally). Of course, because of Anthoine, but also because this time of the year is since 2017 never easy for me and on that weekend also Carlando finally came into the play. Check out this post from a few weeks ago – Carlos’ birthday on Sunday and that Lando has supposedly hugged Carlos after his DNF has really, really touched my heart and since that day these two boys own my heart and I remember, that the next day after the race I have got up at five in the morning to write “Tomorrow will be kinder” – because writing is sometimes my only way to deal with things, so I just had to write my thoughts/feelings down and it was the beginning of something beautiful actually.
But there is one more little story I have to tell you about my F1 past – this story right here is actually one of @hurtsprincess favourite ones. Because back in 2015, when F1 was finally back in Austria again, I was there by the race as probably the biggest F1-hater under all of them. Half of our town and so also most of our friends has got there, so it was kind of peer pressure, why I have finally joined them as well. We had to stand up really, really early – actually it was still in the middle of the night (I think it was three in the morning or so) and got to Spielberg with the bus. It was one of the hottest day of the year back then and after watching “the race of generations” with Niki Lauda, Gerhard Berger and some others and then following also the F3 and F2 races (Me, back in 2015: What do you mean there are races before the actual race? What the hell is F3 and F2?) and because we were so damn tired after standing up so early, most of us, including myself, were sleeping in the meadow during the F1 race. So I have missed over half of the race and I really can’t even remember anymore who has won 😅 But it had still been a funny day for my as a F1-hater, but believe me - if I should ever get to a GP again, this won’t ever happen to me again! 😅 I promise! 🤞🏼
Wow, this has turned out longer than you have actually wanted it, right anonym?! 
Your first question about how I have got into the Carlando fandom is probably answered now and also half of your second question. But I have actually started writing fanfictions back in autumn 2016 for the TWD fandom. I have written overall 16 stories for that fandom and 4 stories in German for the ski jumping fandom, but as much as I have already loved to write fanfictions back then, it only really became my passion and biggest hobby with Carlando. I just can’t stop writing about them, also because they make me so happy and for me so easy with those dorks just being them 😊
Yeah, I’m still very sorry about that I just can’t write stories to all of these great requests, even tho I would really, really like to do - but if you have got inspired by one of these, you should give it a try!
But if you are really that indecisive and shy, you could use the anonymity of the internet for your favor (in this case this posibilty is a good thing - as long as you use your anonymity not for spreading hate/attacking/bullying someone) You know what I mean? I actually did/do that as well. Only three people here on Tumblr know who I really am. Some of you may know from where I am (because I don’t make a secret out of it) and some here even know my name, but that’s it. I don’t share any more personal things about my identity, because I also prefer to stay anonymous here, especially because only my boyfriend, my best friend and my mother know about that I’m writing fanfictions. All those other people I call “friends” don’t know about it or me having this account here and I also don’t want them to know, because they simply wouldn’t understand it.
What I’m trying to say here - if it makes you feel better and also more secure, you could upload your story on AO3 without telling anyone it’s you. Or if you don’t want to post it on AO3 and you also don’t want to post it on your Tumblr account, I offer you to send me your story anonymous. I would post it in your “name” aka anonym, saying that this story isn't mine and you could watch/read the reactions.
You don’t have to lose anything, anonym 😉 I would really, really like to read your story, no matter if you will decide to publish it with your name or anonymous. Because there won’t ever be enough writers out there, blessing us with their great stories. Also because I am as much a passionate reader than a writer. And I’m also pretty sure about that you are talented and also about that your story would be more than just worth reading it 😊
Thank you so much for your message, anonym and I’m sorry my answer turned out to be so long 😅 but I really hope my words have helped you in some way, because I’m pretty sure about that you actually don’t have to have a reason to be that shy and indecisive 😉 Just give it a try, as long as it makes you happy 🤗❤️
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aanuukaa · 8 months ago
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loki fic rec
decided its probably time :) 
anyway these are some mostly loki (i dont think all of them r loki centric) wip fics im reading. by the way, i like genderfluid!loki a lot so theres probably gonna be a lot of that
Coral Fang by gigantomachy
TW: Depression, implied/referenced homophobia, heavy drinking, recreational drug use, implied/referenced suicide, overdosing
summary:  Avery is just another burned out college student with a shitty apartment, a shitty job, and a burgeoning drinking problem. One night, walking home from a party, she meets a strange man who claims he can do magic. So, obviously, she takes him to Waffle House. As one does.
the only fic ive read with an oc, because i dont really like those, but i was surprised to find out how awesome it is. the oc, avery, is actually super well written and i love her. also the author included a playlist in the notes, saying they listen to it when writing avery and i really enjoy listening to it pretty often. picrews of avery: 1, 2. female loki: :) updates every sunday, currently at 10 chapters
Eat, Prey, Loki by Jackaloki
TW: Dysfunctional Family, Gender Issues, Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety Disorder, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, implied/referenced eating disorder
summary:  This is the story of how Thor uses the Tesseract to pick up pizza. It is also the story of how Loki accidentally strips himself of his own immortality and magic, and gets stuck in his female form. Banished by Odin for the crime of being mortal, Loki escapes to Midgard. As a condition of staying with the Avengers, Loki is required to attend sessions with Doctor Leonard Samson, psychiatrist and guy that might be just a little bit full of himself. Natasha is a corrupting influence, Clint is a bully, Tony discovers what it’s like to be a parent, Bruce offers to answer Loki’s sex-related questions as long as they aren't "personal," and Steve makes pancakes while he tries to pretend it’s still 1939 and none of this is happening. Meanwhile, Loki hacks JARVIS, runs away from the tower and gets picked up by someone who might be a murderer, discovers new-age religion, fails to learn anything from the Sorcerer Supreme, stumbles into a middle of a supervillain attack she has nothing to do with, and eats lots of yummy Midgardian food.
really fun to read but also focuses on discovering( idk the word english is my 3rd-ish language) lokis character. 10/29 chapters, updates every few days.
reka flótta by saviourhere
TW: graphic depictions of violence 
p.s. idk if i should include this but theres a part where loki comes off as racist but i assure you, neither him or the author are, and its explained in the notes.
summary: When the Tesseract opens a portal, and Ebony Maw steps through, SHIELD is no match for him and he takes the Tesseract. Now the Avengers are being assembled in order to get the Tesseract back and win a war before it even begins. Luckily, they have a very special addition to the team, a prince banished from another world, that just might tip the scales in their favor.
loki is banished instead of thor and ends up working for shield. currently at 12 chapters, the author is taking a much needed break
Webs Of Lies by Like_a_Hurricane
TW: explicit sexual content
summary: It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.
Eventually this will become a play on smartass family where Peter gets closer to Loki before he gets close to Tony.
authors note: It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.Eventually this will become a play on smartass family where Peter gets closer to Loki before he gets close to Tony.
i havent read Webs of Lies 2.0 yet, i dont know if its wip or complete. loki shapeshifts a lot here, its the reason why i started reading it, but now im here for the writing
i might add to this post later :)
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xernhacks · 10 months ago
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hey hey hey i made a mpdsap iceberg a little while back and i thought it would be fun to yell into the void about it, because why not. i havent explained the lore to my followers yet and ill probably reblog this to my main tbh
[little disclaimer that a lot of these are based off of made up lore and ocs on my main account. if youre strictly canon only then i wouldnt recommend this for you. if you’re interested but have no knowledge about said lore, i will give basic explanations]
LAYER 1
Joey Perleoni: joey perleoni is well known as the poster of the anti-piracy videos, who, recently, has involved himself more in the videos. joey in my lore is depicted as mostly emotionless or “empty” with no remorse for his actions.
Mario Party DS Anti-Piracy OST: on the channel, there is pretty convincing fake music for the series, there’s not much else to say about it other than it’s SUPER bangin’
Joey was arrested: in a video titled ‘the police are at my house’, joey is taken in by the police. he is presumably in prison
Luigi is the victim: in all of the videos posted, luigi is the main character, and is often considered the victim of the horrible events happening.
Hex code translations: in the videos, there are several hex codes, which can be translated to several different things. the ones we’ve found are hellsatan, luigimod, thx4luv, watchdemon.jit etc.
Reggie Fils-Amie video: on joey’s channel, his first upload has nothing to do with mpdsap, but rather it’s a video filming a joke reggie made about mother 3. it’s unknown if this is connected or not.
LAYER 2
Joey interview: a user by the name of simonejoys interviewed joey perleoni, he said some pretty interesting things actually, here’s the link if anyone’s interested: https://youtu.be/v6AkkxS9LK4
Luxury station and Quiznos: luxury station is joey’s second account, revolving a few strange videos about a place named quiznos. it’s unknown if this is connected or not
Hudson (the man): in my lore, there is a character named hudson, who inherited the company. he’s considered the person who made the anti-piracy screens, or at least encouraged it strongly. this character is based off of some text in host hoedown, which translates to “hudson - this is not necessary. it will extend the launch considerably.” (also i know hudson is the name of the company but the time i found out it was too late)
“Joey no longer runs the account” theory: there was a theory going around after joey’s arrest that someone else is running the account, since there should be no way he should keep posting. this is probably deconfirmed by now
Joey doesn’t feel much emotion: as stated before, my depiction of joey is that of “mostly emotionless or completely empty”. there is no reason for this currently (it’s kind of a case study at this point tbfh)
DJ Hallyboo is based on MC Ballyhoo: in mario party 8 for the wii, there is a character that bears extreme resemblance to DJ Hallyboo, named MC Ballyhoo. they have the same voice clips used, similar names, and somewhat similar designs. MC Ballyhoo is the host of mario party 8. it is general considered that DJ Hallyboo is a beta version of MC Ballyhoo by fans.
LAYER 3
Electric chair: in the video simply titled “mario party ds anti piracy |”, where joey sits on a chair and boots up mario party ds, a few comments were floating around joking about him getting the electric chair. this hasn’t been confirmed
Hudson and Joey used to be friends: this is mostly outdated now, but there was a joke timeline where hudson and joey were friends in the past. not gonna cover it any further than that because it’s an old concept now
MC Ballyhoo and DJ Hallyboo are the same person: in my lore, the general consensus is that MC Ballyhoo and DJ Hallyboo are the same person, with split personalities. he is also either sentient or extremely aware.
Joey is god: in my lore, there is a mostly bizzare idea that joey is divine and has always been divine. he became “a god” by doing criminal acts, or sacrificing luigi. i can’t tell you if this is canon to my lore or not yet though - it started as a meme, but i really do like the idea somehow.
“Waiter, your finger’s in the soup!”: a mysterious quote with no real meaning that was quoted by joey a couple of times. it is connected to a short comic. nobody has found out what it means yet or why it’s being posted about.
LAYER 4
“Joey does drugs” joke: (TW // DRUG ABUSE)
this joke spawned from something i learned in school. apparently people who abuse illegal drugs gradually start feeling less dopamine doing normal activities over time, due to drug overstimulation. this was jokingly connected to joey’s chronic emptiness and inability to feel anything, with the joke that he does meth or some other illegal drug. it’s also noted that drug abusers are likely to commit other crimes. this is of course, not serious at all.
Joey stole MPDS from mcdonalds: this is a personal theory of mine. mcdonalds and MPDS have absolutely no connection - so why are they attempted to be connected at all? in the video, it describes a demo being sold in happy meals at mcdonalds - it’s a possibility that joey stole the demo from mcdonalds, and doesn’t actually have the full game.
Joey wearing the same clothes as the character: i have drawn joey with a yellow sweater (with orange sleeves) and grey shorts for a while now. in the mcdonalds video, he was wearing nearly the same outfit (with the exception of the shorts being pants). he also has brown hair, which i predicted, but it’s much darker. this is probably a coincidence but it’s pretty freaky honestly.
Techwalker: this will probably be the longest segment in the iceberg and the most lore heavy. techwalker was joey’s old channel. he made extremely different content - mainly of which was just bothering random people on the street and at conventions. he has described himself as a “journalist”, but this is all basically fun and games. these videos are now unlisted and i will not be linking them nor telling you where to find them for privacy reasons. i don’t want to get in trouble. if i find any of yall spreading it around im taking down the post and will probably not talk about this again, you dont want that, i dont want that, nobody wants that really.
in the lore, techwalker is not joey. they are 2 seperate people - but they live in the same body. what this means is that either one can take control at a time - joey is completely numb to everything around him, but tech is a pretty happy go lucky and social person. they have different personalities, morals, names and lead different lives. tech even wears glasses (assuming he has some kind of impaired eyesight), and joey does not.
(this has been confused with dissociative identity disorder. while i don’t mind people interpreting my content in whatever way they’d like, considering this is just fan-lore, this was not the intent. i do not have DID and i don’t want to speak for anyone who has DID.)
the general consensus is that tech is dead, or at least completely drowned out, and joey has taken complete control. joey and tech were practically mortal enemies and polar opposites of each other. (joey constantly being annoyed or uninterested in tech’s hyperactivity, and tech not trusting joey to be responsible or ‘law abiding’)
anyways
whew
i typed a lot of stuff.
thats all i have to say about this, if this gains any major traction (and i doubt it will) or causes problems, i will probably delete the post entirely. so be good lol
alright im gonna go ive been writing for 45 minutes or so
im out
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chrospw-doodles · 11 months ago
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When the Ink doesn’t flow
So... for starters this is a rant I wrote somewhere between september and november of 2020, it was intended to be posted in my main blog @chrispriceway back then, but I decided to put this here to avoid being too too personal there, I mean it is supposed to be a happy place to goof around and show you cool stuff, that’s why I made this side blog, to be more personal and less awkard so, yeh.
Chris-Jan.2021
What's up everybody, I know I haven't posted anything in a while and I wanted to adress my abcense and some other stuff that I wanted to talk about but never knew how to bring it up.
So, to those who follow me and dont really know who am I as a content creator:
hi, the name is Christian, you can call me Chris, I'm somewhat of an artist and like to post my stuff here.
Now, even if you have been following me for a while you may have noticed that I really don't post very often and that I haven't been around for a while even if I claim that I'm trying to be more active, well I think it's about time to talk about the issue and make some big changes around here.
But first of all, why does it even matter?
Well, to be honest the past three to four years I haven't really seen my online connection as serious business since I am primarly a student, and school does suck all of my time, the problem with that is that I really feel like I havent been respectful to you, the audience, not that I owe you anything but since I am now trying to make a living from my art, it is necessary to take this connection between the audience seriously and with a bit more respect.
In those three years all I've ever did was too much talk and too little deliver, so I apologize to those people who were really invested into the stuff I do, I really appreciate you guys.
So with that aside...
I wanted to talk about mental health.
well MY mental health
I know what you may be thinking, "what the heck Chris? What does this have to do with you being a lazy ass biss?"
Well, it's kinda simple as it is complicated so I will be putting here some bullets to make it easier to you to navigate through and to let you know how long it is going to be to those who really really just want to skip this post already
Introduction
Danplan Drama
College is a biss
When job becomes priority over school
How did all of this affect my mental state
And how I feel about it
Final thoughts
I'm not okay
Well, was, not anymore (mostly), or at least not as serious as I was some monts ago. Listen, shit went down, it's 2020 and that was inevitable, but I really want to go trough some points to give you context.
This year has been specially rough to me because of some circumstances that a few may know, but for context I'll be telling you about it.
The danplan shit did a lotta damage my bros
Ah, yes, long story short, I was an animator in that channel before the figgin drama
But it wasnt really that bad, you see, I really think that it was inevitable that it was going to end like that because of how are those two, but at the time I had to shut a lot of stuff because I didn't wanted to make it worse as the other animators did... but in retrospective, If we had talked about how we felt about the issue in that moment maybe it could have been better, or maybe not, I don't know and maybe I'll post a rant about it some other time (or maybe I wont), the point. is.
It was emotionally taxing, and to be honest it screwed me very bad. You see, I know I am not that good of an artist in comparisson to the others, nor have the best management of my social media, or another project to keep me on the public eye for a while, and since I went back to school I couldnt possible be hired by another channel because of my lack of time; so loosing my job at danplan was a HUGE deal to me because I knew that none of the jobs available in my country could pay off as good nor be as flexible as being an animator was, so that whole ordeal was really, really frustrating.
Then school became a living hell
Since I escentially lost that job I did try desperately to find anything as good to fill the void (it sounds dramatic but believe me, it felt really bad fam.) So the opportunity presented itself and I took a bone in stephen's channel.
In all honesty it was a good job and it was quite fun, but I didn't really stayed as a full time animator, I believe it was due lack of time or maybe my style wasn't really what they were going for, and tbh fair game... but it was still bad news for me because I was that desperate to find a new job, and I was so inmersed on doing that so I wasn't taking good care of my grades.
So now I had two problems, no job, and I was doing terrible on school because of my obsession with the job hunting.
And at the time I was still part of the community...
I was very active in the dp community and in Pau's server, I found great people and did some art because I really felt happy about it...
But honestly, that didn't last long.
School started to be a real problem and I did fail two of my school subjects, at the end of the semester I was burned out, and sleep deprived, so there was that.
One of my finals was a video talking about the drama and stuff and I've never finished it because I ran out of time and eventually I didn't felt it right abaut it, because it was like opening a grave again, like it was something too disrespectful even if it was originally intended for the sake of the animators, to give them, us, some justice at the end of the day... but I couldn't do it. It wasn't fair to everyone else because they moved on.
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And that was the beginning of this crappy thing I've been carrying around.
I just. Can't. Finish. Anything.
I just overthink everything and fail before I begin any of the pieces, or Im about to finish but change my mind because Its. Not. Good. Enough.
I have a TON of pieces that never saw the light of the day BECAUSE I'm not in the right state of mind, and it is painful, because I love doing art as much as I love engaging with you guys, even if you are a few to maybe 10 people, I enjoy it. And It sucks to not be able to do stuff because I feel crappy.
And I know for fact that feeling crappy it's a crappy excuse to not do anything
But I don't mean that to anyone else but myself, because I feel like I could be better and do better, but... it isn't working, the global situation did some damage too, and I've been manageing, still, I haven't been able to finish a lot of stuff and honestly, I just want to come back before I become a ghost account.
So what's up? What's poppin'?
The plan is to try to force myself to finish at least one piece per week to keep this alive until I find the will to work normally again.
Maybe it's not the best solution, but I think this will motivate me a little since I really want to materialize some projects that I have had on the back of my head for a long time now, and I really want to start em' and share it with you along the way... so yeah, that's basically it.
Well, that was a long one, and if you happened read this far, thank you, I really appreciate it.
I hope I will be seeing you soon...
Stay creative, my dudes.
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solarpire · a year ago
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I'm going to stream a game on friday!
But I cant decide which game I want to play. So here's a list! Please reblog or reply to this post with which game(s) you'd be interested in seeing :3
GAMES I HAVE NOT PLAYED
Soma - under water story driven horror game, played a little a year ago and it looked super cool. It has a mode where you cant die which is great for me because I love horror but I am a MASSIVE wimp (cw: https://www.doesthedogdie.com/media/17000 )
We went back - puzzle driven horror game in space, takes place in one hallway that loops endlessly. Really cool concept, and I always love a good space game (cw: from what I could gather from the trailer, there is light scopophobia, some violence, and body horror for the monster, but I could not find a full content warning list)
Sherlock holmes: crimes and punishments - choice based mystery game. I dont know like. Anything about it but justin mcelroy rated it 8/10 (cw: from what I saw in the trailer there is light gore, murder, bruising, alcohol, and some guns, but I could not find a full content warning list)
GAMES I HAVE PLAYED
Portal 2 - science puzzles and bastard little robots. I have memorized almost every puzzle and every time I play through I see if I can do it faster than the last time (cw: characters being rude to the main character, calling her fat, teasing her for being adopted/parents not loving her, saying shes smart for someone with brain damage, called a monster, called stupid. Most of these things do not actually apply to her and are just lightly joked about, but still happen frequently)
Portal stories mel - harder puzzles and GAY little robots. Very entertaining, and I dont think I've gotten all the trophies yet (cw: risk of electrocution, very vague spider imagery(made up of shadows and machinery, no actual spiders), character clearly trying to deceive the main character for a while in the beginning )
Tacoma - story driven spaceship game. It's mostly you just figuring out what happened on the spaceship tacoma. Has cute gays and sign language and a really cool game mechanic to see the history of the ship. I absolutely need to replay it at some point (cw: panic attacks, brief sexual content(no sex scenes) ai manipulation)
Gravitas - kinda like portal, but very short and much more comedic. It's cute and I wouldn't mind playing it again (cw: I think theres one joke about penguins dying)
Smile for me - comedy/slight horror puzzle game. You have to go around the habitat and find a way to make everyone happy again. This game is adorable and funny and creepy and I love it to death. If I play this one I get to do fun voices for all the characters. Also dr habit is prebby 😳 (cw: dental trauma, brief parental abuse heavily implied, occasional photorealistic bodyparts(not gore), light body horror, drug use, smoking and drinking, a clown. No jumpscares, but some scenes that make you think there will be. Woozy effect on camera commonly used)
Close to the sun - story driven horror puzzle game. Takes place on a giant ocean ship where you explore the work of nikola tesla while you search for your sister. The aesthetic is like a steampunk/great gatsby mix. It's on the shorter side, but it's a lot of fun and very nice to look at (cw:heavy gore and violence from both monsters and humans, panic attacks, chase scenes, a character is burned alive, one jumpscare, decomposing and mutilated bodies, major character death)
Please let me know what you would like to see!! I havent decided on a time to start yet, but it will be between 5:00pm - 3:00am CST!
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thisstableground · a year ago
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1 and 4 for that ask post thing!
1.   Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?
oh god i have so many projects at all times. the current ones im actively working on are:
-  a silly fun UVR one where usnavi (gasp) has to temporarily give up coffee and takes it exactly as well as youd expect him to. im pretty close to finishing this one and i’m excited – it feels like a long time since ive posted any UVR, and especially anything lighthearted, and i also get to talk a lil bit about how usnavi has a new job since selling the bodega which i havent got round to even mentioning in fic yet so thats fun
-   a UVR one for christmas that’s partly usnavi dealing with his seasonal affective depression around the anniversary of losing his parents, partly showing how things are a little easier for him now that he doesn’t live by himself, and partly a fun surprise that i’m very excited about
-  UVR one where vanessa gets appendicitis bc i spun the wheel and its her turn to have a hurt/comfort, congrats vanessa??? and sorry? she’d be mad at me but i just want her to get hugs and get looked after and taken care of for a while, she deserves it, and she also deserves the scene where she’s still tripping from the anaesthesia and being a cute mess because i enjoy when vanessa cant even pretend to be cool
-   watch with serenity only has a couple chapters left and while that’s one of my favourite fics i’ve ever written, i’m gonna feel good about wrapping it up too – usnavi’s started making some positive progress in his grieving and it’ll be nice to see that take shape more and for us to be able to leave him at a point where he isn’t exactly 100% better, but he;s doing alright and he resembles the usnavi we know and love a lot more and isn’t struggling so much. i like my angst but only with the optimistic end note and its about time he got there.
- on the other hand, also writing a devastatingly sad DNH fic that’s from the perspective of ruben’s youngest sister immediately after he’s brought home from jamaica. it does end on a hopeful note too, but i have already made myself cry writing it twice so that should tell you something about how it goes
and thats to say nothing of the ideas i havent started yet or the ones that aren’t quite full enough ideas to work on, but at some point i will finish at least one of these enough to actually post something!
 4.Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)
here’s some ruben pov on vanessa from a scientist is always fine, which tbh i think was an absolute banger and i kinda wish more people had read it
“He thinks about writing that he wishes he could sink into her sinews and reverse time so that he could feel what it was like to be in her body and her mind through the whole messy process of becoming Vanessa. That she is perfectly ordinary and it makes him crazy to think about the fact that, like everyone, at one point she wasn’t anything at all and and now she is so many, many things, and he wishes she had taken more detailed notes on the process it took to get there because now he has no way to truly understand her, but he tries anyway.
He doesn’t really want to make notes but he tries anyway. Gets as far as writing the subject, which he crosses it out immediately because he can use that word for himself but never for her. He writes, Vanessa, and then closes his notebook because that seems like the only important thing to say.”
ok that was technically 2 paragraphs but i just like this idea ofruben’s love of science being the framework through which he processes his love of usnavi and vanessa without being something that defines his understanding of what it means to love and be loved as narrowly or unhealthily as it used to. he knows how complex a thing it is to be a human, all the things that had to align for us to exist as a species and for them to meet and the chemical and hormonal reactions that had to synchronise for them to all be in this place living together and in love, and the paradox of both wanting to study and understand her through that perspective because that’s what ruben does, but also being satisfied that she just is there with him and she is who she is, and will be whether he understands why or not. i think that being able to accept these strange contradictions and being content within them is the highest form of love, especially from someone to whom getting all the answers is usually so integral.
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sadsapphicslut · 11 months ago
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chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)
okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 
TWs:
death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol
wordcount: 8.2k
(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)
There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).
The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.
Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.
From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.
  Chapter One
A Dead Brother
          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.
           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.
           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.
           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?
           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.
“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  
I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.
I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.
  ❈
             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”
It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.
I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.
“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.
           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.
           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.
           It rang four times before he picked up.
           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.
           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.
           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.
           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.
“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.
“Please don’t yell.”
“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”
“I accidentally took meth.”
“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.
His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”
I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.
 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.
I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”
“Is Dad there?”
“No.”
“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”
“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.
“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”
“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.
 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.
“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.
“Nia – ”
He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.
 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!
I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.
I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.
Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.
“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.
He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.
I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.
I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.
A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.
After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.
I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.
“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.
“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”
  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.
My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.
“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.
“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.
Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.
 ❈
             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.
           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.
           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.
           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.
           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.
             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.
           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.
           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.
           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.
The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.
When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.
Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.
Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.
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weaselsmuses-aa · a year ago
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OKAY. so; heres the deal. Mutuals PLEASE READ:
FIRST OFF:     I know i’ve been absent. More so than usual.
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I’ve been wrestling with a lot of self doubt about this blog. 
There is very little interest in most of my muses from what I can tell. Granted, I’m aware that its not the only factor contributing to the lack of activity here. There isn’t much rping going on in general nowadays. Seems like the rpc on tumblr as a whole has largely moved on. I’ve been considering everything from moving this blog, to archiving it and not coming back.
That being said:
      I don’t want to stop writing. && I definitely dont’ want to stop writing with the friends I have made here.
So what I think is going to happen is a couple of things.
1. I am not going to move, BUT--what I AM going to do, is to completely revamp my muse page. This is going to be for  both organization, and cutting down on muses I don’t feel like I’m ever going to write, or aren’t my top priority. A lot of muses are going to go on request only, and some may disappear. I haven’t decided that yet. I may also revamp the theme in general IDK.
2. I am going to be wholy bringing this blog back to its roots. What this means is My OCS are coming back as the focus, both in writing, headcannons, and events. I love my canons, but I am tired of pretending that I am satisfied with letting my ocs fall to the sidelines to please people. I think the only way I can be happy is to do my own thing and not care who it pleases and who it doesn’t. This doesn’t mean canons are going away, but i will be more selective with them. I may also cut down heavily on the amount of canons I have, but I havent decided which route yet. We’ll see.
 (If you’re a main to one of my canons, this will not change things, just understand they may not be as active anymore.)
3. I am going to purging my follows. I have way too many people i follow that either are inactive or literally never interact with me. && I understand people are shy, and have lives. Thats fine, and if you want to make sure you don’t get unfollowed your free to IM me. 
        However, at some point I have to draw a line for my own personal happiness and comfort on my blog. Following tons of blogs that never bother to even show a shred of interest in my muses, its not making me happy. I don’t want people following me just to follow, thats part of my rules if you read them. Keep in mind, if we rp a lot. or at least talk ooc a lot, you’re safe.
4. I will probably be moving kyanite back. I love her having her own space, but as i expected there just isn’t enough interest in her to warrant her own space as much as I want her to have it. No point in having a separate blog to write with a grand total of 3 people.
5. Weasel will be returning as a main muse. If not THE main. This is their blog first and foremost, and I want them to continue being  the face of it. So expect a lot more from them. && for a lot of content to be geared towards them.
if i think of anything else I’ll make another post.
thanks for understanding guys. Keep in mind also, activity may be sparse or still very low while i work on this and gear up to come back fully.
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